[FIC - Inception] The Helix Trap Chapter 19/19 COMPLETE
Fandom: Inception
Title: The Helix Trap
Chapter: 19/19 (11,090 words - fic complete at 127,500 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. So many thanks and much love to my betas chypie and tanithkitty for sticking with me through this long fic!
Whoo, fanart! <3s forever to crayon_fox for her charming Eames and Robert in the airport, and icybluegem for her lovely promo pic! Thank you both so much!
Cobb awoke in the study. He remained still for a long moment, only his eyes flicking back and forth over the room: the books were on the shelves, the desk was fully formed, and no clouds showed through the windows. The door was open and several broad-shouldered men were watching with concern as quiet gasps echoed through the room, announcing everyone's rise from the dream. Everything was sharp and stinging, the way reality was meant to be, and Cobb at last let out a sigh of relief. I'm awake.
Someone took his wrist and removed his IV. "Cobb? Are you with me?"
"Yusuf." Cobb sucked the pinprick of blood from his arm and then looked about the room again. "Did everyone make it?"
His face was grim. "Not quite."
Cobb pushed to his feet. The first sight was a familiar one: Ariadne, freeing Arthur from the two PASIVs. "It's all right," she told him, stroking his face very much like she had in the dream. "It's over--you're awake. Can you hear me?"
Arthur shuddered, and all at once his face and body convulsed in agony. His eyes screwed shut and his hands flew to her ears as he curled over his knees, gagging and choking. "Shh," Ariadne whispered, stroking his shoulders. "Shh, it's..." She closed her eyes, and when he leaned into her she welcomed him, cradling his head against her stomach. "It's all right."
"Too loud," Arthur groaned, trying to sink further into her. "Too bright..."
Yusuf maneuvered into the corner and began pawing through his satchel. When Cobb noticed him pulling free a bottle of pills he turned to the bodyguards. "Mr. Erhard, could you bring us some water?"
Erhard nodded and hurried to do so. In the meantime Cobb stepped closer to Arthur and, awkwardly, set a hand on his shoulder to help steady him. "Did it work?" he asked Ariadne quietly. "Do you think he..."
"I think he's okay," she replied. When he looked closely he could see her lip tremble. "He made it back together before we woke up."
Erhard returned with bottled waters, and Cobb swiftly uncapped one. "Come on, Arthur," he said, urging him back. Yusuf handed over a pair of pills and he didn't bother to ask what they were.
Arthur had some trouble swallowing them down even with the water, and afterward immediately pulled Ariadne back to him. "It's too much," he said, his hands shaking against her waist. "I can't see--"
"Shh." Ariadne removed her scarf and folded it into a blindfold. Once she'd tied it gently behind his head she wrapped him up again. "I know..."
Cobb turned away; he wanted to say I told you so but it was hard to watch his long-time friend in pain. Instead he looked to Charla, still connected to the PASIV, her chin tipped onto her chest. He looked to Browning, also unmoved from his chair, his hand over his mouth--he was pale and staring unblinkingly at the center of the room, where Robert and Eames were still seated close together, asleep.
Cobb swallowed, and stared just as intensely at the unmoving pair. Yusuf and the bodyguards were watching as well, and then even Ariadne turned enough to see. They all waited, silent and tense, as the seconds ticked by without sign of either man waking.
"Come on," Cobb said under his breath. He could taste his heart in his throat. "Come on, come on..."
Eames took in a huge breath, and was echoed by Robert a moment later. It spurred Cobb swiftly to life; he darted forward and removed Robert's IVs as quickly as he could without hurting him, then put both hands on his shoulders anticipating the same reaction as Arthur. As expected Robert jerked, and coughed, and had to clamp both hands over his mouth to keep from retching. Cobb winced as he steadied him: he was pale, and shivering, and tears were already collecting in the corners of his eyes as he grimaced against the pain.
Eames dragged himself upright. He didn't look entirely stable either but he urged Cobb back and draped his palm over the nape of Robert's neck. "Easy, easy," he soothed.
Robert scraped his sleeve over his mouth, and in time was able to open his eyes to the room. As soon as he saw where they were a look of horror fell over him. "No," he moaned, his hands shaking as he pawed at Eames's arms. "No, no, not again."
"Robert?" Eames touched his face. "It's all right, you're--"
"Wake me up," Robert begged. "I can't do this anymore--please kill me." His fingers curled into hooks and he jerked at Eames's shirt in desperation. "Kill me!"
"Calm down," Eames said, grimacing. "Just take a breath..." He shot Cobb a swift look over his shoulder. "You'd better get out of here."
Cobb was only too eager to comply. His stomach twisted as he turned his back on the near-hysterical Robert and rushed to pack the two PASIVs. I did this, he thought as he deactivated the devices and let the tubing snap inside. He tried not to look at Charla as he removed the IV from her wrist: she didn't stir. What I did led to all of this. For all that he had prepared himself before the inception he had never expected to be face to face with the raw outcome of a mind corrupted again, and watching Robert quake beneath Eames's hands sent nausea spinning all through him.
"Wait," said one of the bodyguards still crowding the doorway. "You can't just waltz out of here."
"Watch us," Cobb replied. He closed both cases and pushed them at Yusuf. "Take those."
"Wait--what about Dr. Banks?" Yusuf cast a quick glance in her direction, and when he looked back, his eyes were hard. "What did you do to her?"
"I didn't do anything." Cobb straightened and touched Ariadne's shoulder. "Let me take him."
As she struggled to get Arthur's arms off her, the guards resumed their protests. "I'm calling the cops," said Yeates. "I don't know what the hell is going on, but--"
"No," Browning interrupted. The men silenced and looked to him in surprise. "No," he said again, "No one is calling any cops." He rubbed his eyes wearily. "Let them go."
Erhard stepped forward. "All due respect, Mr. Browning, but isn't that Mr. Fischer's decision?"
Everyone looked to Robert again, slumped against Eames with his head in his hands. He was shaking and moaning softly, and at first it seemed that he was lost to the world around him, but then he uttered, "Get them out."
Erhard shifted his weight anxiously. "Mr. Fischer, are you sure? These people--"
"Get them out," he repeated. His fingernails dug rivets into his forehead. "Take them wherever they want to go, just get them the hell out."
"If he changes his mind later, I know where to find them," Eames added, stroking Robert's back. "For now just do what he says. Please."
Erhard didn't look convinced, but he turned to his peers. "Marcus, Hunnigan, show them out," he instructed. "You heard Mr. Fischer: wherever they want to go."
Yusuf moved next to Cobb again as he pulled Arthur's arm over his shoulders. "We can't just leave Charla like this," he insisted. "I don't know what you have against her, but--"
"Shut up," Cobb snapped. "It's too late for her now and it's what she deserves." He wrapped his arm around Arthur's waist and hoisted him to his feet; Arthur was only just able to bear some of his own weight. "Now let's get out of here before Fischer comes to his senses."
Yusuf stared after him, frustrated and incredulous, but as Cobb headed for the door he had little choice but to snatch up both PASIVs and follow. Ariadne scooped up their shed suit coats, but before following as well she paused in front of Robert. Cobb glanced back, wanting to warn her against saying too much, but the words shriveled in his throat.
"I'm sorry," Ariadne said, sincerity wearing her voice raw. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Fischer."
Robert parted his fingers just enough that he was able to glare at her through them. "Get out."
Ariadne flinched and chased after Cobb. As the bodyguards parted for them Cobb couldn't help but glance to Charla one more time. Her head was still bowed in sleep but he could easily make out the smile curling her lips.
Cobb moved swiftly through the condo, and it wasn't until he was pressing the button for the elevator that he realized Nash had fallen into step beside them. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he asked.
"I'm getting the fuck out of here, that's what I'm doing," Nash said, fidgeting. He glanced between them. "Um...what exactly happened down there, anyway?"
