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azuremewTitle: Mistaken Identity, Part 2
Word Count: 7,509
Pairings/Characters: Eames/Robert, Ariadne/Arthur, past Browning/Robert, Cobb, Yusuf, Erika, Henri
Rating: R, borders NC-17
Warnings: Implied D/s (nothing graphic)
Summary: Ariadne, Cobb, and Arthur convince Eames that he is unable to help Robert alone. With his approval, the team begins their research and planning for the inception of their mark, Robert Fischer, yet again.
Author's Note: Dedicated to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lycanthrophile, my beta and the owner of Carl Dane. <3
Part 1
Part 2
Scene 1
The next, few days were bliss – at least as well as they could be. No one ever expected the fallen heir to return to the scene, but there he was with having brunch in the hotel's restaurant and sailing. Eames was with him every step of the way. The media had rumored before about Robert's sexual conquests. About the time he was eighteen, old enough to be seen as an adult even if he carried that burden long before. It was their first attempt at removing him from underneath his father's shadow, to bring him into the spotlight as the next Paris Hilton. They failed miserably, and now, after “FALLEN FISCHER SON TAKES LAST TUMBLE” there were no camera flashes or questions in his ear.
And Robert loved it. He never understood why the papers took such interest in the first place. Eames claimed that it was his face, those unforgettable lines and eyes. The news did not want more stories about alternative energy solutions but grabbed at the idea of the spokesman wearing only Calvin Klein underwear, draped in both female and male models. That always caused quite the blush. But it seemed to be true, for without anything interesting to write about, it was quiet. The media had more important follow-ups to attempted suicides.
“We will have to give them something,” Robert noted as Eames held the door for them to the hotel.
Eames whispered to Robert's ear in their short gathering, “We will tell them nothing.”
“Don't you think that someone will question?” Robert asked. “We've been lucky enough, but someone might see us.”
“Let them. You were quite lovely in all of your disclosures. Elegant and humble enough to drive everyone bored. You recovered, and now you are with someone, taking some time off from the world to rethink your plans.” Eames smiled and slid his arm behind Robert. “They know nothing else except for your financial decisions. Unless a sex tape gets leaked.”
Robert elbowed Eames then, and for once, rather than holding onto the paranoia, he allowed a laugh at that idea. When Eames did not join him, though, he started to worry that the sullen face meant that he was serious. He realized then that Eames was not paying complete attention to him. Rather, he faced a different direction slightly, toward the bar. Opposite to the restaurant, it was still open this late at night. The lights held a cool ambiance, echoing the shades of blue in the main hall. There were tall tables for two and booths. The places was empty except for the corner booth where two men sitting on either side of a woman. “Do you know them?” he asked quietly. “They look familiar.”
He wanted to tell the truth, but it was swallowed down thick, unsettled with the desire to just vomit it all up. The inception was poison, and he helped. But that was business, and part of the deal was to never tell the mark. Call it the honor amongst thieves or just being a good businessman; either way, Eames never told. “No, I thought that I recognized them, but Cobb is in the States, with his children.” Robert Fischer figured it out all on his own, and he worried that the points would be made. It built more guilt, the knot forming in his stomach and burning his heart. The pain would not settle even after Robert nodded and let them continue to the elevators.
It needed to end, soon, but without the consent of his fellows, it wouldn't be right. His throat was cleared of the knot while Robert was distracted with summoning a car. “Robert, I was thinking . . .” he spoke again in their original tone, unknown if it hurt more that pretending was easy or the fact that he was doing it. “Why don't we celebrate? That idea of yours sounds fantastic, and I don't mind staying in afterward. In fact, I know just the thing.”
“Where are you going?” Robert asked, confused by the sudden turn to leave without him.
“It's a surprise,” Eames called out.
“Don't you think I've had enough surprises?”
There was a frown in response, Eames stopping to face him. Robert couldn't tell if it was a mock or real. Either way, he followed the few steps, his hands slipped around Eames' waist, and spoke before anything could be said to start whatever. “All I want is you, naked, with a bottle of vintage wine. Quiet. Alone.”
“Then let me have the honor of finding that bottle for you,” Eames said, letting himself be pulled into that grasp though they had the attention of more than one visitor and missed their ride. He leaned into Robert's ear and kissed it before adding, “Then it won't be a surprise, either.”
It gave him the moment to look at the threesome – Cobb's stare, a hint of Ariadne's smile, and Arthur almost ready to get up and saunter over for a good, hearty punch. He gathered Ariadne's hand subtly moving beneath the table to calm Arthur, unsure if that was his mind playing tricks from previous knowledge or an accurate observation.
Either way, he was interrupted by Robert pulling them apart to tell him, “Nonsense. I'm sure that there is something in the restaurant.”
Eames smiled. “And that something would not be right for your exquisite tongue, Robert.” The corners of his lips pulled back further at the slight recoil to hide the flush in his cheeks. “You know it's true, love, and I have just the place in mind.” He pressed the pads of his fingers beneath Robert's chin to lift it, reminding him to never look down. “I won't be long.”
They kissed, and Eames ducked out, letting go of the bags to very safe hands. He went outside, just long enough for Robert to take the elevator and curse out the fact that on the surface, he was being too trusting. That would have to be ignored, he knew, to swat out the problem he did not want Robert to be part of. A plan was devised after a few minutes, and with a deep breath to flood out the tension, he returned to the lobby and into the restaurant.
“Ariadne,” he said. It lacked the cheer from their earlier encounters. The smile in his eyes was gone too, leaving a cold man that brought a discomfort to the young woman's face. He could see her lower her head a little, the message of guilt quickly rising and blooming in her manners. It was easy, but the others . . . “And you brought Arthur and Cobb.” Not so much, but he took the seat empty amongst the four, his back to the door to guard it and Robert. “If Yusuf were here, I would this an intervention.”
“Eames,” Ariadne started, quiet, but Arthur interrupted her, “How long?” he asked. They both knew Eames' story about Barron's was bullshit, but Arthur wanted to hear it.
Eames smiled at that. “Still doubting yourself, Arthur? That's no good for a point man,” he shook his head and stopped to let Arthur fume, but it was more so to keep their conversation private. The very same waiter from before walked up to pour a glass a water and asked him if he was ready to order. “No, thank you,” he returned in a more polite, jovial tone. “I won't be long.”
He waited until the stranger left and let the facade drop that this was an accidental meeting between old friends. “Have you asked Cobb? He's the one that broke the rules first. After the inception, I was all set on a small vacation in the orient.”
“Saito said that even if it worked, and the company wasn't dissolved, the deal would be off,” Cobb reminded. “You got paid, but I couldn't have the police storming my home and scaring the children. We talked about this before you agreed.”
Eames nodded, “And I did because no one else could do what I did.”
“And after?” Ariadne asked after forming a bit more confidence that this was a good idea. She could see the small shake of Eames' head, telling her that after, he did not leave as they planned. “What happened?”
“Long story,” Eames argued. “One that I don't have the time for.”
“Then make time,” Arthur insisted.
Eames shook his head, “I don't think so, darling. While I rather enjoy the team dynamic, none of this is your concern.”
“You're right,” Cobb interjected. “The job is complete, and you are doing whatever it is that you're doing. But Ariadne called us because she can see that it's not enough, and I agree. You have a good front, Eames. Always did. But it won't last.”
“Robert isn't Mal,” Eames said in a flat tone, dropping any form of friendliness he tried to keep to be civil. “He has ideas – his own ideas. He's not trapped. We gave him the chance to build his own life, and he's doing it.”
“Is he having nightmares?” Ariadne asked quietly. “Eames, you look tired. Exhausted.”
“It's from all the fantastic sex we're having,” Eames shot back and got exactly what he expected. Ariadne recoiled again, unable to handle his forward approach. He shook his head a little. “Very well, if it will get everyone to leave us be, I'll tell you. But first, Arthur, since I'm here when I shouldn't be, perhaps you could help a fellow before this whole thing spills over.” He opened his wallet, pulling out enough currency to buy double of what he needed to avoid Robert's paranoia. Time, numbers, and a damned good bottle of wine – three things he could never argue with Robert and win, although he was working on the latter. “There's a wine store down the road.”
Arthur blinked, about ready to speak, but Cobb nodded to him. He stood, taking the money, but Eames added before the first step: “And take Ariadne with you, hrm?” That definitely caused a reaction in the point man. Normally, he was the quietest of the group. Logical. He followed orders. But Eames was getting on his last nerve if not for Ariadne standing and saying that she would go, that she hadn't been to Sydney before.
