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croikFandom: Inception
Title: The Helix Trap
Chapter: 2/19 (4,282 words) (For other parts please check my My main post)
Rating: R
Pairings/Characters: Eames/Robert, Arthur/Ariadne, Cobb, Yusuf, Saito, Browning, and others.
Warnings: Violence, sexual content.
Disclaimer: These characters and setting do not belong to me and are being used without permission but for no profit
Summary: After the Inception proves successful, Eames tracks down Robert out of concern for its unusual side effects. Meanwhile, Arthur is hired to a dangerous job that forces the rest of the team to take sides: whether to defend Robert and his fragile mind, or ruin him completely.
Notes: C&C Welcome and appreciated. To my betas,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
a_rocky_ravine and chypie, thanks for your input!
"We're not having this argument again," Robert said as he shoved the door to his hotel suite open.
Browning chased him inside, undeterred. "How can I argue with you when you're not telling me anything? I just found out from Marcus that you mentioned selling off Richter Cole's. In an email. What the hell is going on, Robert?"
Robert loosened his tie, but even then he could feel its stifling grip around his neck. He wanted nothing more than to force Browning out, to have a moment of peace for his whirling brain, but alcohol would have to do instead. He headed straight for the liquor cabinet and grabbed a bottle of brandy. "Richter Cole's makes shoes. Why do we even own that company anyway?"
"Because you insisted on it. What are you doing?" Browning grabbed the neck of the bottle. "We're on our way to dinner."
"I'm pouring myself a drink." He put his hand over Browning's to make sure he wouldn't let go and grabbed a glass. "Hold still; this is expensive."
The reminder did its job; Browning ground his teeth and ceased his complaints while he filled Robert's glass. When Robert offered one to him as well, he accepted. It was not until both had taken a drink that he resumed his protests. "Robert. I understand you not wanting to work with Cobol," he said carefully. "Maurice wasn't keen on it either. But selling Berger Energy just before a planned expansion? And you're already thinking about selling more?"
Robert turned away while taking another sip. The burn of the alcohol was soothing and helped calm his frayed nerves. "What Hirsch is offering is a good deal," he argued. "We don't need Berger. We don't need shoes. Do you have any idea how many even smaller companies we've bought out in the last five years, just because we could?"
Browning grunted. "Of course I do. I helped you negotiate all of them."
Yes. I remember. Robert continued to wander away from him until he came to a tall, decorative mirror on the south wall. Cold, weary eyes stared back at him. "When I told you I thought we should take Berger, you supported me," he recalled aloud. "But Father...he was already getting weak by then. I went to tell him and he barely looked at me."
"What?" Browning moved next to him. "What are you talking about? Maurice was in favor of that takeover."
"He said he was, but you didn't see his face," Robert murmured. "He was disappointed. He wanted me to know without him having to say it."
Browning's hand closed around his elbow, startling him. "I did see him," he said. "I was there, remember? I'm telling you, your father supported your decision. He was proud of you then."
Robert stared at his reflection in the mirror, and could have sworn he saw it shake its head at him. Deep in his mind the memories undulated, swaying like reeds in a field he couldn't get his hands around. When he tried to reconstruct that moment in his father's room, only the man's heavy and despairing eyes came into focus. They drilled into him a bitter and unavoidable truth.
"Robert." Browning took the glass out of his hand and placed it, and his, on a nearby table. "I know you're still in mourning. Of course you have doubts. But you can't be this hard on yourself." He took Robert by the shoulders and tried to turn him away. "Fischer Morrow belongs to you now, and you have to take care of it."
Robert strained to see the mirror despite Browning's efforts. "This suit is wrong," he mumbled.
"What?"
He pulled out of Browning's grip and unbuttoned his jacket. "This suit," he repeated. "It's wrong. It's not like me."
"It's not--now what are you talking about?" Exasperated, Browning tried to stop him. "The suit is fine."
His reflection flashed him a wide and uncertain look. "It's not me--this isn't me," he insisted. He ripped his hands away from Browning and hurried away, yanking his jacket off his shoulders. "This isn't who I'm supposed to be!"
Browning drew his hand over his face, but he did not pursue. Once Robert had thrown his jacket over the back of the sofa he felt a moment's relief. "I'm changing," he declared as he hopped up the two steps to the suite's circular master bedroom. "You can wait downstairs if you want."
"Robert..." Sighing, Browning sank into the nearest chair. "You bought that suit last week."
Robert kicked off his shoes and unbuttoned his pants. "I know."
"For three thousand dollars."
"I know." He knew it was senseless. Even as he selected a different suit he knew he wouldn't feel any more like himself in it, but it was better than doing nothing. Once he was finished changing he rejoined Browning and managed not to look toward the mirror. "I'm ready."
Browning looked up at him. Frustration marred his already deeply-lined face and reminded Robert too much of his father. "Maybe you should skip dinner tonight," he suggested. "Get some rest."
"Peter, I..." Robert shook himself. "I'm sorry," he said, meaning it. "I know I haven't been myself lately, and you're just trying to help. I know that, I really do."
His lip twitched. "But...?"
"But I'm selling Berger Energy," Robert finished, offering his hand to help Browning out of his chair. "It's just something I have to do. But I'll forget about Richter Cole's, if you want."
