Brick/Inception: Après Moi, le Deluge

[osaki_nana_707]

Title: Après Moi, le Deluge (11/24)
Author: osaki_nana_707
Fandom: Brick/Inception fusion
Word count: 4,066
Pairing: later Brendan(Arthur)xEames, mentions of BrendanxEmily and BrendanxLaura
Rating: R
Warnings: currently violence, language, mentions of character death
Summary: Brendan should have known better than to tug on loose threads. He should have known that one loose thread was all it took to make everything unravel, but he’d been tired and just wanted things to be done. He should have known well enough that things were never done.

Special thanks to wadebramwilson for betaing! <3



ELEVEN

For once Brendan rose earlier than the rest of the house, waking and getting dressed while the sky was still dark. He pulled on his warmest clothes and combed his hair with his fingers and headed down.

Brain had continued to obtain pictures of Laura around London for the past four days, but he had yet to pinpoint an exact location. Brendan had decided it was best to do a little sniffing on his own. Not knowing her movements distressed him even though it was possible she wasn't even involved in this mess. He may not have known Laura well enough not to fall into her trap before, but experience had taught him to be cautious now.

Besides, ever since Eames had killed Emily, Brendan had been feeling claustrophobic in Mal's house. He felt like everyone always had their eyes on him, like they were watching his every move. He worried that they were beginning to suspect him of insanity, that they were rethinking their decision to train him on the PASIV device. Everyone watched but no one said anything. Even Brain had closed his head on the matter, though Brendan doubted it would stay that way. Brain had the tendency to fight with himself over whether or not he was overstepping his boundaries by telling Brendan what to do, but eventually he would always conclude that he had to say something if only to know that he'd at least tried.

Sometimes Brendan wondered why Brain stuck around.

He shook off his thoughts and took the stairs quietly before making a beeline for the front door. He was one foot out the door when a voice said, "Won't you get cold?"

Brendan thankfully managed not to jump this time, turning to see Mal's silhouette on the stairs. Considering she had just gotten out of bed, she looked far too beautiful, dressed in a pair of silk pajamas partially hidden under a fleece robe. Brendan couldn't tell the exact colors in the darkness.

"I've been through worse," he shrugged.

Mal smiled, finishing her descent down the steps. "You don't have to act so tough all the time, Brendan."

"I thought I was Arthur while I'm here."

"You are," she said, opening the coat closet door next to him, "but it's nice to hear your true name sometimes. Every once in a while you need to hear your own name to know that people still see you."

"You think nobody sees you," Laura's voice whispered in his ear, a memory he thought he'd forgotten, "eating lunch behind the portables. Loving some girl like she's all there is, anywhere, to you."

"Here," Mal said, wrapping a warm parka around Brendan's shoulders. "This is one of Dom's coats. You two are about the same size. It should keep you warm. Where are you going?"

"Just taking in the sights," Brendan mumbled, accepting the coat. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me. Someone has to take care of you, after all," she replied, oddly fond as she pushed some of his hair off of his forehead. "Someone should make sure you stay fed, that you get the sleep you need, and that you don't go out into the cold without a winter coat. You need someone to show you that it's okay to need help sometimes, and that it's okay to ask for it."

Brendan wasn't really sure how to respond, so he said nothing, just ducking his head so that she wouldn't see the heat in his cheeks.

"Will you be back?"

"Unless someone offs me."

He was thankful that she didn't ask him what he was really up to, instead standing awkwardly while she wrapped a scarf around his neck and handed him a pair of gloves. He also didn't ask why when she wrote down the phone number for the house and shoved it into his pocket.

It took him some time to figure out how to have his American money exchanged, but the first thing he did after was purchase a ticket for the Eurostar train to take to London via the underwater tunnel. He picked up a small baguette and a block of cheese to nibble on during the ride and tried not to think too hard about where he was going and why.

Brendan couldn't help but worry about his reaction to Laura. He considered himself capable of self-control even during some of the more high risk situations of his life, but Laura was the reason Emily had been put in front of the gun. The longer Brendan sat on that truth with the ghost of Laura's lips stealing away Emily's last kiss, the angrier it made him. She'd played him for a sucker, just like everyone else. He had known she was dangerous, but still he'd fallen for it. He couldn't help but want her to hurt, to feel the pain that she'd caused him.

He wasn't out to be seen by Laura however. He was hoping to see her without her spotting him in return so that he could track her movements, find out how deep her involvement was with Wells and his mind crime community if at all. If she was a part of it, then… well, he didn't know, but it just didn't sit right to not know. Besides, if he got a leg up on where this Wells was hiding out, that would be an advantage he would have over the other man. It was an advantage he and the rest of Mal's group of people could afford to have, no matter how talented they were at dreaming. He wasn't in it for them, but he was sure they'd still appreciate it.