They left, and Eames added, “There. Now that your groupies are gone, lets talk.”
“They used to be your tea --”
“My team?” Eames asked, clipping the words right out while trying to not laugh. “Cobb, I don't like it when I don't get all of the information. Lets face it – you can't do a flawless job without knowing every detail beforehand, and both Arthur and you screwed that up.” He breathed in to try and calm down, adding quietly, “I'm not going to take that chance again.”
Cobb frowned at those words, but he didn't say anything about it. “He's having nightmares.”
Trust was hard to build on after Saito was shot. Leaving out details, bending the rules – those were things Eames expected from Cobb. Hell, he spoke the language quite fluently. That was why they worked so well together before. But Eames had never seen such carelessness in Cobb before until his projection of Mal shot Robert.
Still, if anyone understood his position at the moment, it was Dominic Cobb and his love for his wife, so he reached to the water and took a sip. The cold liquid was enough to clear the initial knot forming in his throat to block the simple answer: “Yes.”
“How often?”
“Every night. Multiple times.”
“And when he's awake?”
Eames' lips thinned, “They bleed through from time to time. Most frequently when he first wakes up and then there's the occasional trigger. He doesn't like rain or talking to Browning.”
Cobb nodded, taking in the information. There was one last question that he had to ask: “Why didn't you tell me?”
“I didn't know until after we broke contact,” Eames admitted. “Robert didn't let me in until after the company was dissolved and he was nothing but a man with half-remembered dreams and a memories that we tainted and exploited. By then, you had your family, and I did not see reason to worry you.”
“What happened?” Cobb asked.
“Robert found out about us, Cobb, and I was the closest one to blame both physically and mentally. With no one else, he directed it all at me.” Eames shook his head, ignoring the slight change in Cobb's eyes at the fact that Robert knew. “And there's more. I think whomever trained him didn't do it on his behalf specifically but for the sake of others – Browning and his father, certain members of the staff. He doesn't remember anything specific, as if the secrets were buried from him.”
So someone was hired to enter Fischer's mind, to show him how to defend it while burying his memories. That sounded impossible. In all of his experiences, he never knew of an extractor that was capable of destroying ideas. The thought summoned a shiver that he tried to hide. “What sort of secrets?” he asked, almost frightened at the notion of what could be so dark to have such a feat done.
“Whatever it is, I manged to open it up, and it's causing a more volatile catalyst than I had originally imagined,” Eames said, evading the question because he could not tell. “But he's doing better. As I said before, he has ideas.”
“But you have doubts? Is that it?” Cobb asked rather than pursuing his curiosity of details.
Eames stood then, “I have no worries at what Robert is becoming, Cobb. And neither should you. The idea was perfect. The job might have not gone as clean as any of us had wanted, but it's working. Your place here is done, so please, I ask as a friend, leave us be and tell Ariadne to do the same.” He turned and left then, not caring if Cobb wanted to reply, to give him a fond farewell or continue being stubborn over something that was not his to bother.
In the lobby, Arthur spotted Eames leaving the bar. He could shout, but he muttered a “Damn.” They entered and joined Cobb. Arthur sat the brown, paper bag down on the table, the heavy glass making a sound despite being wrapped carefully.
“Give him time” Cobb said. “He'll come around once he realizes what's going on is too much for him to deal with alone. For now, we need to get ready. Contact Yusuf, see if he'll be here by tomorrow morning. I'll talk to Erika and Henri.”
Scene 2
Robert is waiting in den just like their first night at the BLUE Sydney. His gaze was far from the door, but his mind wasn't from reality. No dreams were surrounding his conscious, trying to blur the two sides to the point of wondering if he he gone mad. What was happening surrounded him so vividly that he wished he could close is eyes and return to that nightmare.
He remained at the long, glass window that overlooked the dock even as he heard the door open. Eames slipped in quietly, ready to give an excuse as to why he returned empty handed and delayed, but Robert spoke first, “That was Mr. Charles. Dominic Cobb. The extractor.”
“Yes,” Eames admitted quietly, the excuses draining out of him. “Robert, I apologize. I wanted to tell you, but --”
“But what?” Robert interrupted. “You thought that I would storm over and cause a scene? Is that the kind of man you think I am?” His hands were in his pockets, to clench his fists while he thought. Now they ached. His whole body did from being so angry. “And the others?”
“Ariadne built the dreamscape, and Arthur, he . . . investigated your past --”
“So you weren't the only one that violated my life for this . . . inception.” Robert noted, once again clipping Eames' sentences with very accurate conclusions. “And you didn't think to tell me.” He heard the shuffle of footsteps, of Eames closing the gap to salvage something, but Robert felt nothing but ache and exhaustion. “Get out.”
“What?”
“Your services are done, sir,” Robert said in a flat tone, the very same that he used while letting go of his associates, long-term workers, and even Browning.“Whatever obligation you felt was needed to make certain that your job was done right is complete. You're free to go.”
Eames was half-tempted to turn then, to leave, but he couldn't without speaking his mind, “You selfish bastard. My job ended almost a month before you signed the release papers to the building.”
“Yet you continue to conspire with the others responsible,” Robert noted.
“They came on their own accord after Ariadne read the papers.” Eames knew what he had to say next would further expand his guilt, but he added, “She was in the lobby the night of my arrival. I tried to get her to leave, but I don't have that kind of control.”
Robert turned his head, just enough so that Eames could see the red eyes that tainted strking blue.There was mucus beneath his nose and tears still endless upon his face. It reminded Eames of the first time he observed Robert. Everone called him cold, just like he had, but there, in that office, by his father's bedside was a kind man keeping what he had together. “I trusted you. I told you everything, and you . . .”
“I don't do it because I want to, Robert. I'm trying to help you.”
“Because of guilt.”
“Because I love you.”
“I don't,” Robert said. “I can't love someone that hides from me. My father did it, Browning did it, and now you are, and you give the same excuse. I'm weak. I'm not. I would have survived amongst the wolves if you'd all stop holding my hand and this thinking for me.”
Eames couldn't respond to that. The stories were still thick in his mind, and to be put in the same category as Maurice Fischer and Peter Browning was worse than being called a thief. And what sank in the most was that Robert was right. Despite the nightmares, the hallucinations, Robert was a strong man, an intelligent man, and he wasn't taking that into account often enough. “Then I'll let you go back to your business, Robert, if that's what you want.”
“I will have the lobby hold your things.You can collect them in the morning.”
“At least let me get the PASIV,” Eames asked. He wouldn't let Robert say no, but he didn't want them to argue any further, so his words were chosen in a quieter tone. “I don't want some stranger take care of it.” Robert nodded, and he went into bedroom to the bag that was not opened since their arrival. It was lifted, the strap over his shoulder; it weight him down. Eames thought of throwing it, but he imagined the mess it would cause. Either way, he was done with playing with peoples minds. It was fun for its time, but seeing the consequences, feeling it, changed him as much as it did Robert.
“I didn't care much for my family. They were big shots in a business not so different from yours,” he said in the door frame with Robert's back to him. “I didn't like the suits, the parties, so I rebelled in vandalism, larceny, and a slew of other petty crimes that put me into boarding school. In college, I studied art, both performing and mixed media. My parents thought I was becoming a painter or actor. I told them that after graduation, I wanted to travel to see the world. That was when I met Mal and Cobb. I was testing my slight of hand and picked the right pocket, it would seem. They showed me the dream world, and I found it to be an extraordinary adventure.”
Robert did not respond, but that meant Eames had no reason to stop: “I continued to work with Cobb for a long time, until he had this idea of exploring great depths. None of us were willing to follow him into limbo. Arthur didn't like the idea of vast nothing, and I preferred reality. Reality held so much more of a challenge. Once one realizes they are dreaming, they have infinite capacity, their own rules. It was easy compared to living the unknown, and I hate easy.
“Mal died, and Cobb never contacted us about it or her descent. I never expected to see him, what with the police and all. Risky business. Then he tracked me down in Mombasa and told me about inception. The idea was exceptional, something I had only heard of in rumored whispers – how was I to refuse?” When Robert didn't yell at him, he took a step closer. “I read the files, what Saito had on you and Fischer Morrow. I thought you were like the others. You weren't. You were something else entirely. Complex, brilliant, and fucking gorgeous to top it off. That cold facade was just that, and I could see it breaking from the pressure. You needed someone to get through this, and I offered because I thought it would make the job easier for us both.”
“Analytical,” Robert said, his voice distant and almost absorbed entirely by the window.