Browning snorted, but he did accept the assistance. "I like their shoes," he said smartly.
Robert managed a thin smile as he headed for the sofa. "Then maybe I should just sell it to you." He reached into the pocket of his discarded jacket and found his wallet but not his cell phone. He frowned and checked between the sofa cushions.
Browning downed the rest of his brandy and headed for the door. "Do you remember when I introduced you to my friend Charla?"
"Hm?" Robert shook out his jacket one more time but still found nothing. I must have left it in the car. "The doctor--no, psychiatrist?" When he realized where Browning was likely headed he frowned, but fell into step beside him. "I'm surprised you haven't set up an appointment already."
"I know you haven't been sleeping well," Browning said as they left the room together. "That's just the sort of thing she specializes in. I really think you should talk to someone, Robert."
"I know..." Though the mention of sleep made his stomach twist, he knew the advice was not without merit. "You're probably right..."
They stepped into the hall, and Robert closed the door behind him.
Eames crawled out from behind the sofa.
He looked to the door, and remained still for a moment longer just to be sure the pair wouldn't be back. Satisfied, he pulled Robert's phone out of the trim green vest of his bellhop uniform. The words "upload complete" flashed back at him.
"Beautiful," Eames murmured. With a few taps the application he'd stealthily installed deleted every trace of itself, and when he checked his own phone he found Robert's contact list, schedule, and emails. "Sometimes the old fashioned methods work best." He set Robert's phone on the floor, ready to be discovered when he returned.
He pushed to his feet and took a quick look around the suite. A handy key card programming device borrowed from a friend had gotten him in easily enough, but without the lucky phone he might have come out empty handed: Robert's travel wardrobe was impressive but not probative, and his laptop was protected with stronger measures than Eames was prepared to break with limited time. He paused briefly at the opened brandy, tempted, and ended his reconnaissance in front of the mirror.
Eames traced a gloved finger over his reflection. "What did you see in here?" he wondered aloud. "What's going on in that pretty little head of yours?"
The door handle twisted. Eames jumped, and with the entrance already swinging open he had only one avenue of escape: he dove under the master bed.
Robert entered and shut the door loudly behind him. His steps were sharp as he stormed to the bedroom closet and began tossing neckties haphazardly about. Eames held his breath when one landed half under his hiding spot, but Robert made no attempt to collect it. After a great deal of fussing he seemed to find one he liked, and moved back into the main room.
Eames licked his lips and, taking a chance, nudged the dust ruffle just high enough that he could peek out. Robert was standing in front of the mirror again as he knotted a mulberry necktie, looking irritated. They must have had it out again, Eames thought with a grimace. Over a tie? He almost felt sympathy for Browning for the behavior he was trying to contain, until he remembered why he was following them in the first place.
Robert finished with the tie and smoothed his lapels. But he still looked dissatisfied with his appearance; his eyes grew dull, as they had been at his father's funeral. A slow, silent minute passed, and then he surged forward, grabbing the mirror by its frame. He tried to remove it from the wall, but it was too large, too unwieldy for him to handle on his own, and as soon as he lifted it off its fastenings it fell to the floor. Eames cringed back as the impact of hard wood was followed by a crash of glass.
"Shit," Robert hissed. He glanced around in paranoia, causing Eames to let the dust ruffle fall. "That was...not smart." He heaved a sigh which transformed into a short bark of laughter, and the mirror shattered completely when he let it fall forward. "Oops."
Eames dared not peek again, but he heard the glass being swept about, and then Robert hissed again. Footsteps echoed across the room and a phone was dialed. "Ah, this is Robert Fischer in the tower suite," Robert said. "There's been, um, an accident in my room. I'll pay for the damages, but I need someone to come clean this up. Yes, thank you." He hung up.
A bead of sweat formed on Eames's forehead. Can I stay hidden from maintenance and housekeeping? When he heard Robert was on the move again he crept forward and peeked out: Robert was heading for the bathroom with his finger in his mouth. When he passed the sofa his foot knocked into his cell phone, and he stopped to retrieve it. His brow furrowed, and he tucked the phone in his pocket as he continued on.
If he waits for them to show up, I'll be in for it, Eames thought, dragging himself carefully out from under the bed. I have to go now. Knowing that hesitation would get him caught he dashed on his toes for the door.
He stepped on a piece of glass. It was only a shard, but the sharp crack was loud enough that Robert glanced over his shoulder. "Peter...?"
Eames fled through the door without waiting to know if Robert had spotted him. Once he was in the hall he straightened his vest and strode quickly to the fire escape, taking the steps two at a time down to his floor. By the time he was in his room he had already dialed his phone, and was cursing to himself while he waited for Cobb to pick up.
"Hello?"
"Did you reach him?" Eames asked as he threw his suitcase on the bed.
"Yes, finally. He's still in Paris."
Eames moved quickly around the room, grabbing up pieces of clothing and a few errant electronic devices. "What did he say? Has he heard from her?"
"He said he hasn't." His voice was hard, and Eames regretted having to stir up bad blood, but he needed answers. "Are you sure she's involved? It's only been a few days since he started showing signs of anything."
