[FIC] And The Rest Will Come - PG-13 - 7031 - 3/3
Title: And The Rest Will Come
Chapter: Three
Author: koushi
Pairing: Cobb/Robert
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 7031 (total)
Disclaimer: I do not own Inception or any of its characters.
Summary/Prompt: Written for these prompts, one and two, on inception_kink . Angst, romance, and fluff.
Warnings: Cursing, mild violence.
Cobb had a hunch that it wasn’t the skating rink and hoped fervently that his gut feeling would later be validated. There was no time to go snoop around on his own and, plus, he might arouse suspicion and even get himself captured if Ted saw him scouting the premises. He had the TV blaring, and the latest development in the Fischer case, according to them, was that terms of a ransom agreement were in the talks. He chuckled snidely to himself. That was code for “the ransom price is too high, and we’re trying to delay things for a better deal.” Astute reasoning, Peter Browning, but I’m afraid it won’t do for me. Every second that passes in which I know Robert is in the clutches of some dishonorable psychopath feels like another ten years of self-flagellation to me.
So that left two choices: the office building and the cargo hold. Cobb was puzzled by how he would make a decision when he had no basis on which to place an educated guess. Ted had always met him in a public place, such as a bar or coffee shop, each time in a different part of town. Surreptitious bastard, really. Thus, in spite of all his pondering, the best he could do was a fifty-fifty guess at random.
He nervously retrieved the small silver top from its resting place since he’d returned: a delicate container that used to be one of Mal’s jewelry boxes, perched atop a chest of drawers. Most people would probably flip a coin, and indeed that was the logical solution. But Cobb was quite attached to divination by top, and even months of nonuse could not cure his habit of dependency on the ritual. Now that I need you the most, please, tell me where I should go. He took a deep breath and spun the top on his nightstand. If it falls facing a westward direction, I will go to the office building, if instead it chooses the east, I’ll visit the cargo hold.
The nimble object danced around the polished wooden surface like a ballerina doing endless pirouettes, but even it had to finally rest its weary legs, clattering to the side and sliding in a few half-hearted circles before finally coming to a full stop and a final decision. To the docks it is.
The drive was uneventful and felt like any ordinary evening pass around the city. He’d asked one of the neighbors to watch over the children, and the older lady had obliged without hesitation. The people in his suburbs felt guilty for their initial ostracizing of the widower as a cold-blooded murderer, trying now to make amends since they’d found out he was innocent of all charges. He, on the other hand, held no grudges towards the lot: after all, “innocent” wasn’t exactly a term he’d use to describe himself.
As Cobb exited his vehicle, he stood there for a second, letting the ocean scent waft over him. He had once been fearful of the sea, the pungent odor reminding him of his days in Limbo, the place where he’d made his first mistake, the place where he’d grown old, only to be jettisoned back into the corporeal reality of a young man-the experiences half-remembered. But now… now he flared his nostrils and welcomed the flavor because it held for him a beautiful dream, even if it couldn’t last.
He filed through the district of solemn gray warehouses, huge crates littering the pathway and creating a maze from the otherwise simplistic design. Around every corner, he held his breath wondering if Robert could be standing there, his aqua eyes lined with dark lashes, always so far away even when they stared right back into his own. Instead, a dark emptiness prevailed.
When Cobb reached the property in question, he scanned the premises, puzzled. It didn’t seem like anyone was around. Had Arthur forgotten? Or had they flubbed the address? He felt panic rise like bile within him until a member of the SWAT team, dressed in all black camo and night vision goggles, peeked out from behind another building and gestured for him to come over.
“You’re Arthur’s friend, right?” the cop whispered. He nodded in response. The man then said something unintelligible into his radio and gave Cobb a thumbs up, signaling that he could enter. Without alerting the inhabitants, if any, of each property, the police teams, in unison, were to set off false fire alarms while placing harmless smoke bombs to flush out the people within. He was confident there would be enough contraband to constitute grounds for arrest, even besides the fact of Robert Fischer’s presence.