“I'm good at what I do, Robert. But after we talked, I didn't want to have sex with you as part of the ruse to make you feel better. I wanted you, your brilliance, your complicated – everything. I wanted to taste it, to feel it, and be part of it. For that brevity, life was fascinating without needing dreams or some other mechanic.”
“And then you did the job,” Robert noted.
“To protect you by making sure Cobb's brashness did not screw it all up.”
“I don't need your protection,” Robert repeated, restraining a yell. “I can take care of myself.”
“I know, Robert, but you don't need to carry the burden by yourself.” Eames stretched out his hand. “I swear to you, tomorrow I will find Cobb and tell him that I'm done, make certain that he doesn't come near us. Please, forgive me for not telling you sooner. I don't want to lose you.”
Robert looked over, first at Eames, the reflection of light on his eyes, then the shaking hand holding back the desire to fuck respect and personal space and reach out completely. “I don't either,” he whispered, crossing the room not to hold the hand but be close to the man. The bag was lifted off of Eames and set onto the floor, Robert laying his hand where the pressure was. “As much as I want to deny it, I needed someone then, and I love that it was you.”
Scene 3
Eames found Cobb and the others easy enough. They were hiding out in a building similar to the one in Paris – expansive but with side rooms for private moments that caressed his mind more vividly than the dreams they experienced. He met Cobb at the door and was ushered into the front, reception area. “One last job,” he said. “Then I'm out. We're going to implant the idea that he's safe, rebuild his confidence and ability to create something that isn't part of his father's empire.” He glanced at Cobb, whom had this knowing look on his face that explained the very organized set up. “You were right. He is strong, but these nightmares we've created combined with his previous trauma will tear him apart if we don't do something.”
“And what did you have in mind?” Cobb asked.
“I had thought about extracting the idea, but it became part of him, just as you said,” Eames replied, his voice turning quieter. “So the only other option is to build something that can fight, an idea so believable that he takes it, trusts it, and trusts himself.”
“And you've started?”
“I have.”
Cobb raised his eyebrows, “And?”
“Would I be here if it was working?” Eames snapped. “The idea is simple enough, but we need more than the surface of his subconscious and physical reassurance.”
“Great depth.”
Eames looked up from his concentration to see a woman leaning against one of the foundation posts. She had the hair of his projection – long, blond, and beautiful. Her face was lovely, too, with eyes that could've made her related to Fischer if they weren't so wide and pale. “Who's this?” he asked a second later, deciding not to make direct contact without a proper explanation.
“This is Erika Templer. She will be taking Yusuf's place as well as helping us find you.”
“Me?” Eames questioned.
“I know what you're trying to do Eames because it's exactly what I tried with Mal.” Cobb explained, lowering his head at the memory. She was sitting at their dining room table, holding onto the knife, contemplating it, her death, and waking up. “Except I didn't go to anyone, and she wouldn't allow us to use the PASIV. You're trying to build trust with Fischer, trust in you, so that you can lead him out.” He saw Eames nod in agreement. “Do you plan on leaving afterward?”
“No,” Eames said.
“Good. Then lets get started.”
The three of them continued passed another set of doors for security, and Eames found himself standing in a room so similar to the one in Paris that his thumb rubbed against the poker chip in his pocket. Chairs were all lined up in a circular pattern with open, metal cases displaying the PASIV he held over his shoulder. Arthur was tinkering with the device, making sure that all the parameters were set properly, and Ariadne stood to the side with another, unknown person – a man, brunette, with little to no distinguishing features.
Yusuf stood next to Arthur, and that caused more confusion. “I thought you said Yusuf was being replaced,” Eames pointed out, and the others all paused at what they were doing to look at him.
“He is,” Cobb said calmly, although he was bracing himself for this bit of information and Eames' reaction, “Yusuf isn't going into the field. He's staying behind with you.”
“Bloody hell I'm not,” Eames yelled. “You don't know what you're getting into.”
“Actually,” Erika smiled, “we do.” That cued the man to walk from the Aridane's table where a new skyline was being drawn. “Eames, I'd like you to meet my companion, Henri Alkaev. We've worked together on a few jobs, although his part isn't about extraction or inception.”
“It's security,” Cobb concluded.
It didn't take long for Eames to piece together what they were getting at. “And you know how to bypass Robert's defenses without tearing apart his mind?”
“Of course,” Henri said with a smirk. He held no accent either – or rather, it was that melting pot voice Americans carried, undefined after generations of living there. “After all, I'm the one that trained him.”
Eames' eyes grew wide, and Cobb stepped in front of him. Arthur was ready to make a move, too, and that made him chuckle. “You have this all figured out,” he said, defeated. “Fine. What would you have me do?”
“Tell us everything that you know, everything that has changed, what to watch out for,” Cobb said and stepped away, sending him and the group to the circle of chairs and drawing board. “We need to know what the idea has done to his mind before we can plan a course of action.”
“The idea stuck, but it's more than that. During the company's collapse, Browning quit. Apparently, we were right in using him as the betrayer. While he was Robert's god father and Maurice's right hand man, he cared more about the money. Robert tried to contact him, but there was no response. Others turned on him as well, but he stood his ground, held faith that this was right.” Eames sat down on one of the chairs, but it felt like the weight of telling this was pulling him down. “Seeing Browning leave was devastating. He was a mentor and closest figure to family after his mother's death. Maurice never thought he'd succeed, and Browning took it upon himself to teach the boy because he begged.”
The others sat as well, their faces a sea of different emotions, some knowing while others surprised. Henri spoke up next, “With Peter Browning's help, Robert was able to finish college and learn the company plans. He was prepared to take his father's place, but it was acknowledged that previous actions caused a fragility that would make it easy for him to be manipulated. I was brought in to bring up his composure and mental security.”
Eames looked at Henri, “Do you know why he's like that? Or did they tell you that he's always been reserved?”
“He was upset at his father's lack of faith in him. After his mother died, he tried to gain comfort and was burned for it. Peter Brow --”
“Peter Browning planned on taking the company as his own,” Eames said, cutting off this nonsense that was supposedly concrete facts. “Robert was to be his partner only out of respect and take him out once he had the stockholders on his side, and he trusted Browning. Completely. Even after . . .” he shook his head, swallowing a knowing knot of information.
“How do you know this?” Henri asked.
“I've extracted before. Cobb might be best, but he's not the only one that's gone in, navigated, and found information no one wants you to know.” Eames drew in a deep breath. “I wanted Robert to know what Browning's intentions were so that he'd stop questioning what happened. Then I learned what Browning did in order to secure Robert's trust, to test it, and decided to let him learn for himself.” He paused, the knot forming in his stomach almost tight enough to want to search out a trash can and vomit. “Robert told me once I gained enough trust for him to openly tell his secrets.”
Henri raised an eyebrow “What secrets?”
“Piss off,” Eames spat, but they were all looking at him,expecting an answer. “You don't need to know the details.”
“But we do need to know what caused the change that you proclaim to be so extreme that we would need you as a guide,” Arthur noted in Henri's defense.
Eames stood up then. “Lets just say that Robert Fischer has problems trusting others.” He glanced at his watch and added, “And I should be getting back before that bond is broken. We're leaving Sydney soon if you plan on tagging along.”
“We won't be,” Cobb informed. “Grounding his private jet was difficult enough without worrying about the airline.”
“So you're going with an easier solution?” Eames asked.
“A hotel room will be suffice,” Erika said. “Either we'll drug his drink or wait until he's sleeping – the latter might be more appropriate since we know some of the rumors are true.”
“And once you have him? What then?”
Henri smirked, “I thought that you had somewhere to be, Mr. Eames.”
“I do, but . . .” Eames pressed his lips together to keep the uncertainty that still filled him at the thought of a second inception. They were all looking at him, focused and optimistic. None of them knew what they were getting into. “I'll keep in touch.” Once he broke it to Robert that they wouldn't be traveling together as he had promised.
Scene 4
A week passed. They go through the same routine, like clockwork, only with different cogs moving each part. The first level was a building – a commercial space with shops on the main level and offices above. This was the new beginning. Eames explained Robert Fischer's move from resource to the people, to bring the alternative to a more user-friendly level. This would start with the auotmotive industry. “He has a meeting in Grand Rapids with a potential investment in General Motors. If all goes well, they'll travel to Detroit to the processing plant.”
Eames added that Robert was questioning their relationship. Unable to tell what his last assignment was, or who he was working for, made things difficult. “He's traveling there alone, but we plan on meeting up in Columbus, Ohio first to smooth things over.”
“Good,” Cobb said solemnly from the other side of the circle they created to finalize his operation. Behind him was a table. He stood against it, hands planted behind him not only to prop but hold onto. “We'll need the strain if we're to get Fischer to act appropriately in the dream. He's going to recognize immediately that there are intruders unless we're able to give him a hint.”
