Inception and characters of said movie belong to Chris Nolan.
So, turns out that I've been a little remiss in posting my Inception fic on TTH. Travesty, I know. Especially, since I'm doing an Inception/HP Cross for the Inception Big Bang in December.
Warnings: smut scene ahoy coming up.
Picks up a month after the Inception job.
Robert Fischer is standing in the middle of their warehouse. This is the thought that beats feverishly through Ariadne’s mind as she walks in, stops and stares. Her hands are automatically moving, her left to press the distress button located on the underside of the desk to her left, and her right to surreptitiously check the bishop in her pocket.
She feels the little groove on it's underside signaling that this is indeed reality and not one of Yusuf's drug induced hallucinations and lets out a deep breath, thanking God and whatever deities were listening that day that they had listened to Arthur’s justified paranoia and prepped for any eventuality.
The inception job had gone off too easy, too fast- everyone made it out alive and relatively okay, Saito’s penchant for napping at all times notwithstanding. Eames had laughed at the suggestion, but standing where she is now, looking at the ramrod straight back of their mark- she knows that hell yeah Arthur with his backup plans for everything had every goddamn right to install a damn panic button.
She watches him silently for a minute, tracks the way that his body is poised, lean and silent, clad in an expensive Brioni suit and she wonders just how the hell did they get away with what they did. He’s so young, only thirty three and they’ve messed him up, turned his whole world upside down and never questioned themselves while doing it.
“Are you done watching me yet?” his voice startles her out of her reverie and she automatically takes a step back, away from him.
Ariadne twitches, touching her neck scarf in a compulsive gesture that gives her away her nerves. “Um hi,” she takes the necessary steps to bring herself closer to him and forces her hand out, “I’m Ariadne, can I help you?”
The twitch of his lips is more smirk than smile, but it is pleasant in a vaguely alarming manner.
She notices that his eyes crinkle when he smiles and that his lips are entirely too soft for somebody of his hard demeanor and brisk manner of speaking.
“Robert Fischer,” he shakes her hand, palm enveloping her own completely as he lets his index finger trail over the base of her thumb, “it’s a pleasure.”
Ariadne clears her throat, because clearly, clearly she went wrong somewhere, hooking up with Cobb and his guileless blue eyed gaze and the folding Paris landscape, because this is her own personal version of hell- standing in their criminal lair while their latest victim shows up, looking entirely too young and too well put together.
“Can I help you?” she inclines her head, remembering Eames’s training on body language, and makes her eyes go wide with innocent curiosity.
Fischer’s gaze narrows speculatively, bright blue eyes turning thoughtfully shrewd within the space of a second and Ariadne knows that she failed in her little experiment spectacularly. Eames has been able to pull shit like that for ages, relying on the blondness and curviness of his forgeries to fake out their marks, but Ariadne’s no Eames, she’s not even a blonde. She’s just a grad student that’s gone way over her head into a fascinating profession and she’s probably not the first nor the last in a very long line of fascinated people following Cobb’s lead into damnation.
She squirms under Fischer’s cold look, it looks like he’s evaluating her, weighing his options as he considers all the possibilities and she gets, she really does why this man is the scion of the largest energy empire in the world. His shrewdness is a little terrifying if she has to be frank and she wants nothing more in that moment but to be away from there, not to have to face the result of her actions and see what she did to him.