"What happened was you sold us out," Ariadne said with sudden vehemence. "You knew that Dr. Banks was going to turn on us, didn't you?"
Nash shook his head. "Look, all she told me was to stick to the job no matter what, and that's what I did, all right?"
"Then why didn't you answer when I tried to contact you? You knew that--"
"Ariadne," Arthur said, grimacing and pressing his hand against his ear. "Not now."
The elevator opened, and Marcus pushed past them all to go in first. As they piled in Cobb took the corner so Arthur had plenty of wall to lean against, and then they were heading to the lobby.
"I don't believe you," Yusuf started up again. "Of all people, you claim to know what Limbo is like, and you still--"
Cobb tensed defensively. "Don't you get it? Banks used you. All she wanted was to destroy Fischer--she told me herself. And you all went along with it."
Ariadne shook her head. "We didn't know," she said. Her eyes were red and he could feel her composure cracking. "She said it was what Browning wanted--that when we were finished she'd help him--"
"And you believed that?"
"Why wouldn't we believe it?" said Nash. "She's Dr. Banks, for crying out loud." He rubbed his scarred cheek. "Like it makes a difference anyway. You saw his projections--he's already fucked."
Ariadne bristled. "Of course it makes a difference! I didn't sign up just to torture him!"
Arthur shrank against Cobb's side. "I'm going to be sick," he groaned.
"All I know is that this is the second time one of your jobs has gone wrong," Yusuf continued, shaking his finger at Arthur. "You lied to us before--how do I know you're not lying now? Well I've learned my lesson--no more field for me. No more you for that matter." He pointed at Cobb as well. "You're mad, the both of you, and if Charla really is trapped down there it's on your heads."
"Fine with me," Cobb grumbled. Marcus and Hunnigan exchanged baffled looks but wisely remained silent.
They let out in the lobby, and as soon as they were outside Yusuf passed off one of the PASIVs to Ariadne. "Good luck with them," he said.
Ariadne stared back. "You're not coming with us?"
"I'm taking a cab to the airport so I can have the first flight out of here," he replied. "Before Fischer comes to his senses--like Cobb said."
Nash glanced between them and then took a step toward Yusuf. "Me too."
"I'll call them a cab," Hunnigan offered. "If you get the rest." Marcus nodded.
"My car is at the dog park down the road," Cobb said. "If you can just take us there, we'll be gone for good." Though his temper was still close to his surface he nodded at Yusuf, hoping to convey more than he was capable of saying. "Take care."
Yusuf eyed him warily, but at long last returned the gesture. "And you."
They split up, Yusuf and Nash with one guard, Cobb, Arthur, and Ariadne with the other. As they pulled away Cobb closed his eyes, trying to let an image of his children's faces block out all others.
***
Robert kept his eyes tightly closed; whenever he tried to open them the world spun around him in burning, jagged edges. Everything was too bright and too loud and it stuck to his pores like tiny insects feeding on his skin. His head ached so badly he could imagine blood pouring out from some terrible wound, until his entire body throbbed and he couldn't help but vomit bile across the floor of the loathsome study.
His only comfort was Eames: Eames's strong hands rubbing his back, Eames's low voice close to his ear. It wasn't enough to calm the thousand wheeling memories that were trying to assail him at once, but it gave gravity to a world that otherwise had none. When he finally managed to breathe instead of choke something cold and plastic was nudged into his hand. "Drink," Eames said, and he did. The water sloshing into his empty stomach almost made him vomit again but his parched tongue was grateful, and when he pushed the bottle away he was able to speak again.
"Is everyone gone?" he asked weakly.
"Mostly." Eames spilled some of the remaining water into his hand and used it to smooth Robert's hair back--the cool touch was soothing. "Do you want to be alone?"
No. Robert's hand seized around Eames's wrist. "Where's Peter?"
Fabric shifted nearby. "I'm here," said Browning.
Robert flinched. He wasn't sure what to make of his godfather's hoarse voice, and with a slow shudder he forced his eyes open. Browning was watching him from a nearby chair; he looked pale and grim, but not nearly as pale or grim as Robert thought he ought to. "Erhard," he said, "please give us some privacy."
"Yes, Mr. Fischer."
Erhard ushered his remaining peers out of the study and shut the door. As soon as Robert heard it click his eyes narrowed on Browning and he asked, "Are you my father?"
Browning's shoulders drooped, and he looked away. "I don't know."
Robert again tasted bile in his throat, and he grabbed at Eames's arm, using it as a crutch so he could stand. "Don't lie to me," he snapped. "Don't you dare lie to me after all that!"
"I don't know," Browning said again, facing him. He scraped his hand over his mouth. "We never tried to find out--no one wanted to know."
Robert wavered on his feet, and he knew if he looked at Browning any longer he would be sick again. His chest tightened until he couldn't breathe, and in a panic he shook away from Eames and stormed out of the study.
This can't be real. Robert clutched the back of the sofa, ignoring the startled and concerned looks of the bodyguards. It's just a sick joke, all of it. I don't want to be here. He blinked about the condo that was so familiar and so unwelcoming, letting it smear against his weary eyes. I'll make myself safe, he thought. Like before. He concentrated, as hard as he could, but nothing changed. Only sleek lines and pretentious artwork glared back at him: all the things he owned but had never cared to look at, like a pristine museum raised in honor of the wasted mockery that was Robert Fischer.
None of this is real. Robert stumbled away from the sofa, and when he caught a glimpse of blue sky he hastened toward it. It can't be--I have to be able to change it, just like Eames showed me. I can change it--
His outstretched hands rammed into polished glass, and he sagged against the broad picture window, staring past the balcony to the bright and ordinary Los Angeles skyline. Not a cloud dotted the sky and every building was tall, straight, and rectangular, as they were meant to be. He had forgotten that it looked that way, free of dreary ghosts and spinning windmills. He tried to tear them all down--his fingertips pawed at the glass as if they could do the work themselves--but life outside continued, oblivious to him. He reached for the balcony door.
Eames yanked his arm away from the handle, and he started, turning toward him with wide eyes. The truth crushed from all angles. "I'm awake," Robert said, "aren't I."
Eames smiled grimly. "Yes."
He tugged, and Robert leaned into him, hesitantly at first. His brain was still heavy with images from the dream, surging forward and overlapping each other like ocean waves. Everything was tumbling and crashing and draining inside his skull, and when Eames's firm arms wrapped him up, it overpowered him. He all but collapsed against Eames's chest beneath the weight of curved skyscrapers imploding into their foundations, of a thousand screaming ghosts plummeting to their deaths, of his father's gnarled hands and his godfather's fleeting smile and the small of his mother's back and Eames dying in the stairwell and--
A sob wracked him. He shrank into the warm embrace as a lifetime of bitterness flooded out of him through hot, desperate tears. Everything ached; everything was breaking way. And Eames did the best he could--he held him, his breath shallow against Robert's ear, accepting the anguish. Robert couldn't remember if anyone had ever held him like that. He clenched his fists against Eames's back and bore teeth against his collar as he wept, exhausted and ashamed and terrified, until all his life had flashed before his eyes and he had nothing left to give.
***
Ariadne didn't speak a word on the drive to Cobb's apartment. She sat in the passenger seat, their suit coats clenched against her lap, her eyes straight ahead. She dreaded that at any moment Cobb would turn to her and say again how wrong she had been, how naïve and cruel, and she wasn't sure she could handle that much truth--not with Arthur huddled in the back seat, quietly wheezing. By the time they arrived and Cobb, too, had said nothing, she was so tense she almost invited it.
Cobb shut off the car and handed her the keys, pointing out which ones were for the building and apartment. She left the jackets behind as they piled out and opened the rear door. "Arthur, we're here," she said, squeezing his shoulder. "Are you..."