"As far as you've seen," Eames replied quickly. He shifted the phone to his other ear as he struggled out of his bellhop vest. "But I've been on him since he came to Munich, and I'm telling you, this has been going on behind closed doors for longer than anyone knows. If it was just the one phone call I overheard I wouldn't be worried, but Browning mentioned Banks to him today. If she gets her hands on him she's going to put him under."
Cobb was quiet for a moment as he considered. "Even with a license she can legally only take him one layer deep. That won't be enough for her to identify the inception."
Eames tossed some extra hotel soaps and a towel into his suitcase and forced it shut. "You think the dear Dr. Banks cares about legality?" he scoffed. "I'm not taking that chance." With all his things gathered he pulled on a striped coat and left the room.
"Don't do anything rash."
"Who, me?" Eames smirked as he hit the elevator button, but his humor was short-lived. "We all knew word would get out eventually, but I don't like the idea of that woman seeing our work first hand." His voice lowered. "Especially when I'm not sure myself what's happening to him. It's getting worse."
Cobb sighed, and Eames could imagine the tight lines in his brow. "You're acting like this wasn't the plan all along."
The elevator opened, and Eames was relieved to see it empty. He stepped inside and pressed the button for the lobby. "I know, I know," he said, frustrated with Cobb and with himself. "But if I'm ever going to do this again, I want to know for sure how it works, what the results are. It was your job but my plan, remember? Forgive me for taking it a bit personally."
"It's not like you to regret a job."
Eames frowned. He hadn't said that, but he couldn't deny that Cobb had caught him. "Yes, well, I know my having a conscience must come as a surprise to you, but there you have it."
He could hear children's voices in the background, and Cobb was drawn away from the phone to respond. Eames smiled distantly but did not bother to try and make out what they were saying; he was too distracted by Cobb's keen instinct. We knew what it would do to him, he told himself, not for the first time. And we knew a lot of people wouldn't be happy about it. But I chose that plan for a reason. He rubbed his whiskers and sighed. He seems more conflicted over his father than ever. The elevator doors were polished to a mirror sheen, and in glancing at them Eames felt a chill.
"You still there?" asked Cobb.
"I'm here." The elevator opened, and Eames smiled politely to an elderly couple as he squeezed past them.
"I know you're going to do what you want anyway, but I'm telling you as a friend, you should walk away from this," Cobb said firmly. "You're not going to be able to change anything at this point."
"I'm not interested in changing anything," Eames assured. "I just want to get a peek, that's all."
"Christ, Eames, you're going to get caught."
Eames snorted indignantly. "You don't have to worry about me, Mum."
"I'm hanging up," Cobb said. And he did.
Eames hung up and dug his keycard out of his pocket as he approached the counter to check out. He was just being called over by the receptionist when he heard an elevator open, and a man said, "Mr. Fischer, your car is waiting."
"Thank you."
Don't look, don't look. Eames smiled at the woman behind the counter, and kept his voice down as they went over his room charges together. He kept one ear open, half expecting to hear Robert call out to him in recognition, but soon he had traced his movements to the door without anything. At last he glanced toward the entrance, and there saw Robert speaking close to his assistant's ear. They left together and disappeared down the sidewalk.
Biting back a relieved sigh, Eames signed his name to the papers. Can't afford to hire a team for this one, he thought as he headed outside--slowly, just in case. Even if I was willing to spend the money, who could I trust?
The evening light caught him full in the face, and he paused on the sidewalk for a loud sneeze. He was reaching for his handkerchief when a broad hand clamped around his elbow. He twisted instinctually to retaliate but his other arm was captured too quickly, and a low voice rumbled at his ear. "Please come with us, Sir."
Eames blinked up at the man who had spoken: bald, six foot eight or taller, dark glasses, like a bad movie cliché. The second was short and less bald but still imposing. Shaking them both would not have been a problem, even unarmed as he was, but there were people flowing in and out of the hotel, and he had spotted at least three men in security uniforms on his way out. If he made a scene and didn't manage to get away, he wasn't sure his German was good enough that he could talk his way out of an arrest.
"All you had to do was say 'please,'" Eames said dryly. "You'll at least bring my luggage along for the ride, won't you?"
Baldy grabbed his suitcase, and dragged it along as they moved together down the sidewalk. Eames hated being led and was tempted again to make a break for it, but then he spotted their destination: a black limo parked on the corner, with Robert Fischer leaning against the back bumper.
Eames gulped. You wanted a peek, he could almost hear Cobb saying. Is this close enough? Strangely, the look on Robert's face seemed to be saying the same thing.
"Mr. Simmonds," Robert greeted stonily. "Would you care to join me?"
Eames cast significant looks to the gorillas detaining him. "I'd be delighted."
The shorter one let him go and opened the back door, through which Eames was shoved a moment later. He righted himself in the back seat and hastily tried to form a game plan. He knew enough about Robert to know he wouldn't have to worry about concrete shoes, but there were plenty of other fates the richest man in the world could arrange for him. Once we have a bit more privacy, I can get out of this.
Robert climbed in and sat across from him. Despite his earlier complaints his suit was impeccable, and his composure intimidating. "Peter warned me that you might be back," he said.