By the time he got off the train, the sun had risen. It was still bitingly cold, so he was grateful for the coat and scarf and gloves. He moved quickly through the streets with his hood up as a drizzle of rain fell. It took some difficulty, but he finally found the part of town where Laura had mostly been spotted. From there all he could do was wander about for a while, stepping inside shops to warm himself up when he felt too numb from the cold, perusing the shelves but not buying anything. The distance between him and the house helped clear his head a little, even though at times he still tried to make sure he couldn't change anything about the scenery. He hated the confusion between dreams and reality, noting to himself not for the first time that he really did need to find himself a totem.

Brendan kept wandering around well into the morning, but more and more often he found himself having to duck into a store so that he could feel his hands and feet again. Once lunchtime had rolled around and he hadn't found anything, he decided to take a break inside a little hole-in-the-wall café. There were only a few people inside, either puttering about as they waited for their orders or sitting at the squashed little tables. There was a woman at the upright piano on the tiny stage, fingers tinkering along the keys in a bluesy improvisational tune. It was warm inside, which was all Brendan cared about. He moved to the counter and ordered a scone and a cup of black coffee before taking a seat as far away from the door and the cold as possible.

The coffee instantly made him feel better, sliding down his throat and pooling in his stomach until it had heated up his chilled bones. His stomach was gnawing for something a little more substantial than the scone, but it was all he could afford and be able to get back to Paris. It helped enough that he gathered his wits about him at least, which was what brought his attention to the stage.

"Lady sing the blues so well, as if she mean it… As if it's hell down here in this smoke-filled world where the jokes are cold, they don't laugh at jokes… They laugh at tragedies…" the performer sang from her perch. All of the warmth Brendan had achieved drained out of him.

He always did have the tendency to just stumble into trouble.

It just so happened that this form of trouble was Laura Dannon at the piano.

"Corner street societies… but they believe her. They never leave her while she sings. She make them feel safe…"

Laura's hair had been chopped off and dyed blonde, something he hadn't been able to see in the grainy photographs, her lips rouged and eyes lined with dark kohl, but there was no doubting it was her. He gripped his cup more tightly, considering making a casual dash for the door, but there was no point. Her eyes were already on him, watching him cautiously as she continued unperturbed through her song.

"She says I can sing a song so blue that you will cry in spite of you… Little wet tears on your baby's shoulder, little wet tears on your baby's shoulder… and I have walked these streets so long, there ain't nothin' right… there ain't nothin' wrong… but the little wet tears on my baby's shoulder, little wet tears on my baby's shoulder."

Brendan didn't let his absolute horror show on his face as he sipped carefully at his coffee. He looked down at the gloves and scarf he'd laid out on the table, having intended to stay a while, and he thought about putting them back on. He knew she would follow him out if he left, however, and he wasn't sure if it was safer to take the run-out or stay where there were possible witnesses. Laura certainly wasn't the type to use her hands to cause destruction, but he did know what she was capable of. His entire plan had already gone to shit, so he wasn't really sure what his next move should be. It was why he was frozen to his spot, feeling her eyes on him, as if she was singing to him directly.

"Lady lights a cigarette, puffs away, no regrets. Takes a look around, no regrets, no regrets. Stretches out like the branches of a poplar tree, says I am free; sings so soft as if she'll break, says I can sing this song so blue that you will cry in spite of you… Little wet tears on your baby's shoulder, little wet tears on your baby's shoulder…"

He tried to remember if he'd seen a payphone around the area that he could use, looked around the shop for one. If he could get in touch with Brain, maybe he could manage some sort of damage control. He just needed to stay focused, needed to move, needed to do something besides sit there and stare, but…

"I've always seen you."

That memory from the morning was replaying again and again inside his skull, magnified by the way her eyes were boring into him from the stage, her red lips wrapping around the words of the song as expertly as they had the lies she'd told him. He could still taste her mouth on his even now, the heat of it, the flavor of her toothpaste mixed in with the salt of his own tears. Her long, strangely delicate fingers had pressed against his jaw, leaving invisible, permanent marks. Those same hands had slid down his back, playing silent music against his ribcage with the same dexterity that they danced along the keys of the piano… and he'd let her do it, let her tear him open, let her sink her teeth into him when he'd known how dangerous she was. He'd turned to her for comfort when she'd been the source of his anguish. It didn't matter how desperate he had been… He was the one who had made the mistake. In the end, all of it was his fault.

After all, Emily would never have been put in that spot if it hadn't been for him.

