Inception Fic [Forgery]
Forgery
by: missy7280
PG-13 | 1,246 words
[Cobb/Arthur. one-sided Arthur/Eames]
Warnings: Some violence. Angst ahoy. possibly future!fic.
Arthur knows he must be dreaming.
Notes: My first Inception fic. :) I just couldn't resist! totally un-beta'd, any mistakes are my own. I'm nervous about this one, so please don't yell at me if it sucks.
Arthur knew he had to be in a dream.
There was no other explanation for what was happening. He reached into his pocket, just to make absolutely sure, and sure enough he came up empty. His die was gone.
He felt something then, and so he reached into his other pocket, a momentary jolt of hope going through him when he felt the solid object. There was a die in this one, but of course it wasn’t his die. He knew immediately from the feel, the texture, the weight of it, that this was not his totem and he was still very much removed from reality. He felt an overwhelming sense of disappointment, an ache that started somewhere in his chest and ended somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach.
Cobb had been kissing him. Had him pressed up against the wall of some overly sterile, clean-lined hotel room. If it wasn’t for the fact that Cobb was kissing him, the sight of the room would have been another strong indicator that this was one of Arthur’s dreams. His imagination of the perfect hotel room didn’t come close to anything that existed in reality.
His Cobb was interrupted in his attentions when Arthur had suddenly reached in his own pants pocket, bringing out the counterfeit totem into the light. Cobb pulled away from Arthur, and he was a beautiful mess with his clothes all askew as he panted for breath. On any other occasion Arthur would be affronted by the three piece suit being out of place, but when it came to this all he wanted was for Cobb’s clothes to come off. Now. He had to shake his head to try to clear himself of those thoughts.
Cobb stared at him in confusion, while Arthur brought the red die up to his line of eyesight. The shade wasn’t right. It was too pale, far too pale to be his vibrant red totem. He was trying to figure out why he was seeing this fake at all, when suddenly Cobb’s hand was touching his own. The contact brought him back to the moment.
He knew this was a dream. Knew it just as well as he knew his own name. And yet, he was being given the opportunity to seize everything he ever wanted, but was never allowed to touch. He would only be lying to himself to say he wasn’t tempted.
“What’s wrong?” Cobb asked. It sounded so incredibly genuine, making it increasingly difficult for Arthur to remind himself that none of this was real. And yet, there was something off about this Cobb. He looked and talked exactly the same, but he just didn’t feel right. It was Dom, but like the fake totem, it wasn’t his Dom.
There was a knock at the door. A knock that sounded more like a jackhammer being drilled into the walls than the announcement of a friendly visitor.
Arthur went to answer it, completely unsurprised by Dom’s grip on his wrist in an attempt to hold him back.
“You know who’s behind that door, don’t you?” he asked, and Arthur nodded. It was the projection that had followed them here, the reason they had run down the hallway together and locked themselves in this room as quickly as possible. The projection knew.
“I’m going to answer it,” Arthur said, ignoring the look of disbelief on Cobb’s face and the tightening of the grip on his wrist.
“Don’t do it,” Cobb insisted, but Arthur managed to pull away.
He opened the door.
The projection stabbed him, sending instant shockwaves of pain throughout his nerve endings. He knew it was coming, had braced himself for the pain, but that didn’t stop him from crying out in agony. He gripped the wound on his ribs, instinctually trying to stop the bleeding even though he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Arthur looked down at his bloody hands, at his impossibly red fingertips, the same color of the totem that kept Arthur sane in reality.
“No!” he heard Cobb shout, somehow, over the ringing in his ears. But he didn’t see. He didn’t see the bullet that was shot into his head, right before Cobb turned the gun on himself.
Arthur hadn’t seen that either.
He woke up.
___
When he opened his eyes, once he ripped out his IV, the first thing he noticed was Eames. Sitting less than a yard away, his own IV still attached to his arm, Eames looked back at him in silent resignation. And suddenly Arthur understood. He remembered who had come into his dream with him.
“It was you,” Arthur said, his tone direct, his statement to the point. He didn’t need to explain any more in order for Eames to comprehend.