“Like Mr. Charles,” Eames continued. “Robert already believes that I'm working for him right now without my confirmation.”
“So we're going to go in, Fischer's going to think that we're Eames, and when he finds out we're not, we're going to tell him that Eames was kidnapped?” Ariadne tilted her head. “By what?”
Erika smiled. “Not what. Who.”
“Browning,” Cobb said. “Fischer relied on Browning's decisions while Maurice was alive, and he was the most upset when Fischer Morrow was dissolved. That was why turning the projection worked so well the last time.”
“But why would it work this time?” Ariadne questioned.
“Because I'm helping rebuild Robert from underneath Browning's shadow,” Eames said. “After that, the memory of Browning, what is haunting Robert, should disappear.”
Arthur nodded, his grasp on symbolism taking hold. “Alright, so we lead Fischer back to Los Angeles where Browning should be. Then what? The confrontation?”
Ariadne sat up and looked around the room, “We're going into Browning's head again?”
“At least that's what Fischer will believe,” Cobb explained.
“And what will he find this time?” Arthur asked, and in the corner of his eye he could see Eames pull out of his pocket the poker chip. “You can't be serious.” He turned to look directly at Eames. “Did you let him hold it?”
“ 'Course not,” Eames scowled. “He's only seen it and knows the individual purpose.”
“Does he have a totem?” Ariadne asked, and Eames shook his head. “And we're keeping him believing that this is a dream.”
“It's the safest direction,” Cobb concluded. “Subconsciously, he knows that Mr. Charles is safe, and if someone waltzes in as him with others, his mind should continue to believe long enough for us to make it to the next level.”
Ariadne nodded, “How long do we have?”
“Two days,” Cobb said. “So we need to act quickly if we're going to pull this off.” He looked to Erika and added, “We'll have Erika shadow Fischer at the hotel, make sure he's asleep when we arrive. Eames will then retrieve a key and hand it over so that we can proceed.”
Erika stretched her arms behind her, “Which means that I should get packed. I have someone at the Crowne Plaza already waiting. She was hired as part of the cleaning services a week ago.” She saluted the group then and smiled. “See you all stateside.”
“Right,” Cobb agreed. “We'll follow shortly thereafter. Lets all get some rest first. It's going to be a long flight, and I want to make sure everyone understands the path of this dream so that we can avoid any problems.”
Scene 5
The vultures were swarming. Clad in expensive cloth, dark features, their voices were to the point but ineffective. Each word brushed off of Robert Fischer as if meaningless, and compared to the man that rested in a half-remembered dream, teetering toward the brink of death from insanity and agony, it was no surprise. Eames frowned at that as he watched Peter Browning speak, studying the movement of his hands and lips, the sound of his voice. He was like the others – persuasive and agitated by the knowledge of what was to come and the urgency, but there's more to him, something that Fischer respected and was willing to confide in.
Not then, though. Not here with others watching them.
It was hours later. There's little light to the room except for the soft illumination of a desk lamp while Eames worked on his assignment. Piles of paperwork needed to be filed, projects in-progress that the lawyers had hoped Maurice would be able to read and make a decision before his condition deteriorated passed the point of lucidity. It was far beyond that now, but no one had the time to pick up the pages, pack them up, and bring them back. The company was falling apart without its chairman, leaving a wreckage for him to look through.
Saito would have a field day, Eames thought while he read minute reports and charts about alternative energy. He smiled briefly at the thought of finding a photocopier or simply pocketing a file or two. No one would ever know, and he was certain his primary employer would pay handsomely for such vital information. The only thing that kept his hands from sliding the folders beneath his suit coat was the sound beneath the large, closed doors. Fischer was still in there. Even after Browning and the doctors parted, the son remained at his father's side, unwavering. If the forger listened in, he could hear him speak, his voice broken now that everyone should be gone.
“You shouldn't be here.”
Eames gritted his teeth and got up, “Piss off, Cobb.”
“This isn't a dream,” Cobb continued from the doorway. “It's a memory. I shouldn't have to tell you what happens when you create from a memory.”
“You lose yourself,” Eames answered matter-of-factly. His tone was dry, and he fished from his pocket the red poker chip. “Don't worry. I've read the manual. I know the rules, and I do a better job at breaking them with my sanity still intact.”
Cobb frowned, “Let me help you.”
“I don't need a babysitter.”
“Then as an observer.”
Eames drew in a deep, shuddered breath, considerate of telling Cobb to piss off or taking the gun that would appear upon his command. A shot to the head would remind him where not to go, but the thrashing sounds of another episode caught both of their attentions. Whether Eames liked others intruding or not, Cobb was right. They needed to know everything if they were going to get in and out safely this time. “Robert is beyond that door with his father. Everyone had already left. He's tired. There are so many tubes, wires going in and out, that it's hard to call that shell a person. Most of the time he's quiet, solidifying the doubt that there's a hit of Maurice Fischer left, but then he has these moments. Loud screams. Crashes. We're alone that night when I hear the loud thump and go in.”
The door opened, and the fragile, old man was upon the floor. Robert cradled him helplessly, his eyes red from crying, his body trembling worse than the dying out of terror. “Help me!” Robert commanded, and Eames crossed the room quickly. Cobb waited, watching while together they lift the body up. Once he is safe again, Robert goes for his cellphone to call a doctor.
“I waited until the doctor came and told him that he needed to rest,” Eames continued and stepped back.”He refuses, so I ask if he'd like a drink. It was only meant to be a few, some time away from the office setting to get to know the subject better. I knew him, Cobb, or at least I thought I did. If I did, I might have found some way to stop this bloody inception.”
“No, you would not have,” Cobb said as Eames passed him to the exit. They left the room to a different one that was not the hallway in the Fischer estate. “We all knew the risks.”
Eames shook his head. While he was not an architect, the next room was as vivid as the last. “Robert wanted to listen, to create his own world, but the collapse was a difficult process. Everything he knew, everyone he loved, was gone. Even Browning.”
“Browning?” Cobb asked, unable to see passed the doorway because Eames was standing in the way to protect the memory that was not his. He could hear moaning, see the the detailed craftsmanship of the walls and floors, and wondered if he wanted to see what was beyond it. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he laid a hand on Eames' shoulder to gently move him aside to share.
There was a large, armchair, the kind found in libraries or large offices like this. An older man was sitting back, his neck arched slightly. His teeth bit his lower lip, but it wasn't enough to hold back the sounds that escaped his husky, smoke-rotted throat. Hands were wrapped around the head of a brunette knelt at his feet, fingers deep in the hair, holding it in knots.
Across from them was Browning.
“First time, he asked me if Uncle Peter put me up to it,” Eames said, his voice acidic from the bile as he said that name. “I told him no. I didn't understand how that answer could change him from someone willing to do anything for his father's company to someone that gave a damn about he wanted. I learned later that several of the stockholders had an interest for Maurice's son and respected Browning for having such a firm hold. Robert . . .” he turned away then. “all he wanted was to be appreciated as the man he is.”
Eames' eyes opened slowly to the warehouse, squinting from the overhead light. He pulled up to a sitting position with Cobb slowly waking up across from him. “There's the secret,” he said bitterly. “When Robert's sexual orientation leaked into the public, Browning hired Alkaev to cover up their corporate secrets from extractors. I learned later that it was a setup; Browning leaked the information out to the press, to push Robert into having the extractor invade his mind. He . . . doesn't believe it, and the truth is slowly tearing him apart.”
Cobb nodded, studying him with knowing eyes, how it feels to be losing someone they loved dearly. He had never seen this in Eames before. The thief always out there for himself. “Have you ever confronted him in the dreamshare?”
“Dozens of times, but each time something gets in the way,” Eames answered, showing the hints of exhaustion at how many he's tried before. “And there's one more thing, Cobb.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, pressing until it stung, but it would be nothing compared to what he inflicted on the extractor: “Mal's in there, too.”
“What?”
“She sort of jumped ship in limbo, lacing a bit of her memory into Robert. I suspect that's partially why he knew about the inc --” he stopped then because the lights turned on. Arthur and Ariadne entered, and Eames gave a bright smile, swinging his legs over to stand up. “So I guess it's time then?”
Arthur nodded, and Eames started towards the pair and what he hoped would be the end of this nightmare, but Cobb stopped him. “She's not real.”
“Course not. Just a bloody shade that's working with the rest of his militarized madness.” Eames murmured. “So no thinking that this mission is about you, else I might have reason to do a body swap and go in after all.”
