Inception: Ariadne/Arthur/Fischer [All That We Keep, part I]
Title: All That We Keep
Author: namistai8
Rating: PG-13 for language
Pairing: Ariadne/Fischer, Ariadne/Arthur
Word Count: 2,743
Disclaimer/Notes/Whatever: Nolan owns, I just borrow. Jumping straight into the fandom with a fic. Started off wondering how different Fischer was after the inception, and it just grew from there. Will be a multi-part fic.
She's gone on a winter's breath
If you find her, then keep what's left
She don't feel like no love of mine
And the storm don't care what it leaves behind
And I'll miss you, but you must move on
For the sun won't shine where you don't belong
~Pete Laurie "All That We Keep"
Sometimes, he wonders if this is the life he is suppose to live.
Before, he remembered thinking that his life had been chartered out - private boarding schools, undergrad in Yale, an MBA from the London School of Economics, internships at his father's companies. He had learned how to read an operational budget by six, sat in his first board meeting before his tenth birthday, gotten his first custom made suit at the age of twelve. And even if he didn't feel like he had measured to his father's expectations, at least he knew what and who he had to be.
If he had no dreams of his own, well, at least he knew what to expect from reality.
It's different. This now. This life that is supposed to be his, and his alone.
It's actually frightening. All this freedom. All of this choice. It's... paralyzing.
He finds that even though he has taken the first step - announcing the dismantling of his father's empire roughly three months ago, the work of a lifetime of a financial giant - he has no idea what to do other than stand in the rubble. Even after announcing his intention to the board of directors of Fischer Enterprises, he is not sure what he is trying to accomplish.
So while he may have unbound the strings that hold his father's empire, he knows he will pick up one of its pieces and make it's own. He just doesn't know which one.
In the meantime, he's taking a sabbatical - taking stock not just of his father's assets but of himself. Oddly enough, he feels...unmoored, set a drift. He's not deluded or naive enough that he's going to find himself, he'll simply settle for direction. Even knowing what the next step should be would be helpful at this point.
He's in middle of the European leg of his journey. After London and Berlin, he's in Paris. Again. But it feels like the first time. He's been in Paris at least a dozen times - but always for business. Shuttled between La Défense and avenue de l'Opera, with an occasional stop at rue Saint Honoré for 45 minutes of shopping or less, Robert can't say he's really been to Paris. Or eaten much in Paris, since most of his dinners have been at the sushi restaurants at the avenue de l'Opera with other business partners.
He decides to postpone the rest of his visit to play the proto-typical American in Paris. After all, being the largest tourist destination in the world, Paris seems to seduce him with promises of anonymity and the quaint myth that people seem to find 'something' here.
It is an uneventful two weeks, toggling between cafés, museums, shops and other tourist destinations that he finds her. And for a minute, he feels like he has been jolted back into a dream that he can't quite remember but that he feels somewhere in his psyche is/was/had been important. He can't even articulate what about her is so familiar, like a song he can almost hear the tune in his ears but knows for certain he can't remember any of the words.
He can't even bring himself to decide if he is attracted. She's not his type. She looks... well so young. Innocent. With a battered red jacket, a colorful scarf around her neck, jeans that have obviously known better days and a tshirt that he is sure could be used to dissuade moths from attacking any closet, she looks like the perennial university student. Her hair is in a tangled knot, and she wears no make up.
But she seems so real to him. Real in ways that none of his girlfriends or any of the sophisticated women he's ever fucked have ever been.
He watches her, as surrepticiously as he can as she looks at the arches, the sunlight coming in through the glass ceilings. She looks like the finds the sight of both comforting. He can tell that she likes being here, in the building. She pays little attention to the exhibits, but seems to enjoy simply walking though.
It's easy to manuever himself into a position where they bump into each other. Robert has had countless hours of practice in both business and social functions doing so. Sometimes its to garner an introduction, other time it serves as a reminder. As his father liked to say, there was no such thing as chance.
"Oh, so sorry, excuse me," he says in a friendly, but slightly apologetic tone and an easy smile. He gages the matter delicately -- too apologetic and she will just excuse him with a smile and keep going but too friendly and he'll scare her off.
She looks at him an instant too long before smiling apologetically with a quiet, "No worries."