Eames didn’t try to deny it, barely acknowledging Arthur at all as he looked down to observe a fascinating spot on the floor. Arthur was on him so fast; he grabbed Eames by the shirt collar and demanded an explanation, refusing to let this one go. Out of all the infuriating things Eames had done, this by far took the cake.
It had been unbelievably cruel.
“I was just… trying to help you,” Eames sputtered, his normally charming speech suddenly absent.
“By forgering a dead man? God you - ” Arthur stumbled over his words, trying to find the exact ones to convey his reeling emotion. “You know how much he means to me. How could you? How could you do such a thing?”
“Offering you some solace, love. That’s all. You were supposed to accept it,” Eames said, some of his usual bluntness beginning to creep back into his voice.
“Well excuse me for not accepting a fake.”
“I’m all you’ve got left,” Eames insisted. “And someday soon you’re going to realize that I’m speaking the truth. You can’t continue moping like you have been forever. You’re the best point man there is, and there are jobs out there for you to do.”
“Stop pretending like you give a shit if I ever do a job again. All you ever cared about was getting to me. Well, you’re going to have to get your rocks off some other way. I’m leaving.”
“Don’t go,” Eames tried calling after him to get him to stay, but it was of no use. He didn’t want Eames’ sympathy any more, his pitying looks. Arthur stormed out of the warehouse, putting as much distance between him and the forger as possible. For the third time that evening Arthur found himself reaching into his pocket, pulling out the cubed object and squinting at it in consternation.
This one felt right, looked right, but it was so very wrong in its rightness. It mocked him.
Arthur clutched the die in his fist, his fingernails practically drawing blood from his palm as he scratched the flesh there. This was his reality, according to the totem, but he so desperately wanted it not to be real.
He wanted Dom, the real Dom, alive and in front of him. Telling him that everything would be all right, in that incredibly sardonic way of his. He’d even let Dom yell at him again, put him down, do anything he wanted to him. But Arthur knew that was never going to happen.
Arthur threw the totem at the ground in disgust, then turned in the other direction and walked away. Leaving the die that didn’t really mean anything to him anymore behind.
He hated reality.
But he also hated himself for hating it, and hated Cobb even more for leaving him.
by: missy7280
PG-13 | 1,246 words
[Cobb/Arthur. one-sided Arthur/Eames]
Warnings: Some violence. Angst ahoy. possibly future!fic.
Arthur knows he must be dreaming.
Notes: My first Inception fic. :) I just couldn't resist! totally un-beta'd, any mistakes are my own. I'm nervous about this one, so please don't yell at me if it sucks.
Arthur knew he had to be in a dream.
There was no other explanation for what was happening. He reached into his pocket, just to make absolutely sure, and sure enough he came up empty. His die was gone.
He felt something then, and so he reached into his other pocket, a momentary jolt of hope going through him when he felt the solid object. There was a die in this one, but of course it wasn’t his die. He knew immediately from the feel, the texture, the weight of it, that this was not his totem and he was still very much removed from reality. He felt an overwhelming sense of disappointment, an ache that started somewhere in his chest and ended somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach.
Cobb had been kissing him. Had him pressed up against the wall of some overly sterile, clean-lined hotel room. If it wasn’t for the fact that Cobb was kissing him, the sight of the room would have been another strong indicator that this was one of Arthur’s dreams. His imagination of the perfect hotel room didn’t come close to anything that existed in reality.
His Cobb was interrupted in his attentions when Arthur had suddenly reached in his own pants pocket, bringing out the counterfeit totem into the light. Cobb pulled away from Arthur, and he was a beautiful mess with his clothes all askew as he panted for breath. On any other occasion Arthur would be affronted by the three piece suit being out of place, but when it came to this all he wanted was for Cobb’s clothes to come off. Now. He had to shake his head to try to clear himself of those thoughts.
Cobb stared at him in confusion, while Arthur brought the red die up to his line of eyesight. The shade wasn’t right. It was too pale, far too pale to be his vibrant red totem. He was trying to figure out why he was seeing this fake at all, when suddenly Cobb’s hand was touching his own. The contact brought him back to the moment.
He knew this was a dream. Knew it just as well as he knew his own name. And yet, he was being given the opportunity to seize everything he ever wanted, but was never allowed to touch. He would only be lying to himself to say he wasn’t tempted.