Intermission
Word Count: 7,509
Pairings/Characters: Eames/Robert, Ariadne/Arthur, past Browning/Robert, Cobb, Yusuf, Erika, Henri
Rating: R, borders NC-17
Warnings: Implied D/s (nothing graphic)
Summary: Ariadne, Cobb, and Arthur convince Eames that he is unable to help Robert alone. With his approval, the team begins their research and planning for the inception of their mark, Robert Fischer, yet again.
Author's Note: Dedicated to
lycanthrophile, my beta and the owner of Carl Dane. <3Part 1
Scene 1
The next, few days were bliss – at least as well as they could be. No one ever expected the fallen heir to return to the scene, but there he was with having brunch in the hotel's restaurant and sailing. Eames was with him every step of the way. The media had rumored before about Robert's sexual conquests. About the time he was eighteen, old enough to be seen as an adult even if he carried that burden long before. It was their first attempt at removing him from underneath his father's shadow, to bring him into the spotlight as the next Paris Hilton. They failed miserably, and now, after “FALLEN FISCHER SON TAKES LAST TUMBLE” there were no camera flashes or questions in his ear.
And Robert loved it. He never understood why the papers took such interest in the first place. Eames claimed that it was his face, those unforgettable lines and eyes. The news did not want more stories about alternative energy solutions but grabbed at the idea of the spokesman wearing only Calvin Klein underwear, draped in both female and male models. That always caused quite the blush. But it seemed to be true, for without anything interesting to write about, it was quiet. The media had more important follow-ups to attempted suicides.
“We will have to give them something,” Robert noted as Eames held the door for them to the hotel.
Eames whispered to Robert's ear in their short gathering, “We will tell them nothing.”
“Don't you think that someone will question?” Robert asked. “We've been lucky enough, but someone might see us.”
“Let them. You were quite lovely in all of your disclosures. Elegant and humble enough to drive everyone bored. You recovered, and now you are with someone, taking some time off from the world to rethink your plans.” Eames smiled and slid his arm behind Robert. “They know nothing else except for your financial decisions. Unless a sex tape gets leaked.”
Robert elbowed Eames then, and for once, rather than holding onto the paranoia, he allowed a laugh at that idea. When Eames did not join him, though, he started to worry that the sullen face meant that he was serious. He realized then that Eames was not paying complete attention to him. Rather, he faced a different direction slightly, toward the bar. Opposite to the restaurant, it was still open this late at night. The lights held a cool ambiance, echoing the shades of blue in the main hall. There were tall tables for two and booths. The places was empty except for the corner booth where two men sitting on either side of a woman. “Do you know them?” he asked quietly. “They look familiar.”
He wanted to tell the truth, but it was swallowed down thick, unsettled with the desire to just vomit it all up. The inception was poison, and he helped. But that was business, and part of the deal was to never tell the mark. Call it the honor amongst thieves or just being a good businessman; either way, Eames never told. “No, I thought that I recognized them, but Cobb is in the States, with his children.” Robert Fischer figured it out all on his own, and he worried that the points would be made. It built more guilt, the knot forming in his stomach and burning his heart. The pain would not settle even after Robert nodded and let them continue to the elevators.
It needed to end, soon, but without the consent of his fellows, it wouldn't be right. His throat was cleared of the knot while Robert was distracted with summoning a car. “Robert, I was thinking . . .” he spoke again in their original tone, unknown if it hurt more that pretending was easy or the fact that he was doing it. “Why don't we celebrate? That idea of yours sounds fantastic, and I don't mind staying in afterward. In fact, I know just the thing.”
“Where are you going?” Robert asked, confused by the sudden turn to leave without him.
“It's a surprise,” Eames called out.
“Don't you think I've had enough surprises?”
There was a frown in response, Eames stopping to face him. Robert couldn't tell if it was a mock or real. Either way, he followed the few steps, his hands slipped around Eames' waist, and spoke before anything could be said to start whatever. “All I want is you, naked, with a bottle of vintage wine. Quiet. Alone.”
“Then let me have the honor of finding that bottle for you,” Eames said, letting himself be pulled into that grasp though they had the attention of more than one visitor and missed their ride. He leaned into Robert's ear and kissed it before adding, “Then it won't be a surprise, either.”
It gave him the moment to look at the threesome – Cobb's stare, a hint of Ariadne's smile, and Arthur almost ready to get up and saunter over for a good, hearty punch. He gathered Ariadne's hand subtly moving beneath the table to calm Arthur, unsure if that was his mind playing tricks from previous knowledge or an accurate observation.
Either way, he was interrupted by Robert pulling them apart to tell him, “Nonsense. I'm sure that there is something in the restaurant.”
Eames smiled. “And that something would not be right for your exquisite tongue, Robert.” The corners of his lips pulled back further at the slight recoil to hide the flush in his cheeks. “You know it's true, love, and I have just the place in mind.” He pressed the pads of his fingers beneath Robert's chin to lift it, reminding him to never look down. “I won't be long.”
They kissed, and Eames ducked out, letting go of the bags to very safe hands. He went outside, just long enough for Robert to take the elevator and curse out the fact that on the surface, he was being too trusting. That would have to be ignored, he knew, to swat out the problem he did not want Robert to be part of. A plan was devised after a few minutes, and with a deep breath to flood out the tension, he returned to the lobby and into the restaurant.
“Ariadne,” he said. It lacked the cheer from their earlier encounters. The smile in his eyes was gone too, leaving a cold man that brought a discomfort to the young woman's face. He could see her lower her head a little, the message of guilt quickly rising and blooming in her manners. It was easy, but the others . . . “And you brought Arthur and Cobb.” Not so much, but he took the seat empty amongst the four, his back to the door to guard it and Robert. “If Yusuf were here, I would this an intervention.”
“Eames,” Ariadne started, quiet, but Arthur interrupted her, “How long?” he asked. They both knew Eames' story about Barron's was bullshit, but Arthur wanted to hear it.
Eames smiled at that. “Still doubting yourself, Arthur? That's no good for a point man,” he shook his head and stopped to let Arthur fume, but it was more so to keep their conversation private. The very same waiter from before walked up to pour a glass a water and asked him if he was ready to order. “No, thank you,” he returned in a more polite, jovial tone. “I won't be long.”
He waited until the stranger left and let the facade drop that this was an accidental meeting between old friends. “Have you asked Cobb? He's the one that broke the rules first. After the inception, I was all set on a small vacation in the orient.”
“Saito said that even if it worked, and the company wasn't dissolved, the deal would be off,” Cobb reminded. “You got paid, but I couldn't have the police storming my home and scaring the children. We talked about this before you agreed.”
Eames nodded, “And I did because no one else could do what I did.”
“And after?” Ariadne asked after forming a bit more confidence that this was a good idea. She could see the small shake of Eames' head, telling her that after, he did not leave as they planned. “What happened?”
“Long story,” Eames argued. “One that I don't have the time for.”
“Then make time,” Arthur insisted.
Eames shook his head, “I don't think so, darling. While I rather enjoy the team dynamic, none of this is your concern.”
“You're right,” Cobb interjected. “The job is complete, and you are doing whatever it is that you're doing. But Ariadne called us because she can see that it's not enough, and I agree. You have a good front, Eames. Always did. But it won't last.”
“Robert isn't Mal,” Eames said in a flat tone, dropping any form of friendliness he tried to keep to be civil. “He has ideas – his own ideas. He's not trapped. We gave him the chance to build his own life, and he's doing it.”
“Is he having nightmares?” Ariadne asked quietly. “Eames, you look tired. Exhausted.”
“It's from all the fantastic sex we're having,” Eames shot back and got exactly what he expected. Ariadne recoiled again, unable to handle his forward approach. He shook his head a little. “Very well, if it will get everyone to leave us be, I'll tell you. But first, Arthur, since I'm here when I shouldn't be, perhaps you could help a fellow before this whole thing spills over.” He opened his wallet, pulling out enough currency to buy double of what he needed to avoid Robert's paranoia. Time, numbers, and a damned good bottle of wine – three things he could never argue with Robert and win, although he was working on the latter. “There's a wine store down the road.”
Arthur blinked, about ready to speak, but Cobb nodded to him. He stood, taking the money, but Eames added before the first step: “And take Ariadne with you, hrm?” That definitely caused a reaction in the point man. Normally, he was the quietest of the group. Logical. He followed orders. But Eames was getting on his last nerve if not for Ariadne standing and saying that she would go, that she hadn't been to Sydney before.
They left, and Eames added, “There. Now that your groupies are gone, lets talk.”