Ariadne trailed off when she realized how still Arthur was beneath her hand. "Arthur?" She rocked him to no response. When Cobb reached forward to press two fingers to his throat she felt faint, but then he sighed and began to pull Arthur out of the car.
"Let's get him upstairs," he said.
Ariadne let them into Cobb's apartment on the second floor. She feared a patter of children's feet and children's voices, but the place was empty, and Cobb carried Arthur immediately into the master bedroom. Together they stretched him out on the bed, and Ariadne removed his shoes and tie while Cobb moved about the room, pulling the drapes closed.
"Arthur?" Once the room was as dark as it could be Ariadne slipped her scarf off his eyes, and sat down on the edge of the mattress next to him. "Can you hear me?" She cupped his face in both hands, stroked his cheeks with her thumbs, but he only continued to breathe shallowly, in and out.
Is he asleep? Unconscious? Ariadne's pulse rose into her ears as she took his shoulders and gave him a gentle shake. "Arthur?" Did he fall back under? The thought made her ill and she shook him again, harder. What if he didn't really make it out? What if half of him is still down there trapped, and he's not really here, he's down in Limbo just like Dr. Banks and he's not waking up? Panic sharpened at the back of her throat and she shoved him against the mattress. "Arthur!"
"Ow, stop." Arthur squirmed and pushed her hands off him. "Stop, I'm awake." He draped his arm over his eyes and let out a long sigh. "God, my head hurts."
Ariadne stared; her fists were tight and she wished she could punch him. Cobb must have seen, because he squeezed her shoulder. "We should let him rest," he said quietly.
"I want to stay with him," Ariadne replied. When his raised eyebrows asked, are you sure? she nodded. "I think I could use some rest, too."
"I'll check on you in a while," Cobb said. As he headed out he added, "Don't think you're not going to get an earful from me later, Arthur."
Arthur grimaced, and when the door shut he let out his breath in a long sigh. "Shit."
Ariadne watched him for a long moment, and at last slipped out of her shoes and stretched out next to him on the bed. "Are you really all right?" she asked. "There isn't part of you still under...?"
"No, I'm..." Arthur lifted his arm, allowing her to settle closer. "I'm all right. This is just like before, only...worse." He peeked at her with one eye but even the dull light managing to sneak through the curtains was too much, and he quickly closed it again. "Are you?"
"Yeah." Ariadne hesitated and then pressed her hand over his chest. She wanted to tell him that her own head was throbbing and she was close to being sick, but it was nothing compared to what he was going through. She gulped. "Do you think Fischer...?"
Arthur didn't reply for several long moments. "I don't know." His fingers threaded through her hair, plucking out the little pins that kept her bun in place. "But it's not your fault, Ariadne. None of it."
She didn't believe him. Squeezing her eyes shut she nestled into his side, head pillowed against his shoulder. She couldn't stop thinking about Robert's cold eyes glaring at her through his bloodless fingers, nor the rasp of his voice as he ordered them out. A tremor passed through her and her breath caught in her throat.
Arthur's fingertips stroked the back of her neck. "Please don't cry," he said quietly, so she clenched her jaws tight and did her best to hide it from him.
***
Robert dreamed of black. It was endless and silent and everything he could have hoped for. At long last he felt calm, adrift, with no past and no future cluttering his weary brain. Everything had fallen away and there was only formless dark awaiting him. He had control again and he could make his world into whatever he wished.
Robert dreamed of the beach. Water splashed his ankles as he strode in bare feet down the shore, the breeze salty against his lips. Every dozen steps or so he crouched down to paw through the coarse sand, plucking out seashells and wave-tumbled rocks, and sometimes little fish and broken glass. He knew with the clairvoyance of a child that each one was of the greatest importance, and he filled his pockets with all manner of raw materials.
When he was finished, he sat down in the sand and spread his trinkets lovingly around him. He was rather proud of himself and the variety he had managed to collect, and he spent hours arranging and then rearranging them into groups. At long last he was satisfied with his work, and he leaned back on his hands, thinking, That will do.
Robert stretched out on his back, feeling the sand ripple and melt until it became warm satin. The rays of sunlight stretching out of the clouds smoothed together, coating him, and the salt dissolved out of the air. He opened his eyes to a plain white ceiling.
"Good, I'm glad. Not yet, no."
Robert tried to move, but the weight of a blanket over his fully-clothed body was too much to bother with. Instead he squinted blearily at the room around him, tracing out the shapes of his bedside clock, and his dresser, and his closet door. Each was familiar, and he squirmed, trying to see more.
"If he doesn't wake up soon, I'm going back under. ...Well of course I don't want to, but I can't just leave him like this, can I?"
Robert followed the voice, blinking until his sight came into focus on Eames, standing in the open balcony doorway. He had a phone to his ear.
"I can't ask you to do that," Eames said. "You already--" He stopped, listening, and then his shoulders sagged. He rubbed his eyes. "All right... Thank you."
Robert sank into the mattress at his back. He was still heavy with sleep and very content to let Eames finish whatever conversation he was wrapped up in.
"I'll give him another hour, then call back." Eames glanced at Robert over his shoulder. "If I still can't get him to--"
Their eyes met, and Eames broke off, staring. After a long moment of silence he said into the phone, "Hold on a second," and moved to Robert's bedside. His gaze was intense as he studied Robert's face. "Robert? Are you awake?"
Robert blinked back at him. "You tell me."
Eames heaved a sigh. "He's awake," he said into the phone. "I'll call you back." He hung up, and once the phone was secure in his pocket he sat down on the edge of the bed. His smile was unlike anything Robert had seen before, pained and hopeful and lovely against the sterile room. "Ahh, there's my sleeping beauty."
Robert rolled his eyes. He tried again to move, and was at last able to slip his arms out from under the covers. His limbs were sluggish but they obeyed him; he rubbed his face with both hands and felt a little clearer. "How long was I out?"
"Almost five hours," Eames said. He shifted, his jaw working as if he were fighting back too many questions at once. "You had me worried--I thought I was going to have to go back in after you."
"I heard." Robert set his hands beneath him, and when Eames moved to help him he warned him off with a shake of his head. With a quiet groan he pushed himself up, settling his back into the headboard. His sight had recovered in full, and in looking about he knew once and for all that he really was sitting in his condo's bedroom. The wind coming in off the balcony smelled of the city, so much thicker and more pungent than his charming beach.
"I'm awake," he murmured. He looked back to Eames, studying the wrinkles etched into the corners of his eyes and mouth. "You look like hell."
Eames let out a quiet bark of laughter, and with the release his expression crumpled. He shifted closer and drew Robert into his arms. His hands were tense, and when he pressed his face into the slope of Robert's neck his breath was halting. Robert remained still at first, confused, but when he had the strength he returned the embrace. It was a mysterious sensation, feeling Eames's broad shoulders tremble within the circle of his arms.
"I needed you to wake up," Eames said.
Robert smiled, but then too much emotion twisted his face, too, and swelled down into his chest. His fingers tightened against the back of Eames's neck. They remained that way for long minutes, breathing hard in the quiet room, until Eames leaned back. His eyes were red but he was smiling again as he touched Robert's cheeks. "How do you feel?" he asked. "Are you still in pain?"
Robert sagged into the headboard again. "I don't know. I mean, it doesn't hurt anymore." He closed his eyes and sighed contentedly when Eames ran his fingers through his short hair. "It just feels strange, like I've been asleep for months."
Eames's hands stopped, and he lowered them to the bed. "How much do you remember?" he asked quietly.