Cobb decided to take the back entrance, guessing that Robert, if he were here at all, would not be tucked in near the front of the structure. Already dark on the interior-this much he could tell from the vantage point of the doorway-the hiss of smoke started to fizzle into the air and blurred what little moonlight he had been using to guide his steps. He laughed inwardly at his decision to bring his trusty Beretta; even if danger crossed his path, the chances of hitting his target in these conditions were negligible.
It was total blindness. He stumbled through, feeling his way along the walls and nearly tripping on stacks of old boxes strewn around the complex. Even his sense of sound seemed impaired as the blaring sirens came on, dulled in intensity by his lack of awareness. It felt like being underwater, a world separated by the thinnest of membranes, but raising his arms, he couldn’t reach the surface.
Cobb floated in a dreamlike haze for what felt like hours, but he no longer had any sense of time or even of what remained of his physical self apart from two searching hands and two timid feet. I’m grateful for the smoke, grateful for the darkness. That way I can guide him out of here to the authorities without revealing my identity: a true head of security knows when to slink back into the shadows.
And, as if on cue, his shoe bumped lightly into something with more give. Bending down, he felt warmth emanating from the body before him. Yes, it was definitely a person, eerily silent as if in a trance. Robert. He groped for and unfastened the restraints on his arms and legs, pulling him to his feet. Next came the blindfold-for what good that did-and the gag: this took extra time as Cobb slowly traced his fingers over his prominent cheekbones and soft lips. First and last time in reality we’ll ever be this close again…
But, upon tasting freedom, the first thing Robert did was to give him a mean left hook to the jaw. “Robert Fischer is not a man to be tied up and tossed around like a sack of potatoes!”
“Motherfucker!” Cobb blurted out, momentarily blinded by the pain.
“Shit!” Robert exclaimed, rubbing his knuckles. “Is that really you, Mr. Charles?”
“It doesn’t matter. We have to get you out of here,” Cobb bit his tongue in pain and frustration: he couldn’t mask his voice. And for how skinny you are, you can sure throw a punch.
“I’m so sorry about that. I really believed you were one of them… and that it was my one chance to make an escape, under the cover of night and noise. But still, I knew you’d come back for me,” Robert said with genuine exuberance as he felt for and clung to Cobb’s arm. Could this be reality?
Together, arm-in-arm, they scuffled back toward the exit. Despite his initial violent outburst, Cobb could tell that his companion was feeling the effects of malnourishment, weakly trailing behind him as if ready to collapse at any moment. To keep his mind active, he questioned Robert about the details of his confinement.
“They moved me here just an hour or so ago. Last second adjustment, they said: assholes wanted to be able to dump the evidence, that is me, into the ocean if anything went awry,” Robert stated bitterly, hoping he’d never have to revisit such memories.
I could kiss my totem right now, Cobb thought, stunned at the coincidental nature of his discovery. And whatever deities of luck and fate that exist out there, thank you for taking pity on me. He couldn’t, however, help but play the part so familiar to him once again. “As long as you’re safe now, boss, that’s all that matters.”
***
The cops allowed Robert to leave on account of his physical condition, extracting a promise to be back at the station for questioning within the week. They were more than delighted with the fact that they’d caught the kidnappers without so much as lifting a finger: Ted Carlson himself had been found at the skating rink. He was half-dressed and drunkenly stumbling to the door upon hearing the alarm, a huge boon for the department considering there were already three warrants out for his arrest, one having to do with Theft by Dream, a crime with which Cobb was well-acquainted.
When the couple reached Cobb’s home, guided inside by the glimmering porch light and relieving the kindly neighbor of her duties, the first thing Robert did was raid the pantry. He hadn’t eaten for several days, after all. With a bottled water and a packet of cheese crackers clenched in his palms, he munched enthusiastically.
Cobb sat wordlessly next to him at the dining room table, waiting patiently for him to finish his snack. It wasn’t a long wait, considering the rate at which the hungered man wolfed it down, but he wasn’t looking forward to giving the explanation that was due-the one that couldn’t be put off any longer. I don’t know how he’ll take it, but it’s better that he hears it from me right now than later from some other source.