The limo shifted as the trunk was opened and then closed, and the two security agents moved to the front of the car. Eames tried to keep track of them, but he was distracted by the intense look Robert was fixing him with. "They do say it's a small world after all," he replied innocently.
Robert's eyes narrowed. There was real anger in his face, something Eames hadn't expected from a man that was supposed to be little more than a stranger. "That night, I called Mr. Dunn after dinner," he went on as the car started and pulled away from the curb. "He told me you weren't let go, you vanished. Hardly expected from someone with your impressive list of references."
Eames felt a childish twinge of regret, seeing that Robert's happy familiarity for him had run out. So much for false pleasantries. Rather than insult the man's intelligence further, he decided to be direct. "What is it you want from me, Mr. Fischer?"
"I want to know who you are," Robert said immediately. "Who you're working for, and what you want from me."
Eames shook his head. "I don't want anything from you."
"I know it was you in my room," he snapped. "And I give you enough credit that I don't think it was just my wallet you were after. So tell me what it is. Now."
"Ahh, there's the Robert Fischer we all know." Eames leaned forward against his knees. "Your typical ruthless, corporate prince. I almost thought he too had carried out an unexpected vanishing act."
Robert's hands tensed against each other in his lap. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Let's be honest: you haven't been yourself lately," Eames said. "What I 'want from you' is the truth. I want to know why you're selling Berger Energy."
Robert stared him down, trying to gauge his sincerity, but he was no match for such a finely composed poker face. "Is that it?"
"You have to admit, it's a shocking decision," Eames continued. "I know how hard you fought for that company, and that was only a year ago. Everyone wants to know why."
"If you wanted to know that badly, you could have just asked," he said petulantly.
"You haven't told Peter Browning the whole truth yet--I can't imagine why you'd be more forthcoming with a stranger like me."
It was a bluff, but his instincts were strong; Robert shifted uncomfortably. "That being the case, you didn't really expect I would write it in my day planner either, did you?"
Eames shook his head. "No, not really. I was hoping that by keeping my eye on you I could gain some insight that way."
"And have you?"
"Somewhat." Eames took a deep breath. He wants to talk, he told himself, remembering their few previous interactions. He's always opened up with little prodding. If only I could get his trust back... "To be honest, I'm worried it's a symptom of your health."
Robert looked unconvinced. "My health."
Here goes nothing. "You haven't been sleeping," he said. "I'm sure you've told Browning it's insomnia, but it's the dreams, isn't it?"
Another bulls-eye. Robert looked down and away, and struggled to answer. "So are you watching me sleep, too?"
"How long has it been a problem?" Eames pressed.
"Since my father passed away." Robert licked his lips, and though he was usually an open book, when his eyes danced back Eames could see a second part to the answer hanging unvoiced between them. "But that has nothing to do with my company, and quite frankly, it's none of your business."
Eames burned with curiosity, but he held himself back from guessing at the unspoken message. "I'm just trying to understand you better, Mr. Fischer."
"Why?" He folded his arms in mounting impatience. "Are you working for Cobol? Did..." His jaw worked. "Did Peter put you up to this?"
"No, it's nothing like that." Eames considered throwing out Saito's name, but he was not sure how Robert would react to it, and he didn't like the idea of lying to him further. If I want to get the truth from him, I have to give him the truth. "You said something at your father's funeral that caught my attention," he said quietly. "I haven't been able to put it out of my mind. I think we have more in common than you know."
Robert scoffed, but Eames continued before he could be stopped. "And I think you're in trouble now. I want to help you, if I can."
"You still haven't even told me who or what you are," Robert said, eyeing him. "How am I supposed to believe anything you say? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't have you arrested."
He smiled. "Because you don't want to."
Robert glared at him, and then rapped on the small glass window behind his head. "I think we're done here. Don't let me catch you spying on me again."
"I won't," Eames assured. I'll be more careful next time.
The limo slowed to a halt at the curb, and the security men piled out. "Well, this has been interesting," said Robert. "But I don't expect it'll be repeated, so...good day. Mr. Simmonds."
He extended his hand. Eames regarded it with confusion--they didn't seem to be parting on terms amiable enough for a farewell handshake--but he didn't want to irritate the man further by refusing. He took Robert's hand and shook it firmly. "Take care of yourself, Mr. Fischer."
Robert's grip tightened like a trap springing, and he stared at their joined hands in sharp contemplation. When Eames tried to extricate himself he was denied; he fell still, trying to make sense of the suddenly intense focus aimed at him. It was familiar. When a shadow fell over the side window he prodded, "Mr. Fischer...?"
He looked up guiltily, and Eames could not withhold the revelation as soon as it came to him. "I've been in your dreams," he murmured, incredulous. "Haven't I?"
Robert let him go and leaned back as the side door was opened. "Get out."
The bodyguard grabbed Eames by his lapel and all but tossed him onto the sidewalk--Eames just barely managed not to fall over. As he turned back the second man pulled his suitcase out of the trunk and shoved it into his chest. He caught only one more glance of Robert's icy stare before the car door closed, and soon the limo was driving off again.
Eames glanced about to see where he had been deposited, and shook his head when he saw he was in front of a police station. He let his luggage drop to his feet and was more determined than ever.
I have to get inside his mind.