The prompting spread a series of visions across the screen of Robert's closed eyelids, and his brow furrowed as he shuffled through them, sorting them, remembering. He breathed slowly, in and out, as they gradually fit into structure. When he opened his eyes the first thing he saw was Eames's chest, and he reached out, trailing his hand down the paths of bullets. He curled his fingers and could almost feel dried blood pulling at his skin; he felt Arthur's hand clenched too tightly around his, and Nash's hair pulling free in his grip, and the polish of his father's old desk. It was all close to his surface, but when he concentrated, everything slid into place and made sense in one long stream of events, like a picture book opening before him.
"I remember everything," he said. He let his hand fall and looked to Eames; when their eyes met he realized at last how light he felt. He had clarity he hadn't known he'd been missing, as if weights had peeled off his brain and bones. Two deep breaths later, he was ready. "Where's Peter?"
Robert kept his arm around Eames's as they left the room together. His feet were clumsy at first, but every step was stronger than the last. His and Browning's bodyguards were gathered in the great room, and they hurried to their feet as Robert entered.
"Mr. Fischer!" Erhard moved to greet them. "We didn't know you were awake. Are you all right? Can I get you anything?"
"No, I'm all right." Robert glanced about, and shuddered when his eyes fell on the closed study door. "Where's Peter?"
Erhard pointed to the guest room. "He's with that woman, the doctor."
Robert frowned, but he started toward it anyway. Without knocking he opened the door, and was met immediately by the sight of Charla Banks stretched out on the guest bed. Her arms were draped over her stomach and her eyes were closed, her face arranged in an expression of peaceful slumber.
Browning was seated in a chair at her bedside. As soon as he saw Robert he straightened, but when he started to stand Robert motioned for him not to. "Robert," he said, his hands tight on the chair's arms. "God, it's good to see you awake."
Robert glanced again to Charla. "She hasn't woken up at all?"
Browning fidgeted. "No. I was going to call her colleagues at her institute, but I wanted to wait until..." He sighed. "Until you were awake. Are you all right?"
"I don't know," Robert replied honestly. He squeezed Eames's arm but then realized he already had all the courage he needed. "Are you my father?"
"Robert." Browning slumped back in the chair. "I told you--I don't know. It's the truth."
"So you did have an affair with Mrs. Fischer," Eames interrupted.
Browning glared at him, but when he looked to Robert his irritation faltered. "Yes," he said. "And with the timing...it's possible. But it wasn't that your mother..." He winced, and rubbed his jaw, and tried again. "Robert, your mother, she didn't, that is..."
"She wasn't a slut?" Robert supplied for him tersely. "Is that what you're trying to say?"
His shoulders fell. "Of course not." He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped sweat off his brow, and Robert waited, patient but intense, for him to continue. "I was hired into Fischer Morrow just after your parents got married," he said. "They were already waffling between being happy and not. Maurice was always busy with the company, and she needed someone on her side, and I...." He shrugged helplessly. "These things happen."
These things happen, Robert thought, staring down at the ground. "I understand," he said. "It was a mistake."
"Wait." Browning started to stand up again. "Robert, I don't want you to think that--"
"Sit down," Robert snapped, and he did. He took only a moment to compose himself again. "Did Maurice know?"
Browning pursed his lips and shook his head. "I don't know--we never told him. When Charla told me that he'd hired an extractor I thought he would find out for sure, but he never brought it up to me. But...maybe. If nothing else, I think he suspected."
Robert took in a shaky breath, and Eames leaned closer, whispering, "You don't have to do this now."
"No, I'm all right," he said. He faced Browning seriously. "And Dr. Banks?" He remembered their brief conversation in Arthur's hotel, and the insults that suddenly made sense. "She was trying to kill me, thinking I was yours. Did you use her, too?"
"Robert." Browning rocked to the edge of his chair. "I asked for her help. I didn't know what she was really up to, and I'm sorry--God, I'm so sorry--but you have to remember what you've been like recently. I had to do something and she was the only one I could...I thought I could trust."
Robert's eyes narrowed. "Did you use her, too?" he repeated.
Browning sighed in exasperation, but at last admitted, "We were together at one point, yes. But how was I supposed to know she was obsessed? That was years ago."
"These things happen," Eames said dryly.
Browning's attention snapped on him, and he jabbed at him with an accusing finger. "Don't you dare--I haven't forgotten about you. I know you did something to him on that plane. This wouldn't have happened if not for--"
"Peter," Robert said. "This isn't about him. I just want the truth from you."
"And I'm telling you the truth," he insisted. "Please, just..." He grimaced, and shook his head. "Robert, listen. If we do a test--if it's put on paper--someone is going to find out, and then you and I will both be ruined." He sighed. "But I'll do it, if that's what you want. I know I owe you that much."
Robert stared down at him with half-lidded eyes. His stomach itched and he could already imagine himself tearing open a flimsy manila envelope, followed by screeching tabloids and buzzing lawyers. He was a coward but he wasn't ashamed. "What does your gut tell you?" he asked. "Honestly."
Browning wilted, and at last the regret in his face looked sincere. He smiled, just barely. "That you're exactly like your mother," he said.
And he meant it. Robert could tell, and he closed his eyes briefly, filling himself with the memories of her. He still had many questions but for just a moment, he was satisfied. He took in a deep breath. "I want you to call Shelby," he said. "Tell her to contact my realtor and have some paperwork drawn up to put this place on the market. I don't care at what price--I want this condo sold as soon as possible."
"What?" Browning--and Eames--watched him in confusion. "What are you talking about?"
"As soon as possible," Robert repeated. "Fully furnished, except for a few things I'll itemize for her." He gave Eames's hand a squeeze. "By tomorrow I want to be looking at properties for sale--homes, preferably, somewhere secure, within a decent distance to the office. I'd like to be able to see water if I can."
Browning rubbed the back of his neck. "I know you've just been through lot, but there's no need to do all this now. You can take your time and--"
"I'm not stepping foot inside this place again," Robert said resolutely. "I'll stay in a hotel until I can close on a place, if I have to." The thought of ever dozing off only to awaken in the study was enough to give him goose bumps. "All right?"
"...I'll tell her."
He looked to Charla, having almost forgotten she was still there, smiling unconsciously into her oblivion. "Will she ever wake up?" he asked.
Browning shook his head. "Even if she does, there's not much the law can do to her, considering how few laws there are against mind crime. And the fact that I hired her in the first place." His lip quirked. "Unless you're going to have me arrested, too."
Robert and Eames both glared at him until his humor shriveled. "She's not going to wake up," Eames said. "Not unless she wants to. And she won't want to."
Robert had to look away. "Call her institute," he told Browning. "Have someone come and get her. If she wakes up...I'll decide what to do about her then." He frowned. "I'm leaving now. I'll keep my phone on but I don't want to hear from anyone unless it's absolutely vital, understand?"
Browning started to question, but thankfully, thought better of it. "All right," he replied. He sobered, as if only then coming to understand the gravity of his confessions. "But I think we need to talk again, soon." His gaze flickered to Eames and back. "In private."
Robert nodded vaguely. "I'll think about it." He tugged at Eames's arm, and together they left the study.
"I want to ask if you're all right," Eames said, "but you haven't been able to give me a straight answer so far."
The bodyguards glanced up, and Robert pulled Eames swiftly past them. "I'm...hungry," he said, and was surprised when he meant it.
"Hungry? Well, that's a good sign, I suppose." Eames smiled at him. "Then we'll find someplace cozy and out of the way, and finally get a proper meal in you."
"Mr. Fischer," Erhard said, and they paused, glancing back at him. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Can we come with you?"
Robert frowned, glancing between him and Marcus. I am paying them to be security, he thought. As much good as they did. But they looked sincere, and he couldn't deny that he would appreciate having another set of eyes looking out for him.
Eames leaned in to his ear. "You told me before that you're alone," he said quietly. "But that's not true."
Robert squirmed on his feet, and though he was anxious to have Eames alone, the words warmed him. "All right," he relented. He even managed a smile. "Erhard, Marcus, come with us. Let's find something to eat."
