Lovely

The mind is the most vulnerable part of a human, but also the strongest.

They play a dangerous game, rooting around in people’s heads, pulling out and planting secrets, avoiding detection and trying not to drop into limbo. But it’s an addicting game as well. Arthur has been a dreamer for most of his life, even before he discovered dreamshare. It only makes sense that he would fall into this profession and take to it like Eames and a poker table. Dreamshare is for those whose imaginations aren’t enough for them anymore.

And for those who aren’t quite as creative, there’s really only one other option—make someone do it instead.

--

Arthur hates New York. Or, well, he hates this New York, a maze of half-familiar and half-imagined things. He hates that Ariadne had to build this beautiful place for such a terrible purpose, and he hates that Cobb is here once more, in when he was supposed to be out. Arthur even hates that Eames is here—or rather, not here, wearing the mask of a lithe assassin. But somewhere above them is Yusef, with a gun held to his head, and Phillipa and James, in a dark, cold room. Arthur swallows, and presses his lips together in a thin line.

Get in, get the information, and get out. The faster the better, even though they had taken care of time as well.

It should have been an easy job—keep Steve Rogers in Stark Towers, have Eames hand him a few tablets with passcode verifications, get out. But then Rogers’s usual errand route had changed suddenly, even though Ariadne had even taken care to keep his route in the maze the same, as so not to evoke suspicion. And now he was sitting at a café Arthur knew he didn’t usually come to on Fridays, sitting with a cup of coffee.

And then Mal shows up.

Arthur comes to attention almost instantly, eyes widening, hands reaching for the phone in his pocket. He can’t hear either Rogers or Mal, but Arthur doesn’t have to hear to know what’s going to happen, and it’s his job to make sure Mal’s interference doesn’t screw this up.

“We’ve got a problem,” Arthur snaps into the phone as Mal leans in, her lips brushing against Roger’s ear, “she showed up.”

“She who?” Cobb asks, his voice tiny in the pointman’s ear.

“You know who,” Arthur replies, “I thought you had gotten this under control, Cobb.”

“Mal?” Cobb exclaims in disbelief after a brief pause, “Mal is here? That can’t be right, I’m not—”

“She’s talking to Rogers right now,” Arthur says, “right across the street from me.” There is another pause, and then Cobb sighs, swearing.

“That’s not our only problem,” Cobb says then, “he’s here.”
“We told him not to interfere,” Arthur says sharply, and he can almost see Cobb running a hand through his hair, rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, but we’re not really in a place to argue with him,” Cobb says. Both of them fall silent, minds wracking through potential outs and coming up with none.

“Alright,” Arthur says, “we’ve got no choice. I’ll take care of this here and then head back.”

--

Across the street, Mal sees Arthur. That’s her cue to exit the stage, and so she draws back from Steve, a small smile on her face.

“Think about it,” she says, “and you will wake up.” Mal stands, the smile on her face widening. “I’ll see you again, Captain Rogers. Until then.”

She blows him—and Arthur—a kiss.

--

Ariadne is playing guard duty when Arthur gets back. She sits on the steps with a sketchbook in her hands, toying with her pencil. When he glances down, Arthur can see the beginnings of a figure, although there aren’t any distinctive features yet. There is a small frown on her mouth, a slight crinkle in her eyes, and it doesn’t take much of a leap for Arthur to guess exactly why.

“Sometimes,” he says as he approaches her, “it’s not enough to dream.” Ariadne startles, before tilting her head up to look at Arthur, and then her mouth twists from a small frown into a small, wry smile.

“I figured,” she says, “when they started holding real guns to our heads.” Arthur smiles, then, briefly, and then looks past her, at the doorway she is guarding.

“He’s in there?” Arthur says, not quite a question or a statement.

“Yeah,” Ariadne confirms anyways, “talking with Cobb. How’d it go with Rogers?”

“Mal showed up,” Arthur says. Ariadne gives him a disbelieving look.

“Mal? But I thought—”

“Yeah,” Arthur says wryly, “that’s what I thought too. Cobb told me he had it under control.” Ariadne frowned deeper, tapping her pencil against the page.

“She didn’t tip him off, though,” Arthur says, “the job’s still good.”

“Well,” Ariadne replies, “that’s the best news I’ve heard all day.” And that was the truth, because the last thing they need right now is for anything else to go wrong and disrupt their plans. It only allows for more details to slip through the cracks, and that is something they simply cannot afford right now.

“Is something wrong on Eames’ end, then?” Arthur just asks instead. Ariadne shrugs.

“He hasn’t called and he isn’t picking up his phone,” she says, “I don’t know if no news is good news in this case.” They fall silent, Arthur running through scenarios in his head before sighing.

“As long as he doesn’t screw anything up,” Arthur says, “we’ve got enough to worry about.” Ariadne nods, and Arthur takes the steps up past her, opening the door and making his way through the building. The murmurs coming from inside their dreamscape headquarters reveals that he indeed is here, interfering where Cobb and Arthur had told him not to. Tourists don’t belong in dreamscapes, and Arthur believes that more and more with each passing day.

Regardless, there is too much at stake here. Arthur straightens up, rapping on the door sharply. Cobb calls out a muffled invitation to enter, and Arthur enters, meeting the harried gaze of Cobb, and the emotionless face of a man in an iron suit.