"Wait, you're an American, aren't you?" he asks although he's pretty sure that by her accent she's from somewhere in the East Coast. He'd bet Rhode Island or Massachusetts.
She keeps eying him warily and gives him a quick nod.
"Same here. Tourist? Student?" he asks brightly. He can tell that she's wary and he knows he has to charm her, quickly. Robert is not a vain man, but he knows he's attractive with his dark hair and blue eyes. He's dressed casually, for him at least, in a button down shirt, grey wool slacks and a supple lambskin jacket. He's wearing sneakers - an impulse buy from a month ago, his first pair ever actually. He likes to think that it helps him be Robert Fischer, as opposed to Robert Fischer, businessman and heir to the Fischer Enterprises.
A quick shake of her head no, and then another quick nod. He's struck by how birdlike her movements are, almost delicate.
"Robert, tourist," he says, favoring him with another smile, letting it extend to his eyes.
She purses her lips, and he can tell that she is debating whether or not to tell him her name. It's an odd experience in his world. Everyone wants to meet him, make sure that their name sticks in his mind. Nobody has ever withheld their name from him. At least, not socially.
He cocks his head slightly to the left, trying to puzzle her out. This conversation is not going at all like he would have envisioned.He can tell she is uncomfortable."Do you know who I am?" he asks intuitively.
There's a pause and he sees that her pupils dilate just a fraction, making her eyes seem bigger -- which he thought an impossibility--- and again, he can't shake the notion that he has looked into those eyes before. Slight nod of her head.
"I see." He's not surprised - he's used to being notorious, even infamous. In his world, both his family name and his repuation precede him. Even to the general public, his name would sound familiar. Particularly these past few months. It seemed like every time he turned around he saw his name in font size seventy two, bold black print, and his picture is attached for the past three months.
"Do you have some personal objection to me?" It's not unheard of. His family had enemies, and god knows how many people were affected with whatever decision was made throughout the vastness of the Fischer empire - what small hurts, big wounds, bruised feelings, crushed dreams happened in the name of financial opportunity and economic wisdom.
She seems to consider this for a second and finally says her first actual words to him. "No, but your buildings are ugly," in a soft voice.
He smiles again, and can't help but be charmed by her answer. Of all of the answers he had thought of in those few seconds, that was not one of them. "Are you are an architecture student?" he hazards a guess. Why else would anyone comment on his corporate buildings? Honestly, he has never thought of them. It wasn't what they look like that had been important to him, but what they represented - power, prestige, dominance.
Another nod. He wonders if her nervousness is because of him or in general, as if she wasn't used to striking up conversations with stangers, particularly male ones. Somehow he knows that she is the type of girl that does not get hit on, having spent too much of her time in the things that matter as opposed to practicing how to flirt.
"Let me buy you a cup of coffee." he says impulsively even though he's sure that she will say no, and he feels disappointed. He can't say why he feels a vague sense that its important that they talk - as opposed to this one-sided monologue he seems to be having - but her defenses are up and while he knows ways to blow them open, he's reluctant to force her. He decided months ago that he needed to stop bending people to his will, simply because he could.
To his surprise, she gives him another of her nods.
***
Arthur has spent the past three months taking a sabbatical. After the mess with Cobol and the Fischer job, the field is a little too hot for extraction at the moment. He knew the minute that immigration let Cobb through that Cobb was done. Not that he begrudges Cobb that, he knows how hard it had cost him. Hell, it had nearly cost the entire team. He also knows that if inception works, he can walk in to whatever kind of job and name whatever hell kind of price he wants. Not that he isn't legend already, but this could possibly drive his reputation straight into the territory of an urban myth.
Still, being who he is he has kept track of everyone. Yusuf was working his way back to Mombasa, by way of South Africa and Eames had flown to Bali, his perchance for hot and humid places still evident. Arthur had suggested that Eames try breaking the pattern and choose some other place, like Antartica. Eames told him that if anyone need to deviate from anything, it was him.
Which he hasn't. He flew back to Paris after three days in L.A., cleaned the warehouse, then flew to London for two weeks, visited his tailor on Savile Row, had two new suits made and proceeded to hop to Prague, visit his neglected apartment in Monaco, drive like a maniac around Italy until he finally rented a small chalet in Bern. He prefers Switzerland - no one asks questions, they had efficient banks and attempts at extradition were notoriously difficult.