“They used to be your tea --”
“My team?” Eames asked, clipping the words right out while trying to not laugh. “Cobb, I don't like it when I don't get all of the information. Lets face it – you can't do a flawless job without knowing every detail beforehand, and both Arthur and you screwed that up.” He breathed in to try and calm down, adding quietly, “I'm not going to take that chance again.”
Cobb frowned at those words, but he didn't say anything about it. “He's having nightmares.”
Trust was hard to build on after Saito was shot. Leaving out details, bending the rules – those were things Eames expected from Cobb. Hell, he spoke the language quite fluently. That was why they worked so well together before. But Eames had never seen such carelessness in Cobb before until his projection of Mal shot Robert.
Still, if anyone understood his position at the moment, it was Dominic Cobb and his love for his wife, so he reached to the water and took a sip. The cold liquid was enough to clear the initial knot forming in his throat to block the simple answer: “Yes.”
“How often?”
“Every night. Multiple times.”
“And when he's awake?”
Eames' lips thinned, “They bleed through from time to time. Most frequently when he first wakes up and then there's the occasional trigger. He doesn't like rain or talking to Browning.”
Cobb nodded, taking in the information. There was one last question that he had to ask: “Why didn't you tell me?”
“I didn't know until after we broke contact,” Eames admitted. “Robert didn't let me in until after the company was dissolved and he was nothing but a man with half-remembered dreams and a memories that we tainted and exploited. By then, you had your family, and I did not see reason to worry you.”
“What happened?” Cobb asked.
“Robert found out about us, Cobb, and I was the closest one to blame both physically and mentally. With no one else, he directed it all at me.” Eames shook his head, ignoring the slight change in Cobb's eyes at the fact that Robert knew. “And there's more. I think whomever trained him didn't do it on his behalf specifically but for the sake of others – Browning and his father, certain members of the staff. He doesn't remember anything specific, as if the secrets were buried from him.”
So someone was hired to enter Fischer's mind, to show him how to defend it while burying his memories. That sounded impossible. In all of his experiences, he never knew of an extractor that was capable of destroying ideas. The thought summoned a shiver that he tried to hide. “What sort of secrets?” he asked, almost frightened at the notion of what could be so dark to have such a feat done.
“Whatever it is, I manged to open it up, and it's causing a more volatile catalyst than I had originally imagined,” Eames said, evading the question because he could not tell. “But he's doing better. As I said before, he has ideas.”
“But you have doubts? Is that it?” Cobb asked rather than pursuing his curiosity of details.
Eames stood then, “I have no worries at what Robert is becoming, Cobb. And neither should you. The idea was perfect. The job might have not gone as clean as any of us had wanted, but it's working. Your place here is done, so please, I ask as a friend, leave us be and tell Ariadne to do the same.” He turned and left then, not caring if Cobb wanted to reply, to give him a fond farewell or continue being stubborn over something that was not his to bother.
In the lobby, Arthur spotted Eames leaving the bar. He could shout, but he muttered a “Damn.” They entered and joined Cobb. Arthur sat the brown, paper bag down on the table, the heavy glass making a sound despite being wrapped carefully.
“Give him time” Cobb said. “He'll come around once he realizes what's going on is too much for him to deal with alone. For now, we need to get ready. Contact Yusuf, see if he'll be here by tomorrow morning. I'll talk to Erika and Henri.”
Scene 2
Robert is waiting in den just like their first night at the BLUE Sydney. His gaze was far from the door, but his mind wasn't from reality. No dreams were surrounding his conscious, trying to blur the two sides to the point of wondering if he he gone mad. What was happening surrounded him so vividly that he wished he could close is eyes and return to that nightmare.
He remained at the long, glass window that overlooked the dock even as he heard the door open. Eames slipped in quietly, ready to give an excuse as to why he returned empty handed and delayed, but Robert spoke first, “That was Mr. Charles. Dominic Cobb. The extractor.”
“Yes,” Eames admitted quietly, the excuses draining out of him. “Robert, I apologize. I wanted to tell you, but --”
“But what?” Robert interrupted. “You thought that I would storm over and cause a scene? Is that the kind of man you think I am?” His hands were in his pockets, to clench his fists while he thought. Now they ached. His whole body did from being so angry. “And the others?”
“Ariadne built the dreamscape, and Arthur, he . . . investigated your past --”
“So you weren't the only one that violated my life for this . . . inception.” Robert noted, once again clipping Eames' sentences with very accurate conclusions. “And you didn't think to tell me.” He heard the shuffle of footsteps, of Eames closing the gap to salvage something, but Robert felt nothing but ache and exhaustion. “Get out.”
“What?”
“Your services are done, sir,” Robert said in a flat tone, the very same that he used while letting go of his associates, long-term workers, and even Browning.“Whatever obligation you felt was needed to make certain that your job was done right is complete. You're free to go.”
Eames was half-tempted to turn then, to leave, but he couldn't without speaking his mind, “You selfish bastard. My job ended almost a month before you signed the release papers to the building.”
“Yet you continue to conspire with the others responsible,” Robert noted.
“They came on their own accord after Ariadne read the papers.” Eames knew what he had to say next would further expand his guilt, but he added, “She was in the lobby the night of my arrival. I tried to get her to leave, but I don't have that kind of control.”
Robert turned his head, just enough so that Eames could see the red eyes that tainted strking blue.There was mucus beneath his nose and tears still endless upon his face. It reminded Eames of the first time he observed Robert. Everone called him cold, just like he had, but there, in that office, by his father's bedside was a kind man keeping what he had together. “I trusted you. I told you everything, and you . . .”
“I don't do it because I want to, Robert. I'm trying to help you.”
“Because of guilt.”
“Because I love you.”
“I don't,” Robert said. “I can't love someone that hides from me. My father did it, Browning did it, and now you are, and you give the same excuse. I'm weak. I'm not. I would have survived amongst the wolves if you'd all stop holding my hand and this thinking for me.”
Eames couldn't respond to that. The stories were still thick in his mind, and to be put in the same category as Maurice Fischer and Peter Browning was worse than being called a thief. And what sank in the most was that Robert was right. Despite the nightmares, the hallucinations, Robert was a strong man, an intelligent man, and he wasn't taking that into account often enough. “Then I'll let you go back to your business, Robert, if that's what you want.”
“I will have the lobby hold your things.You can collect them in the morning.”
“At least let me get the PASIV,” Eames asked. He wouldn't let Robert say no, but he didn't want them to argue any further, so his words were chosen in a quieter tone. “I don't want some stranger take care of it.” Robert nodded, and he went into bedroom to the bag that was not opened since their arrival. It was lifted, the strap over his shoulder; it weight him down. Eames thought of throwing it, but he imagined the mess it would cause. Either way, he was done with playing with peoples minds. It was fun for its time, but seeing the consequences, feeling it, changed him as much as it did Robert.
“I didn't care much for my family. They were big shots in a business not so different from yours,” he said in the door frame with Robert's back to him. “I didn't like the suits, the parties, so I rebelled in vandalism, larceny, and a slew of other petty crimes that put me into boarding school. In college, I studied art, both performing and mixed media. My parents thought I was becoming a painter or actor. I told them that after graduation, I wanted to travel to see the world. That was when I met Mal and Cobb. I was testing my slight of hand and picked the right pocket, it would seem. They showed me the dream world, and I found it to be an extraordinary adventure.”
Robert did not respond, but that meant Eames had no reason to stop: “I continued to work with Cobb for a long time, until he had this idea of exploring great depths. None of us were willing to follow him into limbo. Arthur didn't like the idea of vast nothing, and I preferred reality. Reality held so much more of a challenge. Once one realizes they are dreaming, they have infinite capacity, their own rules. It was easy compared to living the unknown, and I hate easy.
“Mal died, and Cobb never contacted us about it or her descent. I never expected to see him, what with the police and all. Risky business. Then he tracked me down in Mombasa and told me about inception. The idea was exceptional, something I had only heard of in rumored whispers – how was I to refuse?” When Robert didn't yell at him, he took a step closer. “I read the files, what Saito had on you and Fischer Morrow. I thought you were like the others. You weren't. You were something else entirely. Complex, brilliant, and fucking gorgeous to top it off. That cold facade was just that, and I could see it breaking from the pressure. You needed someone to get through this, and I offered because I thought it would make the job easier for us both.”
“Analytical,” Robert said, his voice distant and almost absorbed entirely by the window.
“I'm good at what I do, Robert. But after we talked, I didn't want to have sex with you as part of the ruse to make you feel better. I wanted you, your brilliance, your complicated – everything. I wanted to taste it, to feel it, and be part of it. For that brevity, life was fascinating without needing dreams or some other mechanic.”