“What’s wrong?” Cobb asked. It sounded so incredibly genuine, making it increasingly difficult for Arthur to remind himself that none of this was real. And yet, there was something off about this Cobb. He looked and talked exactly the same, but he just didn’t feel right. It was Dom, but like the fake totem, it wasn’t his Dom.
There was a knock at the door. A knock that sounded more like a jackhammer being drilled into the walls than the announcement of a friendly visitor.
Arthur went to answer it, completely unsurprised by Dom’s grip on his wrist in an attempt to hold him back.
“You know who’s behind that door, don’t you?” he asked, and Arthur nodded. It was the projection that had followed them here, the reason they had run down the hallway together and locked themselves in this room as quickly as possible. The projection knew.
“I’m going to answer it,” Arthur said, ignoring the look of disbelief on Cobb’s face and the tightening of the grip on his wrist.
“Don’t do it,” Cobb insisted, but Arthur managed to pull away.
He opened the door.
The projection stabbed him, sending instant shockwaves of pain throughout his nerve endings. He knew it was coming, had braced himself for the pain, but that didn’t stop him from crying out in agony. He gripped the wound on his ribs, instinctually trying to stop the bleeding even though he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Arthur looked down at his bloody hands, at his impossibly red fingertips, the same color of the totem that kept Arthur sane in reality.
“No!” he heard Cobb shout, somehow, over the ringing in his ears. But he didn’t see. He didn’t see the bullet that was shot into his head, right before Cobb turned the gun on himself.
Arthur hadn’t seen that either.
He woke up.
___
When he opened his eyes, once he ripped out his IV, the first thing he noticed was Eames. Sitting less than a yard away, his own IV still attached to his arm, Eames looked back at him in silent resignation. And suddenly Arthur understood. He remembered who had come into his dream with him.
“It was you,” Arthur said, his tone direct, his statement to the point. He didn’t need to explain any more in order for Eames to comprehend.
Eames didn’t try to deny it, barely acknowledging Arthur at all as he looked down to observe a fascinating spot on the floor. Arthur was on him so fast; he grabbed Eames by the shirt collar and demanded an explanation, refusing to let this one go. Out of all the infuriating things Eames had done, this by far took the cake.
It had been unbelievably cruel.
“I was just… trying to help you,” Eames sputtered, his normally charming speech suddenly absent.
“By forgering a dead man? God you - ” Arthur stumbled over his words, trying to find the exact ones to convey his reeling emotion. “You know how much he means to me. How could you? How could you do such a thing?”
“Offering you some solace, love. That’s all. You were supposed to accept it,” Eames said, some of his usual bluntness beginning to creep back into his voice.
“Well excuse me for not accepting a fake.”
“I’m all you’ve got left,” Eames insisted. “And someday soon you’re going to realize that I’m speaking the truth. You can’t continue moping like you have been forever. You’re the best point man there is, and there are jobs out there for you to do.”
“Stop pretending like you give a shit if I ever do a job again. All you ever cared about was getting to me. Well, you’re going to have to get your rocks off some other way. I’m leaving.”
“Don’t go,” Eames tried calling after him to get him to stay, but it was of no use. He didn’t want Eames’ sympathy any more, his pitying looks. Arthur stormed out of the warehouse, putting as much distance between him and the forger as possible. For the third time that evening Arthur found himself reaching into his pocket, pulling out the cubed object and squinting at it in consternation.
This one felt right, looked right, but it was so very wrong in its rightness. It mocked him.
Arthur clutched the die in his fist, his fingernails practically drawing blood from his palm as he scratched the flesh there. This was his reality, according to the totem, but he so desperately wanted it not to be real.
He wanted Dom, the real Dom, alive and in front of him. Telling him that everything would be all right, in that incredibly sardonic way of his. He’d even let Dom yell at him again, put him down, do anything he wanted to him. But Arthur knew that was never going to happen.
Arthur threw the totem at the ground in disgust, then turned in the other direction and walked away. Leaving the die that didn’t really mean anything to him anymore behind.
He hated reality.
But he also hated himself for hating it, and hated Cobb even more for leaving him.