He doesn't work - and even if the field wasn't so hot right now - he never has. Having gone so deep, he needs to decompress. He doesn't even practice shooting, as he has learned after many years in the business it seems to just create more mental associations than he needs. He doesn't use the PASIV either. After a job is done, he doesn't need to dream. Sleep for him is a mercifully empty space, devoid of anything. He spends his time reading, cooking elaborate meals, works out. Every day very much like the other one, which is exactly what he needs. He checks his email twice a day, but no more and forces him himself not to log into any of the networks he haunts while on a job. It would be counterproductive, and more importantly it would leave a trace.
He knows that Ariadne is in Paris, finishing up her dissertation. Despite keeping contact with the entire team, he has not kept in touch with Ariadne instead receiving information thirdhand from Cobb via Miles.
Strangely, aside from Cobb, Ariadne is the one person he has spent the most time. She has also been his first pupil. Most of the architects that he has worked with (well, two - Cobb and Nash) had already been trained. She is also the only other person, Cobb not included, that has spent that much time in his subconscious. Likewise, Arthur knows he has spent a ridiculous amount of time in her subsconscious as he taught her everything he knew about building.
If he thought about that time, he would probably have a positive association with it. He doesn't.
It would be relatively easy to show up in Paris and see her in person, really just a train ride away. Not that he's afraid of not seeing her - she is, afterall, the best architect he knows - and once everything has cooled down, he's pretty sure that she will take another job regardless of how fucked up the Fischer job got done at the end. She's proven her grit then - by rescuing Fischer. He knew she'd stand up under fire.
Metaphorically speaking. Although you never knew in the dreamscape.
No, he keeps away for other reasons, none of which he wants to examine too closely as he's not given to introspection. Which is itself a paradox, as he can't help thinking of all possibilities and eventualities. Since that is what makes him an excellent point man. He's prepared. For everything.
So he does not ruminate about the quick kiss they shared in the dreamscape, two levels down. While he knows she thinks about it, he also knows that she has probably chalked it up to a distraction tecnique that failed. Which it was.
But Arthur knows that two levels down, inhibitions are lowered. It's often the reason that he and Cobb would work in a dream within a dream - but it was easier to let the subject's impulses and desires manifest themselves. The converse of that was that everyone's inhibitions was lowered.
Even his.
And the moment nags him like an itch. He forces himself not to scratch it. He's confident of his control. It's his greatest asset. He doesn't slip. He doesn't falter. He doesn't waver.
He knows enough about himself and about her to know a few simple facts. He's too old. She's too young. He's too self-contained. She is bursts of creativity and barely contained riddles. He is three piece suits and perfectly knotted ties. She is grungy jeans and used tshirts and messy hair. He's a pointman. She's an architect.
Which works out perfectly for a business partnerships, as he is aware that complements often make the strongest combination. But that's business. He doesn't need a complement in his life - it would mean that he's unbalanced. And nobody wants an unbalanced point man.
His personal cellphone rings, an unlisted number. He doesn't pick up - if it's important then they will leave a message. He waits ten minutes before checking his voicemail.
"Arthur, it's Saito," the Japanese businessman's smooth accent like sanded wood. Arthur is not surprised that Saito has managed to track down his number. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if he owns the satellite that his provider is using.
"I need you to go to Paris," the message continues. Arthur's breathing slows ever so slightly, he feels himself coiling. Not that Saito calling him about a job is out of the question, nor is his request unreasonable. Saito knows that Ariadne is the best architect out there, and he is fond of her for convincing Cobb to go one level deeper to rescue Fischer, and himself.
"Fischer has made contact with Ariadne," Saito's voice rattles in his ears and the statement catches him completely by surprise and sends a dart of panic straight into his solar plexus. Arthur closes in around that feeling and strangles it. He can't afford it.
"Find out what is happening. And call me." The phone goes dead.
Arthur is already in autopilot, walking toward to the bedroom for his passport, his keys and his bags, He looks at his watch. He estimates that if he leaves in the next four minutes, he can be in Paris in six hours.
Which means that if he's lucky, he'll be able to catch Ariadne before she leaves for her first class.
And Arthur knows better than to leave things up to luck, as he fingers the die in his pocket.
All That We Keep, Part II
Comments and criticisms always welcome.