“And then you did the job,” Robert noted.
“To protect you by making sure Cobb's brashness did not screw it all up.”
“I don't need your protection,” Robert repeated, restraining a yell. “I can take care of myself.”
“I know, Robert, but you don't need to carry the burden by yourself.” Eames stretched out his hand. “I swear to you, tomorrow I will find Cobb and tell him that I'm done, make certain that he doesn't come near us. Please, forgive me for not telling you sooner. I don't want to lose you.”
Robert looked over, first at Eames, the reflection of light on his eyes, then the shaking hand holding back the desire to fuck respect and personal space and reach out completely. “I don't either,” he whispered, crossing the room not to hold the hand but be close to the man. The bag was lifted off of Eames and set onto the floor, Robert laying his hand where the pressure was. “As much as I want to deny it, I needed someone then, and I love that it was you.”
Scene 3
Eames found Cobb and the others easy enough. They were hiding out in a building similar to the one in Paris – expansive but with side rooms for private moments that caressed his mind more vividly than the dreams they experienced. He met Cobb at the door and was ushered into the front, reception area. “One last job,” he said. “Then I'm out. We're going to implant the idea that he's safe, rebuild his confidence and ability to create something that isn't part of his father's empire.” He glanced at Cobb, whom had this knowing look on his face that explained the very organized set up. “You were right. He is strong, but these nightmares we've created combined with his previous trauma will tear him apart if we don't do something.”
“And what did you have in mind?” Cobb asked.
“I had thought about extracting the idea, but it became part of him, just as you said,” Eames replied, his voice turning quieter. “So the only other option is to build something that can fight, an idea so believable that he takes it, trusts it, and trusts himself.”
“And you've started?”
“I have.”
Cobb raised his eyebrows, “And?”
“Would I be here if it was working?” Eames snapped. “The idea is simple enough, but we need more than the surface of his subconscious and physical reassurance.”
“Great depth.”
Eames looked up from his concentration to see a woman leaning against one of the foundation posts. She had the hair of his projection – long, blond, and beautiful. Her face was lovely, too, with eyes that could've made her related to Fischer if they weren't so wide and pale. “Who's this?” he asked a second later, deciding not to make direct contact without a proper explanation.
“This is Erika Templer. She will be taking Yusuf's place as well as helping us find you.”
“Me?” Eames questioned.
“I know what you're trying to do Eames because it's exactly what I tried with Mal.” Cobb explained, lowering his head at the memory. She was sitting at their dining room table, holding onto the knife, contemplating it, her death, and waking up. “Except I didn't go to anyone, and she wouldn't allow us to use the PASIV. You're trying to build trust with Fischer, trust in you, so that you can lead him out.” He saw Eames nod in agreement. “Do you plan on leaving afterward?”
“No,” Eames said.
“Good. Then lets get started.”
The three of them continued passed another set of doors for security, and Eames found himself standing in a room so similar to the one in Paris that his thumb rubbed against the poker chip in his pocket. Chairs were all lined up in a circular pattern with open, metal cases displaying the PASIV he held over his shoulder. Arthur was tinkering with the device, making sure that all the parameters were set properly, and Ariadne stood to the side with another, unknown person – a man, brunette, with little to no distinguishing features.
Yusuf stood next to Arthur, and that caused more confusion. “I thought you said Yusuf was being replaced,” Eames pointed out, and the others all paused at what they were doing to look at him.
“He is,” Cobb said calmly, although he was bracing himself for this bit of information and Eames' reaction, “Yusuf isn't going into the field. He's staying behind with you.”
“Bloody hell I'm not,” Eames yelled. “You don't know what you're getting into.”
“Actually,” Erika smiled, “we do.” That cued the man to walk from the Aridane's table where a new skyline was being drawn. “Eames, I'd like you to meet my companion, Henri Alkaev. We've worked together on a few jobs, although his part isn't about extraction or inception.”
“It's security,” Cobb concluded.
It didn't take long for Eames to piece together what they were getting at. “And you know how to bypass Robert's defenses without tearing apart his mind?”
“Of course,” Henri said with a smirk. He held no accent either – or rather, it was that melting pot voice Americans carried, undefined after generations of living there. “After all, I'm the one that trained him.”
Eames' eyes grew wide, and Cobb stepped in front of him. Arthur was ready to make a move, too, and that made him chuckle. “You have this all figured out,” he said, defeated. “Fine. What would you have me do?”
“Tell us everything that you know, everything that has changed, what to watch out for,” Cobb said and stepped away, sending him and the group to the circle of chairs and drawing board. “We need to know what the idea has done to his mind before we can plan a course of action.”
“The idea stuck, but it's more than that. During the company's collapse, Browning quit. Apparently, we were right in using him as the betrayer. While he was Robert's god father and Maurice's right hand man, he cared more about the money. Robert tried to contact him, but there was no response. Others turned on him as well, but he stood his ground, held faith that this was right.” Eames sat down on one of the chairs, but it felt like the weight of telling this was pulling him down. “Seeing Browning leave was devastating. He was a mentor and closest figure to family after his mother's death. Maurice never thought he'd succeed, and Browning took it upon himself to teach the boy because he begged.”
The others sat as well, their faces a sea of different emotions, some knowing while others surprised. Henri spoke up next, “With Peter Browning's help, Robert was able to finish college and learn the company plans. He was prepared to take his father's place, but it was acknowledged that previous actions caused a fragility that would make it easy for him to be manipulated. I was brought in to bring up his composure and mental security.”
Eames looked at Henri, “Do you know why he's like that? Or did they tell you that he's always been reserved?”
“He was upset at his father's lack of faith in him. After his mother died, he tried to gain comfort and was burned for it. Peter Brow --”
“Peter Browning planned on taking the company as his own,” Eames said, cutting off this nonsense that was supposedly concrete facts. “Robert was to be his partner only out of respect and take him out once he had the stockholders on his side, and he trusted Browning. Completely. Even after . . .” he shook his head, swallowing a knowing knot of information.
“How do you know this?” Henri asked.
“I've extracted before. Cobb might be best, but he's not the only one that's gone in, navigated, and found information no one wants you to know.” Eames drew in a deep breath. “I wanted Robert to know what Browning's intentions were so that he'd stop questioning what happened. Then I learned what Browning did in order to secure Robert's trust, to test it, and decided to let him learn for himself.” He paused, the knot forming in his stomach almost tight enough to want to search out a trash can and vomit. “Robert told me once I gained enough trust for him to openly tell his secrets.”
Henri raised an eyebrow “What secrets?”
“Piss off,” Eames spat, but they were all looking at him,expecting an answer. “You don't need to know the details.”
“But we do need to know what caused the change that you proclaim to be so extreme that we would need you as a guide,” Arthur noted in Henri's defense.
Eames stood up then. “Lets just say that Robert Fischer has problems trusting others.” He glanced at his watch and added, “And I should be getting back before that bond is broken. We're leaving Sydney soon if you plan on tagging along.”
“We won't be,” Cobb informed. “Grounding his private jet was difficult enough without worrying about the airline.”
“So you're going with an easier solution?” Eames asked.
“A hotel room will be suffice,” Erika said. “Either we'll drug his drink or wait until he's sleeping – the latter might be more appropriate since we know some of the rumors are true.”
“And once you have him? What then?”
Henri smirked, “I thought that you had somewhere to be, Mr. Eames.”
“I do, but . . .” Eames pressed his lips together to keep the uncertainty that still filled him at the thought of a second inception. They were all looking at him, focused and optimistic. None of them knew what they were getting into. “I'll keep in touch.” Once he broke it to Robert that they wouldn't be traveling together as he had promised.
Scene 4
A week passed. They go through the same routine, like clockwork, only with different cogs moving each part. The first level was a building – a commercial space with shops on the main level and offices above. This was the new beginning. Eames explained Robert Fischer's move from resource to the people, to bring the alternative to a more user-friendly level. This would start with the auotmotive industry. “He has a meeting in Grand Rapids with a potential investment in General Motors. If all goes well, they'll travel to Detroit to the processing plant.”
Eames added that Robert was questioning their relationship. Unable to tell what his last assignment was, or who he was working for, made things difficult. “He's traveling there alone, but we plan on meeting up in Columbus, Ohio first to smooth things over.”
“Good,” Cobb said solemnly from the other side of the circle they created to finalize his operation. Behind him was a table. He stood against it, hands planted behind him not only to prop but hold onto. “We'll need the strain if we're to get Fischer to act appropriately in the dream. He's going to recognize immediately that there are intruders unless we're able to give him a hint.”