"But now it's time to say goodbye… Some might laugh, but I will surely cry… Little wet tears on my baby's shoulder, little wet tears on my baby's shoulder…"

As much as he hated Laura for what she'd done, he couldn't pin all of the blame on her, and that made him angrier… and guiltier… than anything.

"Lady lights a cigarette… puffs away… and winter comes, and she… forgets…"

The song came to a close with a soft round of applause from the few people who were still there. Laura offered a smoky thank you into the microphone before standing and brushing the wrinkles out of her trousers. She gathered the few dollars out of the tip jar sitting on the corner of the piano as well as her purse and stepped down off the stage, approaching the counter to order tea before turning her gaze back on Brendan. He didn't budge, holding his coffee cup with both hands.

Laura sighed through her nose, thanked the man behind the counter as she received her order and then walked over, settling into the chair across from him as if he'd invited her. "Fancy seeing you here, Brendan," she said casually. Brendan couldn't stop staring at the blonde of her hair, the same straw color as Emily's.

"Yeah, fancy that," he replied, equally casual though with a twinge of bitterness at the end. He took a gulp of his coffee and set it back down.

"I'm surprised you didn't take a powder when you saw me. I would have expected you to lam off before I caught wind you were here."

"How do you know I wasn't waiting for you?"

"The look on your face when you glommed me said it all," Laura said, corners of her mouth twitching in a non-smile before she sipped at the tea, leaving a blood red lip print around the rim, "not as astute as usual, are you?"

"I wouldn't have expected you to be out in the open, considering."

She shrugged. "I wouldn't exactly consider this out in the open."

"I'm sure you've got some dog under your thumb to bite if you need them to."

She sighed again, setting her cup down next to his. "You're so sure of what you know."

"Not really. From experience I think I can make my own assumptions."

Laura was unfazed by the biting remark. "You bring up a fair point," she said, "but I am here by myself. A girl's got to get out and have a little fun once in a while."

"Playing for tips is likely a better hobby than cutting back heroin."

She snorted. "That's true, actually. You're right. You're completely right. I did some really bad things back stateside, things I'll never be able to make up for, not completely. I know that. I knew that when I went in, but it spiraled out of my control. I know you think that I planned it out like that, but… that's not what I wanted."

Brendan rolled his eyes. "I didn't come here to talk about the past. I'm definitely not looking to patch things up with you, so you can ease off the sob story, angel, because I'm not buying it."

"I'm not asking you to," she said. "I know you didn't come here for me, but you're here, so I thought I should tell you. I'm not going to pretend that I don't have an idea as to why you're here… but I want you to know that I never meant to hurt you. I want to help you."

"The hell you do," Brendan snapped. "Don't feed me that. Don't even try to feed me that. You said you wanted to help me before, and you sent me to the slaughterhouse." His fists clenched on the tabletop, the urge to stand and fight nearly overwhelming his self-control.

"I told you not to go," Laura said coolly, leaning her cheek onto her hand. "I didn't want you to go because I knew how it would play out. I was just doing what I had to do to survive. You were never supposed to get so wrapped up in all of it, but once things had been set into motion there was nothing I could do but protect myself."

"Protect yourself?" Brendan laughed bitterly. "You started all of it."

"I didn't say it wasn't selfish," she said, voice gaining a slight edge to it. Brendan found an odd joy in the fact that he'd gotten under her skin even a little. "I was in it for myself. I wanted the money for myself. I wanted to get out. She ended up going down, and then you got involved. I didn't want you to get hurt, but you did. That's the tale. We both know it. There's no point in arguing semantics anymore. It's not going to change anything."

"No, it's not. You've got a hell of a lot of nerve to think I'd even think about trusting you."

"Can I ask you something?"

Brendan remained silent but didn't refuse.

"If it hadn't been in my locker. If your tale had been a fantasy, what would you have done?"

"It was in your locker."

She folded her hands on the tabletop, eyes downcast. Brendan's gaze was drawn to her lips, still bright red. "I meant what I said in the locker cage… back before all of it."

Brendan knew what she meant immediately. He'd been thinking about it all day. All the same, he wasn't about to let her think that the shit she'd fed him that day meant anything to him now. He feigned ignorance.

Laura's gaze never faltered. "I always saw you. I saw you back there, eating your lunch by yourself, your heart broken over a girl who couldn't love you. You felt abandoned by her… and all you'd ever tried to do was protect her. I've never had anyone to protect me, probably never will, but… I did want to. It was my fault to think I could after everything that had already happened."

"Yeah, right."