Crossposted in arthur_ariadne
Author: namistai8
Rating: PG-13 for language
Pairing: Ariadne/Fischer, Ariadne/Arthur
Word Count: 2,743
Disclaimer/Notes/Whatever: Nolan owns, I just borrow. Jumping straight into the fandom with a fic. Started off wondering how different Fischer was after the inception, and it just grew from there. Will be a multi-part fic.
She's gone on a winter's breath
If you find her, then keep what's left
She don't feel like no love of mine
And the storm don't care what it leaves behind
And I'll miss you, but you must move on
For the sun won't shine where you don't belong
~Pete Laurie "All That We Keep"
Sometimes, he wonders if this is the life he is suppose to live.
Before, he remembered thinking that his life had been chartered out - private boarding schools, undergrad in Yale, an MBA from the London School of Economics, internships at his father's companies. He had learned how to read an operational budget by six, sat in his first board meeting before his tenth birthday, gotten his first custom made suit at the age of twelve. And even if he didn't feel like he had measured to his father's expectations, at least he knew what and who he had to be.
If he had no dreams of his own, well, at least he knew what to expect from reality.
It's different. This now. This life that is supposed to be his, and his alone.
It's actually frightening. All this freedom. All of this choice. It's... paralyzing.
He finds that even though he has taken the first step - announcing the dismantling of his father's empire roughly three months ago, the work of a lifetime of a financial giant - he has no idea what to do other than stand in the rubble. Even after announcing his intention to the board of directors of Fischer Enterprises, he is not sure what he is trying to accomplish.
So while he may have unbound the strings that hold his father's empire, he knows he will pick up one of its pieces and make it's own. He just doesn't know which one.
In the meantime, he's taking a sabbatical - taking stock not just of his father's assets but of himself. Oddly enough, he feels...unmoored, set a drift. He's not deluded or naive enough that he's going to find himself, he'll simply settle for direction. Even knowing what the next step should be would be helpful at this point.
He's in middle of the European leg of his journey. After London and Berlin, he's in Paris. Again. But it feels like the first time. He's been in Paris at least a dozen times - but always for business. Shuttled between La Défense and avenue de l'Opera, with an occasional stop at rue Saint Honoré for 45 minutes of shopping or less, Robert can't say he's really been to Paris. Or eaten much in Paris, since most of his dinners have been at the sushi restaurants at the avenue de l'Opera with other business partners.
He decides to postpone the rest of his visit to play the proto-typical American in Paris. After all, being the largest tourist destination in the world, Paris seems to seduce him with promises of anonymity and the quaint myth that people seem to find 'something' here.
It is an uneventful two weeks, toggling between cafés, museums, shops and other tourist destinations that he finds her. And for a minute, he feels like he has been jolted back into a dream that he can't quite remember but that he feels somewhere in his psyche is/was/had been important. He can't even articulate what about her is so familiar, like a song he can almost hear the tune in his ears but knows for certain he can't remember any of the words.
He can't even bring himself to decide if he is attracted. She's not his type. She looks... well so young. Innocent. With a battered red jacket, a colorful scarf around her neck, jeans that have obviously known better days and a tshirt that he is sure could be used to dissuade moths from attacking any closet, she looks like the perennial university student. Her hair is in a tangled knot, and she wears no make up.
But she seems so real to him. Real in ways that none of his girlfriends or any of the sophisticated women he's ever fucked have ever been.
He watches her, as surrepticiously as he can as she looks at the arches, the sunlight coming in through the glass ceilings. She looks like the finds the sight of both comforting. He can tell that she likes being here, in the building. She pays little attention to the exhibits, but seems to enjoy simply walking though.
It's easy to manuever himself into a position where they bump into each other. Robert has had countless hours of practice in both business and social functions doing so. Sometimes its to garner an introduction, other time it serves as a reminder. As his father liked to say, there was no such thing as chance.
"Oh, so sorry, excuse me," he says in a friendly, but slightly apologetic tone and an easy smile. He gages the matter delicately -- too apologetic and she will just excuse him with a smile and keep going but too friendly and he'll scare her off.
She looks at him an instant too long before smiling apologetically with a quiet, "No worries."
"Wait, you're an American, aren't you?" he asks although he's pretty sure that by her accent she's from somewhere in the East Coast. He'd bet Rhode Island or Massachusetts.