***
To the rest of Chapter 19
Title: The Helix Trap
Chapter: 19/19 (11,090 words - fic complete at 127,500 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. So many thanks and much love to my betas chypie and tanithkitty for sticking with me through this long fic!
Whoo, fanart! <3s forever to crayon_fox for her charming Eames and Robert in the airport, and icybluegem for her lovely promo pic! Thank you both so much!
Cobb awoke in the study. He remained still for a long moment, only his eyes flicking back and forth over the room: the books were on the shelves, the desk was fully formed, and no clouds showed through the windows. The door was open and several broad-shouldered men were watching with concern as quiet gasps echoed through the room, announcing everyone's rise from the dream. Everything was sharp and stinging, the way reality was meant to be, and Cobb at last let out a sigh of relief. I'm awake.
Someone took his wrist and removed his IV. "Cobb? Are you with me?"
"Yusuf." Cobb sucked the pinprick of blood from his arm and then looked about the room again. "Did everyone make it?"
His face was grim. "Not quite."
Cobb pushed to his feet. The first sight was a familiar one: Ariadne, freeing Arthur from the two PASIVs. "It's all right," she told him, stroking his face very much like she had in the dream. "It's over--you're awake. Can you hear me?"
Arthur shuddered, and all at once his face and body convulsed in agony. His eyes screwed shut and his hands flew to her ears as he curled over his knees, gagging and choking. "Shh," Ariadne whispered, stroking his shoulders. "Shh, it's..." She closed her eyes, and when he leaned into her she welcomed him, cradling his head against her stomach. "It's all right."
"Too loud," Arthur groaned, trying to sink further into her. "Too bright..."
Yusuf maneuvered into the corner and began pawing through his satchel. When Cobb noticed him pulling free a bottle of pills he turned to the bodyguards. "Mr. Erhard, could you bring us some water?"
Erhard nodded and hurried to do so. In the meantime Cobb stepped closer to Arthur and, awkwardly, set a hand on his shoulder to help steady him. "Did it work?" he asked Ariadne quietly. "Do you think he..."
"I think he's okay," she replied. When he looked closely he could see her lip tremble. "He made it back together before we woke up."
Erhard returned with bottled waters, and Cobb swiftly uncapped one. "Come on, Arthur," he said, urging him back. Yusuf handed over a pair of pills and he didn't bother to ask what they were.
Arthur had some trouble swallowing them down even with the water, and afterward immediately pulled Ariadne back to him. "It's too much," he said, his hands shaking against her waist. "I can't see--"
"Shh." Ariadne removed her scarf and folded it into a blindfold. Once she'd tied it gently behind his head she wrapped him up again. "I know..."
Cobb turned away; he wanted to say I told you so but it was hard to watch his long-time friend in pain. Instead he looked to Charla, still connected to the PASIV, her chin tipped onto her chest. He looked to Browning, also unmoved from his chair, his hand over his mouth--he was pale and staring unblinkingly at the center of the room, where Robert and Eames were still seated close together, asleep.
Cobb swallowed, and stared just as intensely at the unmoving pair. Yusuf and the bodyguards were watching as well, and then even Ariadne turned enough to see. They all waited, silent and tense, as the seconds ticked by without sign of either man waking.
"Come on," Cobb said under his breath. He could taste his heart in his throat. "Come on, come on..."
Eames took in a huge breath, and was echoed by Robert a moment later. It spurred Cobb swiftly to life; he darted forward and removed Robert's IVs as quickly as he could without hurting him, then put both hands on his shoulders anticipating the same reaction as Arthur. As expected Robert jerked, and coughed, and had to clamp both hands over his mouth to keep from retching. Cobb winced as he steadied him: he was pale, and shivering, and tears were already collecting in the corners of his eyes as he grimaced against the pain.
Eames dragged himself upright. He didn't look entirely stable either but he urged Cobb back and draped his palm over the nape of Robert's neck. "Easy, easy," he soothed.
Robert scraped his sleeve over his mouth, and in time was able to open his eyes to the room. As soon as he saw where they were a look of horror fell over him. "No," he moaned, his hands shaking as he pawed at Eames's arms. "No, no, not again."
"Robert?" Eames touched his face. "It's all right, you're--"
"Wake me up," Robert begged. "I can't do this anymore--please kill me." His fingers curled into hooks and he jerked at Eames's shirt in desperation. "Kill me!"
"Calm down," Eames said, grimacing. "Just take a breath..." He shot Cobb a swift look over his shoulder. "You'd better get out of here."
Cobb was only too eager to comply. His stomach twisted as he turned his back on the near-hysterical Robert and rushed to pack the two PASIVs. I did this, he thought as he deactivated the devices and let the tubing snap inside. He tried not to look at Charla as he removed the IV from her wrist: she didn't stir. What I did led to all of this. For all that he had prepared himself before the inception he had never expected to be face to face with the raw outcome of a mind corrupted again, and watching Robert quake beneath Eames's hands sent nausea spinning all through him.
"Wait," said one of the bodyguards still crowding the doorway. "You can't just waltz out of here."
"Watch us," Cobb replied. He closed both cases and pushed them at Yusuf. "Take those."
"Wait--what about Dr. Banks?" Yusuf cast a quick glance in her direction, and when he looked back, his eyes were hard. "What did you do to her?"
"I didn't do anything." Cobb straightened and touched Ariadne's shoulder. "Let me take him."
As she struggled to get Arthur's arms off her, the guards resumed their protests. "I'm calling the cops," said Yeates. "I don't know what the hell is going on, but--"
"No," Browning interrupted. The men silenced and looked to him in surprise. "No," he said again, "No one is calling any cops." He rubbed his eyes wearily. "Let them go."
Erhard stepped forward. "All due respect, Mr. Browning, but isn't that Mr. Fischer's decision?"
Everyone looked to Robert again, slumped against Eames with his head in his hands. He was shaking and moaning softly, and at first it seemed that he was lost to the world around him, but then he uttered, "Get them out."
Erhard shifted his weight anxiously. "Mr. Fischer, are you sure? These people--"
"Get them out," he repeated. His fingernails dug rivets into his forehead. "Take them wherever they want to go, just get them the hell out."
"If he changes his mind later, I know where to find them," Eames added, stroking Robert's back. "For now just do what he says. Please."
Erhard didn't look convinced, but he turned to his peers. "Marcus, Hunnigan, show them out," he instructed. "You heard Mr. Fischer: wherever they want to go."
Yusuf moved next to Cobb again as he pulled Arthur's arm over his shoulders. "We can't just leave Charla like this," he insisted. "I don't know what you have against her, but--"
"Shut up," Cobb snapped. "It's too late for her now and it's what she deserves." He wrapped his arm around Arthur's waist and hoisted him to his feet; Arthur was only just able to bear some of his own weight. "Now let's get out of here before Fischer comes to his senses."
Yusuf stared after him, frustrated and incredulous, but as Cobb headed for the door he had little choice but to snatch up both PASIVs and follow. Ariadne scooped up their shed suit coats, but before following as well she paused in front of Robert. Cobb glanced back, wanting to warn her against saying too much, but the words shriveled in his throat.
"I'm sorry," Ariadne said, sincerity wearing her voice raw. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Fischer."
Robert parted his fingers just enough that he was able to glare at her through them. "Get out."
Ariadne flinched and chased after Cobb. As the bodyguards parted for them Cobb couldn't help but glance to Charla one more time. Her head was still bowed in sleep but he could easily make out the smile curling her lips.
Cobb moved swiftly through the condo, and it wasn't until he was pressing the button for the elevator that he realized Nash had fallen into step beside them. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he asked.
"I'm getting the fuck out of here, that's what I'm doing," Nash said, fidgeting. He glanced between them. "Um...what exactly happened down there, anyway?"
