My Dear Mrs. Dixon (21/23?)
Title: My Dear Mrs. Dixon
Rating: PG 13
Part: 21 of 23?
Pairing: Eames/Ariadne
Disclaimer: I am just playing with Nolan's toys
Summary: The only sensible solution to their current problem is to get 'married' of course!
Author's Note: Written in response to a prompt at inception_kink that called for Ariadne and Eames to go undercover as a couple for a job. As this story winds down, I want to thank everyone again for all the support. Christmas break is mere weeks away and I plan to finish the story up between now and the end of the year. Hope you all enjoy this chapter!
Back chapters can be found using this tag:
http://irishcookie.livejournal.com/tag/miss%20dixon
Part Twenty-One
Two days.
That is all the time they have left to perfect the plan.
Because two days from now Ambrose Dixon is meeting Martin Collins for a nice business lunch and Elizabeth Dixon is going to walk in and serve her self up as distraction.
And hopefully three days from now the information requested will be in the hands of the clients who have been subtly (perhaps beginning to borderline on not-so-subtly) hinting they could find the trio no matter where they hide.
Ariadne just wants the whole mess behind her. She wants to have the time to sit down and think through the past week. With that goal in mind she has spent as much time as humanly possible in the loft, furiously sketching and then molding together the new dreamscape.
It is simple enough. A hotel restaurant, a room, a ‘safe’ place for which Collins to place his deepest darkest secrets. She regrets that she can’t be as detailed as she normally is. However, if it is noticeable, neither Eames nor Arthur has said anything. The pair have spent their time conspiring.
At least that is what it feels like to her. She has watched them as she sketches, and pieces together models. They sit on the opposite side of the loft, and speak quietly. She knows that they are discussing the job - discussing her. Despite Arthur giving her support from the beginning and Eames telling her that he is warming up to the idea of dangling her in front of Collins, she knows neither man is truly happy with it. No doubt they are scheming up ways to protect her. However, since they are not trying to convince her to withdraw her involvement she decides to let them have their hushed tones.
She is absorbed in her model, running through it in her mind’s eye to ensure that she has it memorized when she hears the scrap of a chair. She looks up to see Eames heading her way. His face is passive but she can see the warmth in his eyes. She can’t stop the faint smile that crosses her face.
“I’ll walk you home,” he says.
Ariadne glances at the clock, realizing afternoon has passed into evening. The sunlight is almost gone and she thinks of her bed in her apartment. She wonders if he would like to stay with her and if the escort is just an excuse.
As much as a good portion of her brain would like spend the night with him, she knows that it is not the best course of action. At least not until they had had a chance to talk. She knows if she stands and goes with him they will not talk.
“I am not ready to leave,” she tells him. “I’ve walked home many times by myself before. I’ll be all right.” There is meaning behind her words and she knows he understands when she sees his eyes darken.
Still he bids her good night and she watches him leave wishing she had just followed him instead of trying to be so damn logical all the time. She looks back to her model, knowing now that she has to find some excuse to stay longer. She begins to fiddle, to use the paintbrush to create details that she knows will not make it into the real dreamscape. She can feel Arthur watching her and groans inwardly. He is being his usual perceptive self no doubt.
When he stands and reaches for the silver briefcase she is curious. She stands and meets him in the middle where he is setting up the PASIV. “Do you want to go over the layout again?” It’s only a precaution as Arthur is not going under. But being Arthur, he wants to know it as well as the other two.
She settles in a chair and he hands her a line. She hears the familiar hiss of activation, feels the drugs course through her system and her eyes grow heavy. She expects to be standing in the restaurant but finds that Arthur has taken control - this is his world and she is the dreamer.
They are standing outside what looks like a large grey box that has been plopped down in the middle of no where. It takes her a moment to realize it is a building and she glances at Arthur in confusion. “What?” Her voice trails off when he heads for the only door and she has no choice but to follow.
Stepping inside, she takes in the industrial feel, the concrete, the lighting almost too bright for her eyes and things fall into place. She shakes her head and looks to Arthur who is already reaching for two pairs of ear protection. “Really Arthur?”
“I come here to practice,” he explains.
It doesn’t surprise her that he sharpens his skills in a dreamscape instead of going to a real firing range. It is so very Arthur.
She watches as he picks up a small handgun. After examining it, he outstretches his hand toward her. This isn’t the first time Arthur has suggested she get better acquainted with a gun. However, this is the first time he has given her little choice. She takes the gun, and finds it surprisingly light. “I know how to pull the trigger, Arthur.”
“In the heat of the moment, I am sure you do,” he answers. He knows about her time in limbo and how she ‘improvised’ with Mal. They both know that if she is threatened, she can do what is necessary to protect herself. However, to be on the offense, to be the one to threaten - well she is not sure if she is as capable. “Calmly pulling the trigger is a skill you need.”
She hates that he is always correct. She asked for more responsibility and this is a consequence of that request. “Okay, Arthur. Teach me.”
He smiles and she resists the urge to roll her eyes. As she has predicted he begins by launching into an explanation of how this particular model of gun works. She squashes the urge to point out it doesn’t matter the gun she is pretty sure that all you have to do is aim and shoot.