She keeps eying him warily and gives him a quick nod.
"Same here. Tourist? Student?" he asks brightly. He can tell that she's wary and he knows he has to charm her, quickly. Robert is not a vain man, but he knows he's attractive with his dark hair and blue eyes. He's dressed casually, for him at least, in a button down shirt, grey wool slacks and a supple lambskin jacket. He's wearing sneakers - an impulse buy from a month ago, his first pair ever actually. He likes to think that it helps him be Robert Fischer, as opposed to Robert Fischer, businessman and heir to the Fischer Enterprises.
A quick shake of her head no, and then another quick nod. He's struck by how birdlike her movements are, almost delicate.
"Robert, tourist," he says, favoring him with another smile, letting it extend to his eyes.
She purses her lips, and he can tell that she is debating whether or not to tell him her name. It's an odd experience in his world. Everyone wants to meet him, make sure that their name sticks in his mind. Nobody has ever withheld their name from him. At least, not socially.
He cocks his head slightly to the left, trying to puzzle her out. This conversation is not going at all like he would have envisioned.He can tell she is uncomfortable."Do you know who I am?" he asks intuitively.
There's a pause and he sees that her pupils dilate just a fraction, making her eyes seem bigger -- which he thought an impossibility--- and again, he can't shake the notion that he has looked into those eyes before. Slight nod of her head.
"I see." He's not surprised - he's used to being notorious, even infamous. In his world, both his family name and his repuation precede him. Even to the general public, his name would sound familiar. Particularly these past few months. It seemed like every time he turned around he saw his name in font size seventy two, bold black print, and his picture is attached for the past three months.
"Do you have some personal objection to me?" It's not unheard of. His family had enemies, and god knows how many people were affected with whatever decision was made throughout the vastness of the Fischer empire - what small hurts, big wounds, bruised feelings, crushed dreams happened in the name of financial opportunity and economic wisdom.
She seems to consider this for a second and finally says her first actual words to him. "No, but your buildings are ugly," in a soft voice.
He smiles again, and can't help but be charmed by her answer. Of all of the answers he had thought of in those few seconds, that was not one of them. "Are you are an architecture student?" he hazards a guess. Why else would anyone comment on his corporate buildings? Honestly, he has never thought of them. It wasn't what they look like that had been important to him, but what they represented - power, prestige, dominance.
Another nod. He wonders if her nervousness is because of him or in general, as if she wasn't used to striking up conversations with stangers, particularly male ones. Somehow he knows that she is the type of girl that does not get hit on, having spent too much of her time in the things that matter as opposed to practicing how to flirt.
"Let me buy you a cup of coffee." he says impulsively even though he's sure that she will say no, and he feels disappointed. He can't say why he feels a vague sense that its important that they talk - as opposed to this one-sided monologue he seems to be having - but her defenses are up and while he knows ways to blow them open, he's reluctant to force her. He decided months ago that he needed to stop bending people to his will, simply because he could.
To his surprise, she gives him another of her nods.
***
Arthur has spent the past three months taking a sabbatical. After the mess with Cobol and the Fischer job, the field is a little too hot for extraction at the moment. He knew the minute that immigration let Cobb through that Cobb was done. Not that he begrudges Cobb that, he knows how hard it had cost him. Hell, it had nearly cost the entire team. He also knows that if inception works, he can walk in to whatever kind of job and name whatever hell kind of price he wants. Not that he isn't legend already, but this could possibly drive his reputation straight into the territory of an urban myth.
Still, being who he is he has kept track of everyone. Yusuf was working his way back to Mombasa, by way of South Africa and Eames had flown to Bali, his perchance for hot and humid places still evident. Arthur had suggested that Eames try breaking the pattern and choose some other place, like Antartica. Eames told him that if anyone need to deviate from anything, it was him.
Which he hasn't. He flew back to Paris after three days in L.A., cleaned the warehouse, then flew to London for two weeks, visited his tailor on Savile Row, had two new suits made and proceeded to hop to Prague, visit his neglected apartment in Monaco, drive like a maniac around Italy until he finally rented a small chalet in Bern. He prefers Switzerland - no one asks questions, they had efficient banks and attempts at extradition were notoriously difficult.