“My name is Dominick Cobb,” he finally said. “And this is not a dream.”
So he told Robert everything. About his wife, about Cobol Engineering, about Saito’s offer, about the Inception job, about Ted Carlson, about the secretly shared dreams, everything. He longed for some kind of reaction: outrage, anger, any sort of indication of Robert’s thoughts, but all he did was listen-his face unblinking, as blank as if he were being told about the climate in Nepal.
He sat silent for a long time, digesting it along with his recent meal. Cobb could feel his own insides twist into knots with every second that he awaited a response. Please say something, anything, to end this agony. I want to know how badly I’ve broken you, so I know how many pieces to glue back together.
“It’s almost unbelievable. Like something you’d see in a movie or read in a book,” Robert broke the silence with amused curiosity, as if he were still trying to tie together the loose ends.
“Sad as it is, though, it’s the truth. I’m not going to lie to you anymore, even though our whole relationship has been built on lies. In fact, you have no reason to trust me whatsoever, but I put myself at your mercy in sharing all this. If you believe a word I said, please believe that it was never my intention to fuck everything up for you, and I’m so desperately sorry,” Cobb said in a jumble of guilt-ridden apologies, staring down at his hands with self-reproach.
“What do you mean?”
“You know, the false idea I planted in your head… about your father.”
Out of the blue, Robert started to laugh, causing Cobb to furrow his brow. What’s so funny about this? Can’t you see how I’m torn apart, the way that you should be as well? “I thought you, as head of security of all people, would have a better idea of who I was. What you gave me was more permanent than that. I’ve learned to live beyond my father’s memory, a wholly independent organism. And dammit, Mr. Charles… I mean Mr. Cobb, contrary to what you might think as my ‘protector,’ I am not so fragile.”
“Your fist mostly certainly isn’t,” Cobb allowed himself to join in the chuckling, although still apprehensive about Robert’s emotional state.
“It doesn’t matter to me how it came to be,” Robert reached out across the table, beckoning for Cobb’s hand, which he squeezed as soon as it was offered, “as long as it is. The same goes for us: I’m just happy to have you back. Plus, projection or not, I don’t think you’re good enough of an actor to have falsified who you really were.”
Cobb gave him a look of disbelief, as if to question the very presumption of his sanity. “You don’t seem to understand the gravity of my actions. I very well could have scarred you for life.”
“And you don’t have to have been perfect,” Robert said. Just show the depth of your love… and the rest will come.
Their conversation was put on hold by the staccato of little feet against the hardwood floors. The children seemed wide-awake-as they should have been since they’d been staying up, making finger-puppets with flashlights and giggling.
“Daddy, we heard you talking!”
“I’m so sorry, honey, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“No, no, it’s okay. We’re always glad when you come home, Dad,” James said, giving a hug to Cobb’s arm as he couldn’t reach any higher. Cobb grinned, swiveling his torso to the side to ruffle the boy’s hair lovingly.
Their guest watched, enthralled by the genuine display of familial affection. If Robert had had a modicum of doubt remaining in his heart about the man he’d fallen for, it was, in that moment, entirely eradicated.
***
The two men sat at a bar, their eyes glowing only with reflections of each other. Each brandished a drink in his hand, swishing its contents before taking a delicate sip.
Cobb had his usual scotch on the rocks, and Robert had ordered a whiskey because it was reality, and here, lucidity be damned.
“Another, sir?” the bartender asked, eyeing the couple.
“No, thank you,” Robert replied with a smile. “But call us a taxi, please. We have to be home in time to tuck the kids in.”
It had been his privilege, since he and Cobb started living together, to read Phillipa and James their nightly bedtime stories, to ferry them across the river of consciousness to the dreams that lay beyond. Tonight he was ready to begin a book of classic fairy tales that he’d picked up after the last board meeting, and, although he knew it was not the case with every story, Robert now accepted that there was indeed such a thing as a happy ending.