She puts the necessary protection on as Arthur takes aim with a similar gun. Without even blinking he fires rapidly. She is glad that his back is to her because she can’t help but flinch - even though she doesn’t mean to. Despite the protection, the noise seems loud and unnecessary.
She pulls out the ear plugs as the target swings down the line towards them. She is not at all surprised to see shots to the head, the neck, the heart. Arthur has moved quickly but he has made every shot count.
It will take a lot of practice for her to be able to do it just as he has. Right now, she will settle for holding the gun without her hand shaking. And perhaps, if she can manage, a ‘clean’ shot.
She doesn’t need to be told to step up. She replaces the protection and narrows her eyes at the fresh target. She can feel Arthur’s eyes on her and knows he is dissecting her stance, the way she is holding the gun - everything. She tries to think of it as a lesson she must master and nothing more. When she fires, she prides herself that she does not react.
Or so she thinks.
She feels his hand on her shoulder and she sets down the gun before pulling the plugs from her ears. “You hit him in the stomach. He would be on the ground, writhing in pain. Could you finish the job?”
Ariadne hates that she thinks in images. She can see the man lying at her feet, a pool of blood spreading, the red staining her sneakers. “He would do the same to me,” she tells him.
“In some cases yes, but what if it was an old man on the street, a child…”
She shakes her head. A rare moment of dramatics from him? “Christ, Arthur…”
“Projections come in all shapes and sizes, Ariadne,” he reminds her. “And sometimes removing them is a necessary step. Sometimes you need to act before they become a threat.”
“Is this revenge for me wanting more responsibility?” Ariadne asks. “Because, honestly, it feels a bit heavy handed.”
“And here I thought I was being realistic…” Arthur trails off with a slight smile on his face. It disappears as quickly as it appeared and he nods. “Maybe. Or maybe I just want you to be prepared for what you will be facing.”
“Always looking out for me,” she says playfully and almost laughs until she notices the look on his face - a look that tells her he is taking her words much more seriously then she has intended. Nerves flair in her stomach. “You know,” she says quietly as she runs a hand down her face. “Of course you know everything.”
Thankfully, he doesn’t play dumb or ask for clarification. “To be fair, if you both thought that you were being inconspicuous then I am afraid that I might have to send you back to Criminal Behavior 101.”
“Not funny, Arthur,” she says. She is surprised how relieved she feels now that she knows Arthur knows. She has been so afraid of how he will react and how it will change their relationship. She should have realized that he would have it all figured out. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“I am sure that you have had a great many things on the tip of your tongue,” she points out.
“You mean you are waiting for me to tell you how incredibly stupid you are for getting more involved with Eames than you were a week ago?” Arthur asks.
“Odd choice of words considering I am standing within reaching distance of a gun,” Ariadne points out.
He shrugs. “I would just wake up.” He leans against the wall before continuing, “Besides, I don’t think you are incredibly stupid.”
“Now I know I am dreaming,” she says sarcastically. This conversation is going in the complete opposite direction then she had expected. She is not sure what to think. “Arthur, this is Eames we are talking about.”
“It sounds like you want me to be up in arms. I wonder if that would make you feel better about the fact that you are holding back.”
Ariadne considers his words for a moment. “You really are a perceptive jerk you know that right?”
“I am not going to say that he is an angel. I’ve known him a lot longer than you. I have seen…” He trails off. “Well, I am not sure if I should be telling you some of the things I have seen. As much as I hate to admit it, knowing him the way I do, he doesn’t take things like this lightly. I think he cares for you and doesn’t know what to do about it.”
Ariadne snorts. “Are we talking about the same man? Didn’t I hear him once brag about the number of notches on his bedpost?”
“Do you care about him?” Arthur asks, his tone dead serious.
She doesn’t even have to think. “I do.”
“And that scares you.” It’s not a question this time.
“It does,” she confirms.
“Are you willing step back because you are scared?”
“Have I ever done that before?” She asks and she notes a slight grin on his face.
“So it’s settled then,” Arthur says. He pushes himself off the wall and appears ready to say something. When he doesn’t, Ariadne tilts her head and raises an eyebrow. He sighs. “Okay. Even though you’re an adult and a strong minded female…”
“Thank you for noticing,” Ariadne says. “Please do go on.”
“I still feel the need to say - if he hurts you, I will have no choice but to kick his ass,” Arthur finishes.
Ariadne makes a face. “What I hurt him?” The look on his face tells her that for once she has thrown him for a loop. “Seriously, Arthur, what if I hurt him?”
He rubs a hand on the back of his neck, appearing lost in thought. “Then he probably deserved it.”
She shakes her head. “My God, is it so hard to admit that you care for the man? If I hurt him you should want to kick my ass too.”
“I can only take this equality thing so far because the old fashioned gentleman in me rears its ugly head,” Arthur admits, and he actually looks rather sheepish.
“At least promise me that you’ll give me a strongly worded speech or two?”
“I can manage that,” Arthur tells her.
“Fair enough.” With that, she picks up the gun and resumes fire.