He doesn't work - and even if the field wasn't so hot right now - he never has. Having gone so deep, he needs to decompress. He doesn't even practice shooting, as he has learned after many years in the business it seems to just create more mental associations than he needs. He doesn't use the PASIV either. After a job is done, he doesn't need to dream. Sleep for him is a mercifully empty space, devoid of anything. He spends his time reading, cooking elaborate meals, works out. Every day very much like the other one, which is exactly what he needs. He checks his email twice a day, but no more and forces him himself not to log into any of the networks he haunts while on a job. It would be counterproductive, and more importantly it would leave a trace.
He knows that Ariadne is in Paris, finishing up her dissertation. Despite keeping contact with the entire team, he has not kept in touch with Ariadne instead receiving information thirdhand from Cobb via Miles.
Strangely, aside from Cobb, Ariadne is the one person he has spent the most time. She has also been his first pupil. Most of the architects that he has worked with (well, two - Cobb and Nash) had already been trained. She is also the only other person, Cobb not included, that has spent that much time in his subconscious. Likewise, Arthur knows he has spent a ridiculous amount of time in her subsconscious as he taught her everything he knew about building.
If he thought about that time, he would probably have a positive association with it. He doesn't.
It would be relatively easy to show up in Paris and see her in person, really just a train ride away. Not that he's afraid of not seeing her - she is, afterall, the best architect he knows - and once everything has cooled down, he's pretty sure that she will take another job regardless of how fucked up the Fischer job got done at the end. She's proven her grit then - by rescuing Fischer. He knew she'd stand up under fire.
Metaphorically speaking. Although you never knew in the dreamscape.
No, he keeps away for other reasons, none of which he wants to examine too closely as he's not given to introspection. Which is itself a paradox, as he can't help thinking of all possibilities and eventualities. Since that is what makes him an excellent point man. He's prepared. For everything.
So he does not ruminate about the quick kiss they shared in the dreamscape, two levels down. While he knows she thinks about it, he also knows that she has probably chalked it up to a distraction tecnique that failed. Which it was.
But Arthur knows that two levels down, inhibitions are lowered. It's often the reason that he and Cobb would work in a dream within a dream - but it was easier to let the subject's impulses and desires manifest themselves. The converse of that was that everyone's inhibitions was lowered.
Even his.
And the moment nags him like an itch. He forces himself not to scratch it. He's confident of his control. It's his greatest asset. He doesn't slip. He doesn't falter. He doesn't waver.
He knows enough about himself and about her to know a few simple facts. He's too old. She's too young. He's too self-contained. She is bursts of creativity and barely contained riddles. He is three piece suits and perfectly knotted ties. She is grungy jeans and used tshirts and messy hair. He's a pointman. She's an architect.
Which works out perfectly for a business partnerships, as he is aware that complements often make the strongest combination. But that's business. He doesn't need a complement in his life - it would mean that he's unbalanced. And nobody wants an unbalanced point man.
His personal cellphone rings, an unlisted number. He doesn't pick up - if it's important then they will leave a message. He waits ten minutes before checking his voicemail.
"Arthur, it's Saito," the Japanese businessman's smooth accent like sanded wood. Arthur is not surprised that Saito has managed to track down his number. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if he owns the satellite that his provider is using.
"I need you to go to Paris," the message continues. Arthur's breathing slows ever so slightly, he feels himself coiling. Not that Saito calling him about a job is out of the question, nor is his request unreasonable. Saito knows that Ariadne is the best architect out there, and he is fond of her for convincing Cobb to go one level deeper to rescue Fischer, and himself.
"Fischer has made contact with Ariadne," Saito's voice rattles in his ears and the statement catches him completely by surprise and sends a dart of panic straight into his solar plexus. Arthur closes in around that feeling and strangles it. He can't afford it.
"Find out what is happening. And call me." The phone goes dead.
Arthur is already in autopilot, walking toward to the bedroom for his passport, his keys and his bags, He looks at his watch. He estimates that if he leaves in the next four minutes, he can be in Paris in six hours.
Which means that if he's lucky, he'll be able to catch Ariadne before she leaves for her first class.
And Arthur knows better than to leave things up to luck, as he fingers the die in his pocket.
All That We Keep, Part II
Comments and criticisms always welcome.
Crossposted in arthur_ariadne