"What happened was you sold us out," Ariadne said with sudden vehemence. "You knew that Dr. Banks was going to turn on us, didn't you?"
Nash shook his head. "Look, all she told me was to stick to the job no matter what, and that's what I did, all right?"
"Then why didn't you answer when I tried to contact you? You knew that--"
"Ariadne," Arthur said, grimacing and pressing his hand against his ear. "Not now."
The elevator opened, and Marcus pushed past them all to go in first. As they piled in Cobb took the corner so Arthur had plenty of wall to lean against, and then they were heading to the lobby.
"I don't believe you," Yusuf started up again. "Of all people, you claim to know what Limbo is like, and you still--"
Cobb tensed defensively. "Don't you get it? Banks used you. All she wanted was to destroy Fischer--she told me herself. And you all went along with it."
Ariadne shook her head. "We didn't know," she said. Her eyes were red and he could feel her composure cracking. "She said it was what Browning wanted--that when we were finished she'd help him--"
"And you believed that?"
"Why wouldn't we believe it?" said Nash. "She's Dr. Banks, for crying out loud." He rubbed his scarred cheek. "Like it makes a difference anyway. You saw his projections--he's already fucked."
Ariadne bristled. "Of course it makes a difference! I didn't sign up just to torture him!"
Arthur shrank against Cobb's side. "I'm going to be sick," he groaned.
"All I know is that this is the second time one of your jobs has gone wrong," Yusuf continued, shaking his finger at Arthur. "You lied to us before--how do I know you're not lying now? Well I've learned my lesson--no more field for me. No more you for that matter." He pointed at Cobb as well. "You're mad, the both of you, and if Charla really is trapped down there it's on your heads."
"Fine with me," Cobb grumbled. Marcus and Hunnigan exchanged baffled looks but wisely remained silent.
They let out in the lobby, and as soon as they were outside Yusuf passed off one of the PASIVs to Ariadne. "Good luck with them," he said.
Ariadne stared back. "You're not coming with us?"
"I'm taking a cab to the airport so I can have the first flight out of here," he replied. "Before Fischer comes to his senses--like Cobb said."
Nash glanced between them and then took a step toward Yusuf. "Me too."
"I'll call them a cab," Hunnigan offered. "If you get the rest." Marcus nodded.
"My car is at the dog park down the road," Cobb said. "If you can just take us there, we'll be gone for good." Though his temper was still close to his surface he nodded at Yusuf, hoping to convey more than he was capable of saying. "Take care."
Yusuf eyed him warily, but at long last returned the gesture. "And you."
They split up, Yusuf and Nash with one guard, Cobb, Arthur, and Ariadne with the other. As they pulled away Cobb closed his eyes, trying to let an image of his children's faces block out all others.
***
Robert kept his eyes tightly closed; whenever he tried to open them the world spun around him in burning, jagged edges. Everything was too bright and too loud and it stuck to his pores like tiny insects feeding on his skin. His head ached so badly he could imagine blood pouring out from some terrible wound, until his entire body throbbed and he couldn't help but vomit bile across the floor of the loathsome study.
His only comfort was Eames: Eames's strong hands rubbing his back, Eames's low voice close to his ear. It wasn't enough to calm the thousand wheeling memories that were trying to assail him at once, but it gave gravity to a world that otherwise had none. When he finally managed to breathe instead of choke something cold and plastic was nudged into his hand. "Drink," Eames said, and he did. The water sloshing into his empty stomach almost made him vomit again but his parched tongue was grateful, and when he pushed the bottle away he was able to speak again.
"Is everyone gone?" he asked weakly.
"Mostly." Eames spilled some of the remaining water into his hand and used it to smooth Robert's hair back--the cool touch was soothing. "Do you want to be alone?"
No. Robert's hand seized around Eames's wrist. "Where's Peter?"
Fabric shifted nearby. "I'm here," said Browning.
Robert flinched. He wasn't sure what to make of his godfather's hoarse voice, and with a slow shudder he forced his eyes open. Browning was watching him from a nearby chair; he looked pale and grim, but not nearly as pale or grim as Robert thought he ought to. "Erhard," he said, "please give us some privacy."
"Yes, Mr. Fischer."
Erhard ushered his remaining peers out of the study and shut the door. As soon as Robert heard it click his eyes narrowed on Browning and he asked, "Are you my father?"
Browning's shoulders drooped, and he looked away. "I don't know."
Robert again tasted bile in his throat, and he grabbed at Eames's arm, using it as a crutch so he could stand. "Don't lie to me," he snapped. "Don't you dare lie to me after all that!"
"I don't know," Browning said again, facing him. He scraped his hand over his mouth. "We never tried to find out--no one wanted to know."
Robert wavered on his feet, and he knew if he looked at Browning any longer he would be sick again. His chest tightened until he couldn't breathe, and in a panic he shook away from Eames and stormed out of the study.
This can't be real. Robert clutched the back of the sofa, ignoring the startled and concerned looks of the bodyguards. It's just a sick joke, all of it. I don't want to be here. He blinked about the condo that was so familiar and so unwelcoming, letting it smear against his weary eyes. I'll make myself safe, he thought. Like before. He concentrated, as hard as he could, but nothing changed. Only sleek lines and pretentious artwork glared back at him: all the things he owned but had never cared to look at, like a pristine museum raised in honor of the wasted mockery that was Robert Fischer.
None of this is real. Robert stumbled away from the sofa, and when he caught a glimpse of blue sky he hastened toward it. It can't be--I have to be able to change it, just like Eames showed me. I can change it--
His outstretched hands rammed into polished glass, and he sagged against the broad picture window, staring past the balcony to the bright and ordinary Los Angeles skyline. Not a cloud dotted the sky and every building was tall, straight, and rectangular, as they were meant to be. He had forgotten that it looked that way, free of dreary ghosts and spinning windmills. He tried to tear them all down--his fingertips pawed at the glass as if they could do the work themselves--but life outside continued, oblivious to him. He reached for the balcony door.
Eames yanked his arm away from the handle, and he started, turning toward him with wide eyes. The truth crushed from all angles. "I'm awake," Robert said, "aren't I."
Eames smiled grimly. "Yes."
He tugged, and Robert leaned into him, hesitantly at first. His brain was still heavy with images from the dream, surging forward and overlapping each other like ocean waves. Everything was tumbling and crashing and draining inside his skull, and when Eames's firm arms wrapped him up, it overpowered him. He all but collapsed against Eames's chest beneath the weight of curved skyscrapers imploding into their foundations, of a thousand screaming ghosts plummeting to their deaths, of his father's gnarled hands and his godfather's fleeting smile and the small of his mother's back and Eames dying in the stairwell and--
A sob wracked him. He shrank into the warm embrace as a lifetime of bitterness flooded out of him through hot, desperate tears. Everything ached; everything was breaking way. And Eames did the best he could--he held him, his breath shallow against Robert's ear, accepting the anguish. Robert couldn't remember if anyone had ever held him like that. He clenched his fists against Eames's back and bore teeth against his collar as he wept, exhausted and ashamed and terrified, until all his life had flashed before his eyes and he had nothing left to give.
***
Ariadne didn't speak a word on the drive to Cobb's apartment. She sat in the passenger seat, their suit coats clenched against her lap, her eyes straight ahead. She dreaded that at any moment Cobb would turn to her and say again how wrong she had been, how naïve and cruel, and she wasn't sure she could handle that much truth--not with Arthur huddled in the back seat, quietly wheezing. By the time they arrived and Cobb, too, had said nothing, she was so tense she almost invited it.
Cobb shut off the car and handed her the keys, pointing out which ones were for the building and apartment. She left the jackets behind as they piled out and opened the rear door. "Arthur, we're here," she said, squeezing his shoulder. "Are you..."