To Chapter 3
Title: The Helix Trap
Chapter: 2/19 (4,282 words) (For other parts please check my My main post)
Rating: R
Pairings/Characters: Eames/Robert, Arthur/Ariadne, Cobb, Yusuf, Saito, Browning, and others.
Warnings: Violence, sexual content.
Disclaimer: These characters and setting do not belong to me and are being used without permission but for no profit
Summary: After the Inception proves successful, Eames tracks down Robert out of concern for its unusual side effects. Meanwhile, Arthur is hired to a dangerous job that forces the rest of the team to take sides: whether to defend Robert and his fragile mind, or ruin him completely.
Notes: C&C Welcome and appreciated. To my betas,
a_rocky_ravine and chypie, thanks for your input!"We're not having this argument again," Robert said as he shoved the door to his hotel suite open.
Browning chased him inside, undeterred. "How can I argue with you when you're not telling me anything? I just found out from Marcus that you mentioned selling off Richter Cole's. In an email. What the hell is going on, Robert?"
Robert loosened his tie, but even then he could feel its stifling grip around his neck. He wanted nothing more than to force Browning out, to have a moment of peace for his whirling brain, but alcohol would have to do instead. He headed straight for the liquor cabinet and grabbed a bottle of brandy. "Richter Cole's makes shoes. Why do we even own that company anyway?"
"Because you insisted on it. What are you doing?" Browning grabbed the neck of the bottle. "We're on our way to dinner."
"I'm pouring myself a drink." He put his hand over Browning's to make sure he wouldn't let go and grabbed a glass. "Hold still; this is expensive."
The reminder did its job; Browning ground his teeth and ceased his complaints while he filled Robert's glass. When Robert offered one to him as well, he accepted. It was not until both had taken a drink that he resumed his protests. "Robert. I understand you not wanting to work with Cobol," he said carefully. "Maurice wasn't keen on it either. But selling Berger Energy just before a planned expansion? And you're already thinking about selling more?"
Robert turned away while taking another sip. The burn of the alcohol was soothing and helped calm his frayed nerves. "What Hirsch is offering is a good deal," he argued. "We don't need Berger. We don't need shoes. Do you have any idea how many even smaller companies we've bought out in the last five years, just because we could?"
Browning grunted. "Of course I do. I helped you negotiate all of them."
Yes. I remember. Robert continued to wander away from him until he came to a tall, decorative mirror on the south wall. Cold, weary eyes stared back at him. "When I told you I thought we should take Berger, you supported me," he recalled aloud. "But Father...he was already getting weak by then. I went to tell him and he barely looked at me."
"What?" Browning moved next to him. "What are you talking about? Maurice was in favor of that takeover."
"He said he was, but you didn't see his face," Robert murmured. "He was disappointed. He wanted me to know without him having to say it."
Browning's hand closed around his elbow, startling him. "I did see him," he said. "I was there, remember? I'm telling you, your father supported your decision. He was proud of you then."
Robert stared at his reflection in the mirror, and could have sworn he saw it shake its head at him. Deep in his mind the memories undulated, swaying like reeds in a field he couldn't get his hands around. When he tried to reconstruct that moment in his father's room, only the man's heavy and despairing eyes came into focus. They drilled into him a bitter and unavoidable truth.
"Robert." Browning took the glass out of his hand and placed it, and his, on a nearby table. "I know you're still in mourning. Of course you have doubts. But you can't be this hard on yourself." He took Robert by the shoulders and tried to turn him away. "Fischer Morrow belongs to you now, and you have to take care of it."
Robert strained to see the mirror despite Browning's efforts. "This suit is wrong," he mumbled.
"What?"
He pulled out of Browning's grip and unbuttoned his jacket. "This suit," he repeated. "It's wrong. It's not like me."
"It's not--now what are you talking about?" Exasperated, Browning tried to stop him. "The suit is fine."
His reflection flashed him a wide and uncertain look. "It's not me--this isn't me," he insisted. He ripped his hands away from Browning and hurried away, yanking his jacket off his shoulders. "This isn't who I'm supposed to be!"
Browning drew his hand over his face, but he did not pursue. Once Robert had thrown his jacket over the back of the sofa he felt a moment's relief. "I'm changing," he declared as he hopped up the two steps to the suite's circular master bedroom. "You can wait downstairs if you want."
"Robert..." Sighing, Browning sank into the nearest chair. "You bought that suit last week."
Robert kicked off his shoes and unbuttoned his pants. "I know."
"For three thousand dollars."
"I know." He knew it was senseless. Even as he selected a different suit he knew he wouldn't feel any more like himself in it, but it was better than doing nothing. Once he was finished changing he rejoined Browning and managed not to look toward the mirror. "I'm ready."
Browning looked up at him. Frustration marred his already deeply-lined face and reminded Robert too much of his father. "Maybe you should skip dinner tonight," he suggested. "Get some rest."
"Peter, I..." Robert shook himself. "I'm sorry," he said, meaning it. "I know I haven't been myself lately, and you're just trying to help. I know that, I really do."
His lip twitched. "But...?"
"But I'm selling Berger Energy," Robert finished, offering his hand to help Browning out of his chair. "It's just something I have to do. But I'll forget about Richter Cole's, if you want."