“Like Mr. Charles,” Eames continued. “Robert already believes that I'm working for him right now without my confirmation.”
“So we're going to go in, Fischer's going to think that we're Eames, and when he finds out we're not, we're going to tell him that Eames was kidnapped?” Ariadne tilted her head. “By what?”
Erika smiled. “Not what. Who.”
“Browning,” Cobb said. “Fischer relied on Browning's decisions while Maurice was alive, and he was the most upset when Fischer Morrow was dissolved. That was why turning the projection worked so well the last time.”
“But why would it work this time?” Ariadne questioned.
“Because I'm helping rebuild Robert from underneath Browning's shadow,” Eames said. “After that, the memory of Browning, what is haunting Robert, should disappear.”
Arthur nodded, his grasp on symbolism taking hold. “Alright, so we lead Fischer back to Los Angeles where Browning should be. Then what? The confrontation?”
Ariadne sat up and looked around the room, “We're going into Browning's head again?”
“At least that's what Fischer will believe,” Cobb explained.
“And what will he find this time?” Arthur asked, and in the corner of his eye he could see Eames pull out of his pocket the poker chip. “You can't be serious.” He turned to look directly at Eames. “Did you let him hold it?”
“ 'Course not,” Eames scowled. “He's only seen it and knows the individual purpose.”
“Does he have a totem?” Ariadne asked, and Eames shook his head. “And we're keeping him believing that this is a dream.”
“It's the safest direction,” Cobb concluded. “Subconsciously, he knows that Mr. Charles is safe, and if someone waltzes in as him with others, his mind should continue to believe long enough for us to make it to the next level.”
Ariadne nodded, “How long do we have?”
“Two days,” Cobb said. “So we need to act quickly if we're going to pull this off.” He looked to Erika and added, “We'll have Erika shadow Fischer at the hotel, make sure he's asleep when we arrive. Eames will then retrieve a key and hand it over so that we can proceed.”
Erika stretched her arms behind her, “Which means that I should get packed. I have someone at the Crowne Plaza already waiting. She was hired as part of the cleaning services a week ago.” She saluted the group then and smiled. “See you all stateside.”
“Right,” Cobb agreed. “We'll follow shortly thereafter. Lets all get some rest first. It's going to be a long flight, and I want to make sure everyone understands the path of this dream so that we can avoid any problems.”
Scene 5
The vultures were swarming. Clad in expensive cloth, dark features, their voices were to the point but ineffective. Each word brushed off of Robert Fischer as if meaningless, and compared to the man that rested in a half-remembered dream, teetering toward the brink of death from insanity and agony, it was no surprise. Eames frowned at that as he watched Peter Browning speak, studying the movement of his hands and lips, the sound of his voice. He was like the others – persuasive and agitated by the knowledge of what was to come and the urgency, but there's more to him, something that Fischer respected and was willing to confide in.
Not then, though. Not here with others watching them.
It was hours later. There's little light to the room except for the soft illumination of a desk lamp while Eames worked on his assignment. Piles of paperwork needed to be filed, projects in-progress that the lawyers had hoped Maurice would be able to read and make a decision before his condition deteriorated passed the point of lucidity. It was far beyond that now, but no one had the time to pick up the pages, pack them up, and bring them back. The company was falling apart without its chairman, leaving a wreckage for him to look through.
Saito would have a field day, Eames thought while he read minute reports and charts about alternative energy. He smiled briefly at the thought of finding a photocopier or simply pocketing a file or two. No one would ever know, and he was certain his primary employer would pay handsomely for such vital information. The only thing that kept his hands from sliding the folders beneath his suit coat was the sound beneath the large, closed doors. Fischer was still in there. Even after Browning and the doctors parted, the son remained at his father's side, unwavering. If the forger listened in, he could hear him speak, his voice broken now that everyone should be gone.
“You shouldn't be here.”
Eames gritted his teeth and got up, “Piss off, Cobb.”
“This isn't a dream,” Cobb continued from the doorway. “It's a memory. I shouldn't have to tell you what happens when you create from a memory.”
“You lose yourself,” Eames answered matter-of-factly. His tone was dry, and he fished from his pocket the red poker chip. “Don't worry. I've read the manual. I know the rules, and I do a better job at breaking them with my sanity still intact.”
Cobb frowned, “Let me help you.”
“I don't need a babysitter.”
“Then as an observer.”
Eames drew in a deep, shuddered breath, considerate of telling Cobb to piss off or taking the gun that would appear upon his command. A shot to the head would remind him where not to go, but the thrashing sounds of another episode caught both of their attentions. Whether Eames liked others intruding or not, Cobb was right. They needed to know everything if they were going to get in and out safely this time. “Robert is beyond that door with his father. Everyone had already left. He's tired. There are so many tubes, wires going in and out, that it's hard to call that shell a person. Most of the time he's quiet, solidifying the doubt that there's a hit of Maurice Fischer left, but then he has these moments. Loud screams. Crashes. We're alone that night when I hear the loud thump and go in.”
The door opened, and the fragile, old man was upon the floor. Robert cradled him helplessly, his eyes red from crying, his body trembling worse than the dying out of terror. “Help me!” Robert commanded, and Eames crossed the room quickly. Cobb waited, watching while together they lift the body up. Once he is safe again, Robert goes for his cellphone to call a doctor.
“I waited until the doctor came and told him that he needed to rest,” Eames continued and stepped back.”He refuses, so I ask if he'd like a drink. It was only meant to be a few, some time away from the office setting to get to know the subject better. I knew him, Cobb, or at least I thought I did. If I did, I might have found some way to stop this bloody inception.”
“No, you would not have,” Cobb said as Eames passed him to the exit. They left the room to a different one that was not the hallway in the Fischer estate. “We all knew the risks.”
Eames shook his head. While he was not an architect, the next room was as vivid as the last. “Robert wanted to listen, to create his own world, but the collapse was a difficult process. Everything he knew, everyone he loved, was gone. Even Browning.”
“Browning?” Cobb asked, unable to see passed the doorway because Eames was standing in the way to protect the memory that was not his. He could hear moaning, see the the detailed craftsmanship of the walls and floors, and wondered if he wanted to see what was beyond it. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he laid a hand on Eames' shoulder to gently move him aside to share.
There was a large, armchair, the kind found in libraries or large offices like this. An older man was sitting back, his neck arched slightly. His teeth bit his lower lip, but it wasn't enough to hold back the sounds that escaped his husky, smoke-rotted throat. Hands were wrapped around the head of a brunette knelt at his feet, fingers deep in the hair, holding it in knots.
Across from them was Browning.
“First time, he asked me if Uncle Peter put me up to it,” Eames said, his voice acidic from the bile as he said that name. “I told him no. I didn't understand how that answer could change him from someone willing to do anything for his father's company to someone that gave a damn about he wanted. I learned later that several of the stockholders had an interest for Maurice's son and respected Browning for having such a firm hold. Robert . . .” he turned away then. “all he wanted was to be appreciated as the man he is.”
Eames' eyes opened slowly to the warehouse, squinting from the overhead light. He pulled up to a sitting position with Cobb slowly waking up across from him. “There's the secret,” he said bitterly. “When Robert's sexual orientation leaked into the public, Browning hired Alkaev to cover up their corporate secrets from extractors. I learned later that it was a setup; Browning leaked the information out to the press, to push Robert into having the extractor invade his mind. He . . . doesn't believe it, and the truth is slowly tearing him apart.”
Cobb nodded, studying him with knowing eyes, how it feels to be losing someone they loved dearly. He had never seen this in Eames before. The thief always out there for himself. “Have you ever confronted him in the dreamshare?”
“Dozens of times, but each time something gets in the way,” Eames answered, showing the hints of exhaustion at how many he's tried before. “And there's one more thing, Cobb.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, pressing until it stung, but it would be nothing compared to what he inflicted on the extractor: “Mal's in there, too.”
“What?”
“She sort of jumped ship in limbo, lacing a bit of her memory into Robert. I suspect that's partially why he knew about the inc --” he stopped then because the lights turned on. Arthur and Ariadne entered, and Eames gave a bright smile, swinging his legs over to stand up. “So I guess it's time then?”
Arthur nodded, and Eames started towards the pair and what he hoped would be the end of this nightmare, but Cobb stopped him. “She's not real.”
“Course not. Just a bloody shade that's working with the rest of his militarized madness.” Eames murmured. “So no thinking that this mission is about you, else I might have reason to do a body swap and go in after all.”
Intermission