Ariadne trailed off when she realized how still Arthur was beneath her hand. "Arthur?" She rocked him to no response. When Cobb reached forward to press two fingers to his throat she felt faint, but then he sighed and began to pull Arthur out of the car.
"Let's get him upstairs," he said.
Ariadne let them into Cobb's apartment on the second floor. She feared a patter of children's feet and children's voices, but the place was empty, and Cobb carried Arthur immediately into the master bedroom. Together they stretched him out on the bed, and Ariadne removed his shoes and tie while Cobb moved about the room, pulling the drapes closed.
"Arthur?" Once the room was as dark as it could be Ariadne slipped her scarf off his eyes, and sat down on the edge of the mattress next to him. "Can you hear me?" She cupped his face in both hands, stroked his cheeks with her thumbs, but he only continued to breathe shallowly, in and out.
Is he asleep? Unconscious? Ariadne's pulse rose into her ears as she took his shoulders and gave him a gentle shake. "Arthur?" Did he fall back under? The thought made her ill and she shook him again, harder. What if he didn't really make it out? What if half of him is still down there trapped, and he's not really here, he's down in Limbo just like Dr. Banks and he's not waking up? Panic sharpened at the back of her throat and she shoved him against the mattress. "Arthur!"
"Ow, stop." Arthur squirmed and pushed her hands off him. "Stop, I'm awake." He draped his arm over his eyes and let out a long sigh. "God, my head hurts."
Ariadne stared; her fists were tight and she wished she could punch him. Cobb must have seen, because he squeezed her shoulder. "We should let him rest," he said quietly.
"I want to stay with him," Ariadne replied. When his raised eyebrows asked, are you sure? she nodded. "I think I could use some rest, too."
"I'll check on you in a while," Cobb said. As he headed out he added, "Don't think you're not going to get an earful from me later, Arthur."
Arthur grimaced, and when the door shut he let out his breath in a long sigh. "Shit."
Ariadne watched him for a long moment, and at last slipped out of her shoes and stretched out next to him on the bed. "Are you really all right?" she asked. "There isn't part of you still under...?"
"No, I'm..." Arthur lifted his arm, allowing her to settle closer. "I'm all right. This is just like before, only...worse." He peeked at her with one eye but even the dull light managing to sneak through the curtains was too much, and he quickly closed it again. "Are you?"
"Yeah." Ariadne hesitated and then pressed her hand over his chest. She wanted to tell him that her own head was throbbing and she was close to being sick, but it was nothing compared to what he was going through. She gulped. "Do you think Fischer...?"
Arthur didn't reply for several long moments. "I don't know." His fingers threaded through her hair, plucking out the little pins that kept her bun in place. "But it's not your fault, Ariadne. None of it."
She didn't believe him. Squeezing her eyes shut she nestled into his side, head pillowed against his shoulder. She couldn't stop thinking about Robert's cold eyes glaring at her through his bloodless fingers, nor the rasp of his voice as he ordered them out. A tremor passed through her and her breath caught in her throat.
Arthur's fingertips stroked the back of her neck. "Please don't cry," he said quietly, so she clenched her jaws tight and did her best to hide it from him.
***
Robert dreamed of black. It was endless and silent and everything he could have hoped for. At long last he felt calm, adrift, with no past and no future cluttering his weary brain. Everything had fallen away and there was only formless dark awaiting him. He had control again and he could make his world into whatever he wished.
Robert dreamed of the beach. Water splashed his ankles as he strode in bare feet down the shore, the breeze salty against his lips. Every dozen steps or so he crouched down to paw through the coarse sand, plucking out seashells and wave-tumbled rocks, and sometimes little fish and broken glass. He knew with the clairvoyance of a child that each one was of the greatest importance, and he filled his pockets with all manner of raw materials.
When he was finished, he sat down in the sand and spread his trinkets lovingly around him. He was rather proud of himself and the variety he had managed to collect, and he spent hours arranging and then rearranging them into groups. At long last he was satisfied with his work, and he leaned back on his hands, thinking, That will do.
Robert stretched out on his back, feeling the sand ripple and melt until it became warm satin. The rays of sunlight stretching out of the clouds smoothed together, coating him, and the salt dissolved out of the air. He opened his eyes to a plain white ceiling.
"Good, I'm glad. Not yet, no."
Robert tried to move, but the weight of a blanket over his fully-clothed body was too much to bother with. Instead he squinted blearily at the room around him, tracing out the shapes of his bedside clock, and his dresser, and his closet door. Each was familiar, and he squirmed, trying to see more.
"If he doesn't wake up soon, I'm going back under. ...Well of course I don't want to, but I can't just leave him like this, can I?"
Robert followed the voice, blinking until his sight came into focus on Eames, standing in the open balcony doorway. He had a phone to his ear.
"I can't ask you to do that," Eames said. "You already--" He stopped, listening, and then his shoulders sagged. He rubbed his eyes. "All right... Thank you."
Robert sank into the mattress at his back. He was still heavy with sleep and very content to let Eames finish whatever conversation he was wrapped up in.
"I'll give him another hour, then call back." Eames glanced at Robert over his shoulder. "If I still can't get him to--"
Their eyes met, and Eames broke off, staring. After a long moment of silence he said into the phone, "Hold on a second," and moved to Robert's bedside. His gaze was intense as he studied Robert's face. "Robert? Are you awake?"
Robert blinked back at him. "You tell me."
Eames heaved a sigh. "He's awake," he said into the phone. "I'll call you back." He hung up, and once the phone was secure in his pocket he sat down on the edge of the bed. His smile was unlike anything Robert had seen before, pained and hopeful and lovely against the sterile room. "Ahh, there's my sleeping beauty."
Robert rolled his eyes. He tried again to move, and was at last able to slip his arms out from under the covers. His limbs were sluggish but they obeyed him; he rubbed his face with both hands and felt a little clearer. "How long was I out?"
"Almost five hours," Eames said. He shifted, his jaw working as if he were fighting back too many questions at once. "You had me worried--I thought I was going to have to go back in after you."
"I heard." Robert set his hands beneath him, and when Eames moved to help him he warned him off with a shake of his head. With a quiet groan he pushed himself up, settling his back into the headboard. His sight had recovered in full, and in looking about he knew once and for all that he really was sitting in his condo's bedroom. The wind coming in off the balcony smelled of the city, so much thicker and more pungent than his charming beach.
"I'm awake," he murmured. He looked back to Eames, studying the wrinkles etched into the corners of his eyes and mouth. "You look like hell."
Eames let out a quiet bark of laughter, and with the release his expression crumpled. He shifted closer and drew Robert into his arms. His hands were tense, and when he pressed his face into the slope of Robert's neck his breath was halting. Robert remained still at first, confused, but when he had the strength he returned the embrace. It was a mysterious sensation, feeling Eames's broad shoulders tremble within the circle of his arms.
"I needed you to wake up," Eames said.
Robert smiled, but then too much emotion twisted his face, too, and swelled down into his chest. His fingers tightened against the back of Eames's neck. They remained that way for long minutes, breathing hard in the quiet room, until Eames leaned back. His eyes were red but he was smiling again as he touched Robert's cheeks. "How do you feel?" he asked. "Are you still in pain?"
Robert sagged into the headboard again. "I don't know. I mean, it doesn't hurt anymore." He closed his eyes and sighed contentedly when Eames ran his fingers through his short hair. "It just feels strange, like I've been asleep for months."
Eames's hands stopped, and he lowered them to the bed. "How much do you remember?" he asked quietly.
The prompting spread a series of visions across the screen of Robert's closed eyelids, and his brow furrowed as he shuffled through them, sorting them, remembering. He breathed slowly, in and out, as they gradually fit into structure. When he opened his eyes the first thing he saw was Eames's chest, and he reached out, trailing his hand down the paths of bullets. He curled his fingers and could almost feel dried blood pulling at his skin; he felt Arthur's hand clenched too tightly around his, and Nash's hair pulling free in his grip, and the polish of his father's old desk. It was all close to his surface, but when he concentrated, everything slid into place and made sense in one long stream of events, like a picture book opening before him.