FIN
Chapter: Three
Author: koushi
Pairing: Cobb/Robert
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 7031 (total)
Disclaimer: I do not own Inception or any of its characters.
Summary/Prompt: Written for these prompts, one and two, on inception_kink . Angst, romance, and fluff.
Warnings: Cursing, mild violence.
Cobb had a hunch that it wasn’t the skating rink and hoped fervently that his gut feeling would later be validated. There was no time to go snoop around on his own and, plus, he might arouse suspicion and even get himself captured if Ted saw him scouting the premises. He had the TV blaring, and the latest development in the Fischer case, according to them, was that terms of a ransom agreement were in the talks. He chuckled snidely to himself. That was code for “the ransom price is too high, and we’re trying to delay things for a better deal.” Astute reasoning, Peter Browning, but I’m afraid it won’t do for me. Every second that passes in which I know Robert is in the clutches of some dishonorable psychopath feels like another ten years of self-flagellation to me.
So that left two choices: the office building and the cargo hold. Cobb was puzzled by how he would make a decision when he had no basis on which to place an educated guess. Ted had always met him in a public place, such as a bar or coffee shop, each time in a different part of town. Surreptitious bastard, really. Thus, in spite of all his pondering, the best he could do was a fifty-fifty guess at random.
He nervously retrieved the small silver top from its resting place since he’d returned: a delicate container that used to be one of Mal’s jewelry boxes, perched atop a chest of drawers. Most people would probably flip a coin, and indeed that was the logical solution. But Cobb was quite attached to divination by top, and even months of nonuse could not cure his habit of dependency on the ritual. Now that I need you the most, please, tell me where I should go. He took a deep breath and spun the top on his nightstand. If it falls facing a westward direction, I will go to the office building, if instead it chooses the east, I’ll visit the cargo hold.
The nimble object danced around the polished wooden surface like a ballerina doing endless pirouettes, but even it had to finally rest its weary legs, clattering to the side and sliding in a few half-hearted circles before finally coming to a full stop and a final decision. To the docks it is.
The drive was uneventful and felt like any ordinary evening pass around the city. He’d asked one of the neighbors to watch over the children, and the older lady had obliged without hesitation. The people in his suburbs felt guilty for their initial ostracizing of the widower as a cold-blooded murderer, trying now to make amends since they’d found out he was innocent of all charges. He, on the other hand, held no grudges towards the lot: after all, “innocent” wasn’t exactly a term he’d use to describe himself.
As Cobb exited his vehicle, he stood there for a second, letting the ocean scent waft over him. He had once been fearful of the sea, the pungent odor reminding him of his days in Limbo, the place where he’d made his first mistake, the place where he’d grown old, only to be jettisoned back into the corporeal reality of a young man-the experiences half-remembered. But now… now he flared his nostrils and welcomed the flavor because it held for him a beautiful dream, even if it couldn’t last.
He filed through the district of solemn gray warehouses, huge crates littering the pathway and creating a maze from the otherwise simplistic design. Around every corner, he held his breath wondering if Robert could be standing there, his aqua eyes lined with dark lashes, always so far away even when they stared right back into his own. Instead, a dark emptiness prevailed.
When Cobb reached the property in question, he scanned the premises, puzzled. It didn’t seem like anyone was around. Had Arthur forgotten? Or had they flubbed the address? He felt panic rise like bile within him until a member of the SWAT team, dressed in all black camo and night vision goggles, peeked out from behind another building and gestured for him to come over.
“You’re Arthur’s friend, right?” the cop whispered. He nodded in response. The man then said something unintelligible into his radio and gave Cobb a thumbs up, signaling that he could enter. Without alerting the inhabitants, if any, of each property, the police teams, in unison, were to set off false fire alarms while placing harmless smoke bombs to flush out the people within. He was confident there would be enough contraband to constitute grounds for arrest, even besides the fact of Robert Fischer’s presence.