Browning snorted, but he did accept the assistance. "I like their shoes," he said smartly.
Robert managed a thin smile as he headed for the sofa. "Then maybe I should just sell it to you." He reached into the pocket of his discarded jacket and found his wallet but not his cell phone. He frowned and checked between the sofa cushions.
Browning downed the rest of his brandy and headed for the door. "Do you remember when I introduced you to my friend Charla?"
"Hm?" Robert shook out his jacket one more time but still found nothing. I must have left it in the car. "The doctor--no, psychiatrist?" When he realized where Browning was likely headed he frowned, but fell into step beside him. "I'm surprised you haven't set up an appointment already."
"I know you haven't been sleeping well," Browning said as they left the room together. "That's just the sort of thing she specializes in. I really think you should talk to someone, Robert."
"I know..." Though the mention of sleep made his stomach twist, he knew the advice was not without merit. "You're probably right..."
They stepped into the hall, and Robert closed the door behind him.
Eames crawled out from behind the sofa.
He looked to the door, and remained still for a moment longer just to be sure the pair wouldn't be back. Satisfied, he pulled Robert's phone out of the trim green vest of his bellhop uniform. The words "upload complete" flashed back at him.
"Beautiful," Eames murmured. With a few taps the application he'd stealthily installed deleted every trace of itself, and when he checked his own phone he found Robert's contact list, schedule, and emails. "Sometimes the old fashioned methods work best." He set Robert's phone on the floor, ready to be discovered when he returned.
He pushed to his feet and took a quick look around the suite. A handy key card programming device borrowed from a friend had gotten him in easily enough, but without the lucky phone he might have come out empty handed: Robert's travel wardrobe was impressive but not probative, and his laptop was protected with stronger measures than Eames was prepared to break with limited time. He paused briefly at the opened brandy, tempted, and ended his reconnaissance in front of the mirror.
Eames traced a gloved finger over his reflection. "What did you see in here?" he wondered aloud. "What's going on in that pretty little head of yours?"
The door handle twisted. Eames jumped, and with the entrance already swinging open he had only one avenue of escape: he dove under the master bed.
Robert entered and shut the door loudly behind him. His steps were sharp as he stormed to the bedroom closet and began tossing neckties haphazardly about. Eames held his breath when one landed half under his hiding spot, but Robert made no attempt to collect it. After a great deal of fussing he seemed to find one he liked, and moved back into the main room.
Eames licked his lips and, taking a chance, nudged the dust ruffle just high enough that he could peek out. Robert was standing in front of the mirror again as he knotted a mulberry necktie, looking irritated. They must have had it out again, Eames thought with a grimace. Over a tie? He almost felt sympathy for Browning for the behavior he was trying to contain, until he remembered why he was following them in the first place.
Robert finished with the tie and smoothed his lapels. But he still looked dissatisfied with his appearance; his eyes grew dull, as they had been at his father's funeral. A slow, silent minute passed, and then he surged forward, grabbing the mirror by its frame. He tried to remove it from the wall, but it was too large, too unwieldy for him to handle on his own, and as soon as he lifted it off its fastenings it fell to the floor. Eames cringed back as the impact of hard wood was followed by a crash of glass.
"Shit," Robert hissed. He glanced around in paranoia, causing Eames to let the dust ruffle fall. "That was...not smart." He heaved a sigh which transformed into a short bark of laughter, and the mirror shattered completely when he let it fall forward. "Oops."
Eames dared not peek again, but he heard the glass being swept about, and then Robert hissed again. Footsteps echoed across the room and a phone was dialed. "Ah, this is Robert Fischer in the tower suite," Robert said. "There's been, um, an accident in my room. I'll pay for the damages, but I need someone to come clean this up. Yes, thank you." He hung up.
A bead of sweat formed on Eames's forehead. Can I stay hidden from maintenance and housekeeping? When he heard Robert was on the move again he crept forward and peeked out: Robert was heading for the bathroom with his finger in his mouth. When he passed the sofa his foot knocked into his cell phone, and he stopped to retrieve it. His brow furrowed, and he tucked the phone in his pocket as he continued on.
If he waits for them to show up, I'll be in for it, Eames thought, dragging himself carefully out from under the bed. I have to go now. Knowing that hesitation would get him caught he dashed on his toes for the door.
He stepped on a piece of glass. It was only a shard, but the sharp crack was loud enough that Robert glanced over his shoulder. "Peter...?"
Eames fled through the door without waiting to know if Robert had spotted him. Once he was in the hall he straightened his vest and strode quickly to the fire escape, taking the steps two at a time down to his floor. By the time he was in his room he had already dialed his phone, and was cursing to himself while he waited for Cobb to pick up.
"Hello?"
"Did you reach him?" Eames asked as he threw his suitcase on the bed.
"Yes, finally. He's still in Paris."
Eames moved quickly around the room, grabbing up pieces of clothing and a few errant electronic devices. "What did he say? Has he heard from her?"
"He said he hasn't." His voice was hard, and Eames regretted having to stir up bad blood, but he needed answers. "Are you sure she's involved? It's only been a few days since he started showing signs of anything."