"I mean it," she said firmly, reaching out and placing her hand on top of his. He probably should have immediately jerked his hand away, but he found that he couldn't. Her nails were painted the same color as her lips, the polish chipped and in need of a new coat. "Look, I… I made a lot of mistakes, and… I'm sorry, Brendan. I really am."

Brendan's eyes stung. "The hell you are," he mumbled, but all the fight had drained out of him. "People died, and you're sorry? Bullshit. You've never been sorry a single day in your life, angel."

She huffed out a dejected laugh. "I don't expect you to believe anything I say, Brendan."

"Then why say it? For the sake of it?"

She shook her head. "I don't expect you to understand. All I am to you is the girl who took Emily away from you, but she wasn't yours when it happened, and she wouldn't have gone back to you even if she had lived. You've got reason to be angry, but you can't say that Emily didn't choose her path on her own. It ended badly, and I played my part in it, but that's not why you're upset."

"I'm not upset. Nothing I could have done for Emily by then, but all the same I couldn't just let the deserving players go free. That's not how I do things."

"Liar," she said almost fondly, moving her hand off of his by her own volition. The skin tingled where her fingers had been, almost as if it missed the touch. "Don't pretend it wasn't anything but an attempt to avenge her. You loved her with everything you had, Brendan. Everyone knew it. I saw the way you suffered when she left you, the way you disappeared inside yourself. You're still carrying the weight of it, even now. You thought she'd always be yours, and she betrayed your faith in that belief."

"You betrayed me," Brendan found himself arguing before he could stop himself. "You betrayed anyone who ever made the mistake of trusting you. You played chess with people's lives, and you sacrificed your pawns because they meant nothing to you."

"Yeah, I did."

"It's a pity that you still lost," Brendan said with cynical enjoyment.

She smiled at him, but her eyes were sad. "I don't think anyone won in the end."

Brendan looked down at the tabletop, humming. He spotted her purse and grabbed it, and he silenced Laura's protests before they could begin with a glare. "If you want me to even think about trusting you, you'd better be a little more open than that."

She buttoned her lip and sat silently while he sifted through her belongings. A clutch wallet with a fake I.D. and a few bills of money for various nearby countries, a fake passport, various make-up items, and a handful of receipts were all inside, but none of those things interested him as much as the small, black notebook filled with names and numbers and the pistol-a Colt M1911.

Laura shifted in her seat. "Can we go outside? I need a cigarette."

Brendan didn't smile so much as tightly turn up the corners of his mouth. "Sure," he said.

They stepped out, Brendan shoving his gloves into his pocket and haphazardly tossing his scarf around his neck. She grabbed her pack of cigarettes from the purse, holding up her hand cautiously as he watched her every move. She lit the end of one and then deposited the box and lighter back where they had been for him to sift through at his will. He waited until he was sure no one was around, and he pulled the gat out from her purse, checking the chamber. There was only one bullet in it. "Protection?"

"Of a sort." Smoke billowed from between her lips, obscuring her face.

"I'll just take this then," he said, sliding it into the back of the waistline of his jeans. "This too," He added, snagging the notebook and pocketing it. He checked the rest of the pockets of the bag before deciding nothing else useful was inside and tossing it back to her.

"Wait," Laura said. "Hand me the notebook."

"Not a chance."

She sighed, longsuffering, and amended, "A piece of it then. A blank sheet."

He conceded, and she pressed it against Brendan's chest as she scribbled out an address and put it in his hand, folding his fingers around it. "If you want to keep your thumb on me, that's where I'm staying," she said.

"You mean where you're hiding?"

"Call the bulls on me if you want. Do whatever. I'm not going to fight you this time, Brendan. You don't even have to believe that's my real joint, but this is all I can do."

Brendan couldn't think of a sharp barb to lob in her direction, so he just silently pocketed it, just like he had with the phone number Mal had given him that morning.

"You might want to scram soon," Laura said, wrapping her arms around herself. Her coat was still inside somewhere, if she even had one. "Johnny and his boys tend to come around this part of town for drinks when they take their breaks. Munroe already had his best point spot you on airport security cameras, so they know you're here. Considering you stole from them, they seem pretty jazzed up about giving you the beat down… and they'll do it slow."

"I'm not afraid of them."

"You've never been afraid of anyone in your whole life, even if they're terrifying. It's what will get you killed one day, you know?"

"I'll take my chances."

She looked at her feet and then back up at him, lips parting slightly.

Before she could say anything else, he said, "Blonde doesn't suit you by the way," and walked away.

In hindsight, he probably should have heeded her advice.

It was hard not to think that way when he put the black notebook he'd been flipping through away to find that, having not paid close attention to his surroundings, he had been spotted and followed.

It was hard to think of anything at all when he was met with a pipe to the face.

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