Cobb decided to take the back entrance, guessing that Robert, if he were here at all, would not be tucked in near the front of the structure. Already dark on the interior-this much he could tell from the vantage point of the doorway-the hiss of smoke started to fizzle into the air and blurred what little moonlight he had been using to guide his steps. He laughed inwardly at his decision to bring his trusty Beretta; even if danger crossed his path, the chances of hitting his target in these conditions were negligible.
It was total blindness. He stumbled through, feeling his way along the walls and nearly tripping on stacks of old boxes strewn around the complex. Even his sense of sound seemed impaired as the blaring sirens came on, dulled in intensity by his lack of awareness. It felt like being underwater, a world separated by the thinnest of membranes, but raising his arms, he couldn’t reach the surface.
Cobb floated in a dreamlike haze for what felt like hours, but he no longer had any sense of time or even of what remained of his physical self apart from two searching hands and two timid feet. I’m grateful for the smoke, grateful for the darkness. That way I can guide him out of here to the authorities without revealing my identity: a true head of security knows when to slink back into the shadows.
And, as if on cue, his shoe bumped lightly into something with more give. Bending down, he felt warmth emanating from the body before him. Yes, it was definitely a person, eerily silent as if in a trance. Robert. He groped for and unfastened the restraints on his arms and legs, pulling him to his feet. Next came the blindfold-for what good that did-and the gag: this took extra time as Cobb slowly traced his fingers over his prominent cheekbones and soft lips. First and last time in reality we’ll ever be this close again…
But, upon tasting freedom, the first thing Robert did was to give him a mean left hook to the jaw. “Robert Fischer is not a man to be tied up and tossed around like a sack of potatoes!”
“Motherfucker!” Cobb blurted out, momentarily blinded by the pain.
“Shit!” Robert exclaimed, rubbing his knuckles. “Is that really you, Mr. Charles?”
“It doesn’t matter. We have to get you out of here,” Cobb bit his tongue in pain and frustration: he couldn’t mask his voice. And for how skinny you are, you can sure throw a punch.
“I’m so sorry about that. I really believed you were one of them… and that it was my one chance to make an escape, under the cover of night and noise. But still, I knew you’d come back for me,” Robert said with genuine exuberance as he felt for and clung to Cobb’s arm. Could this be reality?
Together, arm-in-arm, they scuffled back toward the exit. Despite his initial violent outburst, Cobb could tell that his companion was feeling the effects of malnourishment, weakly trailing behind him as if ready to collapse at any moment. To keep his mind active, he questioned Robert about the details of his confinement.
“They moved me here just an hour or so ago. Last second adjustment, they said: assholes wanted to be able to dump the evidence, that is me, into the ocean if anything went awry,” Robert stated bitterly, hoping he’d never have to revisit such memories.
I could kiss my totem right now, Cobb thought, stunned at the coincidental nature of his discovery. And whatever deities of luck and fate that exist out there, thank you for taking pity on me. He couldn’t, however, help but play the part so familiar to him once again. “As long as you’re safe now, boss, that’s all that matters.”
***
The cops allowed Robert to leave on account of his physical condition, extracting a promise to be back at the station for questioning within the week. They were more than delighted with the fact that they’d caught the kidnappers without so much as lifting a finger: Ted Carlson himself had been found at the skating rink. He was half-dressed and drunkenly stumbling to the door upon hearing the alarm, a huge boon for the department considering there were already three warrants out for his arrest, one having to do with Theft by Dream, a crime with which Cobb was well-acquainted.
When the couple reached Cobb’s home, guided inside by the glimmering porch light and relieving the kindly neighbor of her duties, the first thing Robert did was raid the pantry. He hadn’t eaten for several days, after all. With a bottled water and a packet of cheese crackers clenched in his palms, he munched enthusiastically.
Cobb sat wordlessly next to him at the dining room table, waiting patiently for him to finish his snack. It wasn’t a long wait, considering the rate at which the hungered man wolfed it down, but he wasn’t looking forward to giving the explanation that was due-the one that couldn’t be put off any longer. I don’t know how he’ll take it, but it’s better that he hears it from me right now than later from some other source.