"I remember everything," he said. He let his hand fall and looked to Eames; when their eyes met he realized at last how light he felt. He had clarity he hadn't known he'd been missing, as if weights had peeled off his brain and bones. Two deep breaths later, he was ready. "Where's Peter?"
Robert kept his arm around Eames's as they left the room together. His feet were clumsy at first, but every step was stronger than the last. His and Browning's bodyguards were gathered in the great room, and they hurried to their feet as Robert entered.
"Mr. Fischer!" Erhard moved to greet them. "We didn't know you were awake. Are you all right? Can I get you anything?"
"No, I'm all right." Robert glanced about, and shuddered when his eyes fell on the closed study door. "Where's Peter?"
Erhard pointed to the guest room. "He's with that woman, the doctor."
Robert frowned, but he started toward it anyway. Without knocking he opened the door, and was met immediately by the sight of Charla Banks stretched out on the guest bed. Her arms were draped over her stomach and her eyes were closed, her face arranged in an expression of peaceful slumber.
Browning was seated in a chair at her bedside. As soon as he saw Robert he straightened, but when he started to stand Robert motioned for him not to. "Robert," he said, his hands tight on the chair's arms. "God, it's good to see you awake."
Robert glanced again to Charla. "She hasn't woken up at all?"
Browning fidgeted. "No. I was going to call her colleagues at her institute, but I wanted to wait until..." He sighed. "Until you were awake. Are you all right?"
"I don't know," Robert replied honestly. He squeezed Eames's arm but then realized he already had all the courage he needed. "Are you my father?"
"Robert." Browning slumped back in the chair. "I told you--I don't know. It's the truth."
"So you did have an affair with Mrs. Fischer," Eames interrupted.
Browning glared at him, but when he looked to Robert his irritation faltered. "Yes," he said. "And with the timing...it's possible. But it wasn't that your mother..." He winced, and rubbed his jaw, and tried again. "Robert, your mother, she didn't, that is..."
"She wasn't a slut?" Robert supplied for him tersely. "Is that what you're trying to say?"
His shoulders fell. "Of course not." He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped sweat off his brow, and Robert waited, patient but intense, for him to continue. "I was hired into Fischer Morrow just after your parents got married," he said. "They were already waffling between being happy and not. Maurice was always busy with the company, and she needed someone on her side, and I...." He shrugged helplessly. "These things happen."
These things happen, Robert thought, staring down at the ground. "I understand," he said. "It was a mistake."
"Wait." Browning started to stand up again. "Robert, I don't want you to think that--"
"Sit down," Robert snapped, and he did. He took only a moment to compose himself again. "Did Maurice know?"
Browning pursed his lips and shook his head. "I don't know--we never told him. When Charla told me that he'd hired an extractor I thought he would find out for sure, but he never brought it up to me. But...maybe. If nothing else, I think he suspected."
Robert took in a shaky breath, and Eames leaned closer, whispering, "You don't have to do this now."
"No, I'm all right," he said. He faced Browning seriously. "And Dr. Banks?" He remembered their brief conversation in Arthur's hotel, and the insults that suddenly made sense. "She was trying to kill me, thinking I was yours. Did you use her, too?"
"Robert." Browning rocked to the edge of his chair. "I asked for her help. I didn't know what she was really up to, and I'm sorry--God, I'm so sorry--but you have to remember what you've been like recently. I had to do something and she was the only one I could...I thought I could trust."
Robert's eyes narrowed. "Did you use her, too?" he repeated.
Browning sighed in exasperation, but at last admitted, "We were together at one point, yes. But how was I supposed to know she was obsessed? That was years ago."
"These things happen," Eames said dryly.
Browning's attention snapped on him, and he jabbed at him with an accusing finger. "Don't you dare--I haven't forgotten about you. I know you did something to him on that plane. This wouldn't have happened if not for--"
"Peter," Robert said. "This isn't about him. I just want the truth from you."
"And I'm telling you the truth," he insisted. "Please, just..." He grimaced, and shook his head. "Robert, listen. If we do a test--if it's put on paper--someone is going to find out, and then you and I will both be ruined." He sighed. "But I'll do it, if that's what you want. I know I owe you that much."
Robert stared down at him with half-lidded eyes. His stomach itched and he could already imagine himself tearing open a flimsy manila envelope, followed by screeching tabloids and buzzing lawyers. He was a coward but he wasn't ashamed. "What does your gut tell you?" he asked. "Honestly."
Browning wilted, and at last the regret in his face looked sincere. He smiled, just barely. "That you're exactly like your mother," he said.
And he meant it. Robert could tell, and he closed his eyes briefly, filling himself with the memories of her. He still had many questions but for just a moment, he was satisfied. He took in a deep breath. "I want you to call Shelby," he said. "Tell her to contact my realtor and have some paperwork drawn up to put this place on the market. I don't care at what price--I want this condo sold as soon as possible."
"What?" Browning--and Eames--watched him in confusion. "What are you talking about?"
"As soon as possible," Robert repeated. "Fully furnished, except for a few things I'll itemize for her." He gave Eames's hand a squeeze. "By tomorrow I want to be looking at properties for sale--homes, preferably, somewhere secure, within a decent distance to the office. I'd like to be able to see water if I can."
Browning rubbed the back of his neck. "I know you've just been through lot, but there's no need to do all this now. You can take your time and--"
"I'm not stepping foot inside this place again," Robert said resolutely. "I'll stay in a hotel until I can close on a place, if I have to." The thought of ever dozing off only to awaken in the study was enough to give him goose bumps. "All right?"
"...I'll tell her."
He looked to Charla, having almost forgotten she was still there, smiling unconsciously into her oblivion. "Will she ever wake up?" he asked.
Browning shook his head. "Even if she does, there's not much the law can do to her, considering how few laws there are against mind crime. And the fact that I hired her in the first place." His lip quirked. "Unless you're going to have me arrested, too."
Robert and Eames both glared at him until his humor shriveled. "She's not going to wake up," Eames said. "Not unless she wants to. And she won't want to."
Robert had to look away. "Call her institute," he told Browning. "Have someone come and get her. If she wakes up...I'll decide what to do about her then." He frowned. "I'm leaving now. I'll keep my phone on but I don't want to hear from anyone unless it's absolutely vital, understand?"
Browning started to question, but thankfully, thought better of it. "All right," he replied. He sobered, as if only then coming to understand the gravity of his confessions. "But I think we need to talk again, soon." His gaze flickered to Eames and back. "In private."
Robert nodded vaguely. "I'll think about it." He tugged at Eames's arm, and together they left the study.
"I want to ask if you're all right," Eames said, "but you haven't been able to give me a straight answer so far."
The bodyguards glanced up, and Robert pulled Eames swiftly past them. "I'm...hungry," he said, and was surprised when he meant it.
"Hungry? Well, that's a good sign, I suppose." Eames smiled at him. "Then we'll find someplace cozy and out of the way, and finally get a proper meal in you."
"Mr. Fischer," Erhard said, and they paused, glancing back at him. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Can we come with you?"
Robert frowned, glancing between him and Marcus. I am paying them to be security, he thought. As much good as they did. But they looked sincere, and he couldn't deny that he would appreciate having another set of eyes looking out for him.
Eames leaned in to his ear. "You told me before that you're alone," he said quietly. "But that's not true."
Robert squirmed on his feet, and though he was anxious to have Eames alone, the words warmed him. "All right," he relented. He even managed a smile. "Erhard, Marcus, come with us. Let's find something to eat."
***
To the rest of Chapter 19