"As far as you've seen," Eames replied quickly. He shifted the phone to his other ear as he struggled out of his bellhop vest. "But I've been on him since he came to Munich, and I'm telling you, this has been going on behind closed doors for longer than anyone knows. If it was just the one phone call I overheard I wouldn't be worried, but Browning mentioned Banks to him today. If she gets her hands on him she's going to put him under."
Cobb was quiet for a moment as he considered. "Even with a license she can legally only take him one layer deep. That won't be enough for her to identify the inception."
Eames tossed some extra hotel soaps and a towel into his suitcase and forced it shut. "You think the dear Dr. Banks cares about legality?" he scoffed. "I'm not taking that chance." With all his things gathered he pulled on a striped coat and left the room.
"Don't do anything rash."
"Who, me?" Eames smirked as he hit the elevator button, but his humor was short-lived. "We all knew word would get out eventually, but I don't like the idea of that woman seeing our work first hand." His voice lowered. "Especially when I'm not sure myself what's happening to him. It's getting worse."
Cobb sighed, and Eames could imagine the tight lines in his brow. "You're acting like this wasn't the plan all along."
The elevator opened, and Eames was relieved to see it empty. He stepped inside and pressed the button for the lobby. "I know, I know," he said, frustrated with Cobb and with himself. "But if I'm ever going to do this again, I want to know for sure how it works, what the results are. It was your job but my plan, remember? Forgive me for taking it a bit personally."
"It's not like you to regret a job."
Eames frowned. He hadn't said that, but he couldn't deny that Cobb had caught him. "Yes, well, I know my having a conscience must come as a surprise to you, but there you have it."
He could hear children's voices in the background, and Cobb was drawn away from the phone to respond. Eames smiled distantly but did not bother to try and make out what they were saying; he was too distracted by Cobb's keen instinct. We knew what it would do to him, he told himself, not for the first time. And we knew a lot of people wouldn't be happy about it. But I chose that plan for a reason. He rubbed his whiskers and sighed. He seems more conflicted over his father than ever. The elevator doors were polished to a mirror sheen, and in glancing at them Eames felt a chill.
"You still there?" asked Cobb.
"I'm here." The elevator opened, and Eames smiled politely to an elderly couple as he squeezed past them.
"I know you're going to do what you want anyway, but I'm telling you as a friend, you should walk away from this," Cobb said firmly. "You're not going to be able to change anything at this point."
"I'm not interested in changing anything," Eames assured. "I just want to get a peek, that's all."
"Christ, Eames, you're going to get caught."
Eames snorted indignantly. "You don't have to worry about me, Mum."
"I'm hanging up," Cobb said. And he did.
Eames hung up and dug his keycard out of his pocket as he approached the counter to check out. He was just being called over by the receptionist when he heard an elevator open, and a man said, "Mr. Fischer, your car is waiting."
"Thank you."
Don't look, don't look. Eames smiled at the woman behind the counter, and kept his voice down as they went over his room charges together. He kept one ear open, half expecting to hear Robert call out to him in recognition, but soon he had traced his movements to the door without anything. At last he glanced toward the entrance, and there saw Robert speaking close to his assistant's ear. They left together and disappeared down the sidewalk.
Biting back a relieved sigh, Eames signed his name to the papers. Can't afford to hire a team for this one, he thought as he headed outside--slowly, just in case. Even if I was willing to spend the money, who could I trust?
The evening light caught him full in the face, and he paused on the sidewalk for a loud sneeze. He was reaching for his handkerchief when a broad hand clamped around his elbow. He twisted instinctually to retaliate but his other arm was captured too quickly, and a low voice rumbled at his ear. "Please come with us, Sir."
Eames blinked up at the man who had spoken: bald, six foot eight or taller, dark glasses, like a bad movie cliché. The second was short and less bald but still imposing. Shaking them both would not have been a problem, even unarmed as he was, but there were people flowing in and out of the hotel, and he had spotted at least three men in security uniforms on his way out. If he made a scene and didn't manage to get away, he wasn't sure his German was good enough that he could talk his way out of an arrest.
"All you had to do was say 'please,'" Eames said dryly. "You'll at least bring my luggage along for the ride, won't you?"
Baldy grabbed his suitcase, and dragged it along as they moved together down the sidewalk. Eames hated being led and was tempted again to make a break for it, but then he spotted their destination: a black limo parked on the corner, with Robert Fischer leaning against the back bumper.
Eames gulped. You wanted a peek, he could almost hear Cobb saying. Is this close enough? Strangely, the look on Robert's face seemed to be saying the same thing.
"Mr. Simmonds," Robert greeted stonily. "Would you care to join me?"
Eames cast significant looks to the gorillas detaining him. "I'd be delighted."
The shorter one let him go and opened the back door, through which Eames was shoved a moment later. He righted himself in the back seat and hastily tried to form a game plan. He knew enough about Robert to know he wouldn't have to worry about concrete shoes, but there were plenty of other fates the richest man in the world could arrange for him. Once we have a bit more privacy, I can get out of this.
Robert climbed in and sat across from him. Despite his earlier complaints his suit was impeccable, and his composure intimidating. "Peter warned me that you might be back," he said.