“My name is Dominick Cobb,” he finally said. “And this is not a dream.”
So he told Robert everything. About his wife, about Cobol Engineering, about Saito’s offer, about the Inception job, about Ted Carlson, about the secretly shared dreams, everything. He longed for some kind of reaction: outrage, anger, any sort of indication of Robert’s thoughts, but all he did was listen-his face unblinking, as blank as if he were being told about the climate in Nepal.
He sat silent for a long time, digesting it along with his recent meal. Cobb could feel his own insides twist into knots with every second that he awaited a response. Please say something, anything, to end this agony. I want to know how badly I’ve broken you, so I know how many pieces to glue back together.
“It’s almost unbelievable. Like something you’d see in a movie or read in a book,” Robert broke the silence with amused curiosity, as if he were still trying to tie together the loose ends.
“Sad as it is, though, it’s the truth. I’m not going to lie to you anymore, even though our whole relationship has been built on lies. In fact, you have no reason to trust me whatsoever, but I put myself at your mercy in sharing all this. If you believe a word I said, please believe that it was never my intention to fuck everything up for you, and I’m so desperately sorry,” Cobb said in a jumble of guilt-ridden apologies, staring down at his hands with self-reproach.
“What do you mean?”
“You know, the false idea I planted in your head… about your father.”
Out of the blue, Robert started to laugh, causing Cobb to furrow his brow. What’s so funny about this? Can’t you see how I’m torn apart, the way that you should be as well? “I thought you, as head of security of all people, would have a better idea of who I was. What you gave me was more permanent than that. I’ve learned to live beyond my father’s memory, a wholly independent organism. And dammit, Mr. Charles… I mean Mr. Cobb, contrary to what you might think as my ‘protector,’ I am not so fragile.”
“Your fist mostly certainly isn’t,” Cobb allowed himself to join in the chuckling, although still apprehensive about Robert’s emotional state.
“It doesn’t matter to me how it came to be,” Robert reached out across the table, beckoning for Cobb’s hand, which he squeezed as soon as it was offered, “as long as it is. The same goes for us: I’m just happy to have you back. Plus, projection or not, I don’t think you’re good enough of an actor to have falsified who you really were.”
Cobb gave him a look of disbelief, as if to question the very presumption of his sanity. “You don’t seem to understand the gravity of my actions. I very well could have scarred you for life.”
“And you don’t have to have been perfect,” Robert said. Just show the depth of your love… and the rest will come.
Their conversation was put on hold by the staccato of little feet against the hardwood floors. The children seemed wide-awake-as they should have been since they’d been staying up, making finger-puppets with flashlights and giggling.
“Daddy, we heard you talking!”
“I’m so sorry, honey, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“No, no, it’s okay. We’re always glad when you come home, Dad,” James said, giving a hug to Cobb’s arm as he couldn’t reach any higher. Cobb grinned, swiveling his torso to the side to ruffle the boy’s hair lovingly.
Their guest watched, enthralled by the genuine display of familial affection. If Robert had had a modicum of doubt remaining in his heart about the man he’d fallen for, it was, in that moment, entirely eradicated.
***
The two men sat at a bar, their eyes glowing only with reflections of each other. Each brandished a drink in his hand, swishing its contents before taking a delicate sip.
Cobb had his usual scotch on the rocks, and Robert had ordered a whiskey because it was reality, and here, lucidity be damned.
“Another, sir?” the bartender asked, eyeing the couple.
“No, thank you,” Robert replied with a smile. “But call us a taxi, please. We have to be home in time to tuck the kids in.”
It had been his privilege, since he and Cobb started living together, to read Phillipa and James their nightly bedtime stories, to ferry them across the river of consciousness to the dreams that lay beyond. Tonight he was ready to begin a book of classic fairy tales that he’d picked up after the last board meeting, and, although he knew it was not the case with every story, Robert now accepted that there was indeed such a thing as a happy ending.
FIN