The limo shifted as the trunk was opened and then closed, and the two security agents moved to the front of the car. Eames tried to keep track of them, but he was distracted by the intense look Robert was fixing him with. "They do say it's a small world after all," he replied innocently.
Robert's eyes narrowed. There was real anger in his face, something Eames hadn't expected from a man that was supposed to be little more than a stranger. "That night, I called Mr. Dunn after dinner," he went on as the car started and pulled away from the curb. "He told me you weren't let go, you vanished. Hardly expected from someone with your impressive list of references."
Eames felt a childish twinge of regret, seeing that Robert's happy familiarity for him had run out. So much for false pleasantries. Rather than insult the man's intelligence further, he decided to be direct. "What is it you want from me, Mr. Fischer?"
"I want to know who you are," Robert said immediately. "Who you're working for, and what you want from me."
Eames shook his head. "I don't want anything from you."
"I know it was you in my room," he snapped. "And I give you enough credit that I don't think it was just my wallet you were after. So tell me what it is. Now."
"Ahh, there's the Robert Fischer we all know." Eames leaned forward against his knees. "Your typical ruthless, corporate prince. I almost thought he too had carried out an unexpected vanishing act."
Robert's hands tensed against each other in his lap. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Let's be honest: you haven't been yourself lately," Eames said. "What I 'want from you' is the truth. I want to know why you're selling Berger Energy."
Robert stared him down, trying to gauge his sincerity, but he was no match for such a finely composed poker face. "Is that it?"
"You have to admit, it's a shocking decision," Eames continued. "I know how hard you fought for that company, and that was only a year ago. Everyone wants to know why."
"If you wanted to know that badly, you could have just asked," he said petulantly.
"You haven't told Peter Browning the whole truth yet--I can't imagine why you'd be more forthcoming with a stranger like me."
It was a bluff, but his instincts were strong; Robert shifted uncomfortably. "That being the case, you didn't really expect I would write it in my day planner either, did you?"
Eames shook his head. "No, not really. I was hoping that by keeping my eye on you I could gain some insight that way."
"And have you?"
"Somewhat." Eames took a deep breath. He wants to talk, he told himself, remembering their few previous interactions. He's always opened up with little prodding. If only I could get his trust back... "To be honest, I'm worried it's a symptom of your health."
Robert looked unconvinced. "My health."
Here goes nothing. "You haven't been sleeping," he said. "I'm sure you've told Browning it's insomnia, but it's the dreams, isn't it?"
Another bulls-eye. Robert looked down and away, and struggled to answer. "So are you watching me sleep, too?"
"How long has it been a problem?" Eames pressed.
"Since my father passed away." Robert licked his lips, and though he was usually an open book, when his eyes danced back Eames could see a second part to the answer hanging unvoiced between them. "But that has nothing to do with my company, and quite frankly, it's none of your business."
Eames burned with curiosity, but he held himself back from guessing at the unspoken message. "I'm just trying to understand you better, Mr. Fischer."
"Why?" He folded his arms in mounting impatience. "Are you working for Cobol? Did..." His jaw worked. "Did Peter put you up to this?"
"No, it's nothing like that." Eames considered throwing out Saito's name, but he was not sure how Robert would react to it, and he didn't like the idea of lying to him further. If I want to get the truth from him, I have to give him the truth. "You said something at your father's funeral that caught my attention," he said quietly. "I haven't been able to put it out of my mind. I think we have more in common than you know."
Robert scoffed, but Eames continued before he could be stopped. "And I think you're in trouble now. I want to help you, if I can."
"You still haven't even told me who or what you are," Robert said, eyeing him. "How am I supposed to believe anything you say? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't have you arrested."
He smiled. "Because you don't want to."
Robert glared at him, and then rapped on the small glass window behind his head. "I think we're done here. Don't let me catch you spying on me again."
"I won't," Eames assured. I'll be more careful next time.
The limo slowed to a halt at the curb, and the security men piled out. "Well, this has been interesting," said Robert. "But I don't expect it'll be repeated, so...good day. Mr. Simmonds."
He extended his hand. Eames regarded it with confusion--they didn't seem to be parting on terms amiable enough for a farewell handshake--but he didn't want to irritate the man further by refusing. He took Robert's hand and shook it firmly. "Take care of yourself, Mr. Fischer."
Robert's grip tightened like a trap springing, and he stared at their joined hands in sharp contemplation. When Eames tried to extricate himself he was denied; he fell still, trying to make sense of the suddenly intense focus aimed at him. It was familiar. When a shadow fell over the side window he prodded, "Mr. Fischer...?"
He looked up guiltily, and Eames could not withhold the revelation as soon as it came to him. "I've been in your dreams," he murmured, incredulous. "Haven't I?"
Robert let him go and leaned back as the side door was opened. "Get out."
The bodyguard grabbed Eames by his lapel and all but tossed him onto the sidewalk--Eames just barely managed not to fall over. As he turned back the second man pulled his suitcase out of the trunk and shoved it into his chest. He caught only one more glance of Robert's icy stare before the car door closed, and soon the limo was driving off again.
Eames glanced about to see where he had been deposited, and shook his head when he saw he was in front of a police station. He let his luggage drop to his feet and was more determined than ever.
I have to get inside his mind.
To Chapter 3
