Disintegration of Memory

Chapter 1 – Living Still Life

She goes back to life. Or, more precisely, she wakes up and doesn't dream anymore. She wishes she could create different and more difficult mazes, distort reality and physics to her will. But now she has to be satisfied with blueprints and construction sites.

Her totem is inside a drawer in her bedroom, not touched in months. Not forgotten, just far away, but always lurking in the corner of her mind. In the first week after the Inception job, she couldn't let it go; the feel of it was the only thing that could make her feel safe.

And then she realized that she didn't need it anymore. Not because she wasn't going to dream any longer, but simply because she now knew for certain that Dom Cobb's trauma had not frightened her, nor had the limbo or the possibility of having life altering choices planted by strangers in one's mind. At first, that itself was strange. How could she not be anything but frightened? Was something wrong with her?

The truth was she never doubted her own capacity to recognize dreams from reality. For her, they're nothing but mazes (and in away, that's what they all really were); complicated but also exciting and fairly easy to solve with the right knowledge. They could trick you and make you doubt yourself, but knowing the rules was all that it took.

She knew them all now. Quick learner, they all called her. And in the end, she was the one to guide them. And that excited her beyond anything.

The accusation of arrogance was not far from her mind. But also she couldn't shake her confidence away. Maybe it had to do with her god-complex; they say every artist has one. And after bending the whole Paris to her will? A god-complex didn't seem like a farfetched possibility.

All around her was reality. Nothing else could be so continually predictable, incredibly tedious or insist in being as set in stone as reality was. Dreams change, life could too. But their rhythms were not the same and now she had to be patient and adapt.

Professor Miles didn't ask anything and said very little. He was the only person that could understand her, but he did not want to talk about it.

"I'm glad that you're back to reality safely, Ariadne. Take a seat," was all he said.

She bit back all the questions she had. Will Cobb do extraction anymore? Were you the one who taught him? How are his children? How did you two meet? How Cobb met Mal? Who invented dream sharing? How did he meet Arthur? Do you know his cell number?

Yes, the last one was childish, but also, the most important one. Because even if Cobb had retired for good, Eames was gone to find more challenges in the other side of the globe, Yusuf preferred not to go to the field and Saito was back to his multimillionaire company… She was certain that Arthur was still on the job somewhere right now.

Because that who he was. Nothing could compete with dreams for him. Nothing, like he said, was quite like it. She wanted to see him. She wanted to make him give her a new job. She wanted to be his partner.

And… That came out wrong.

Business partner. That was what she meant.

The last time she saw him, he was giving a nod to Cobb at the baggage retrieval. And then, he was gone. She found herself quite lost after this. She knew Cobb and the others could be gone quickly, but from Arthur she expected at least something, a goodbye and maybe a promise of coffee someday. Maybe an instruction or tip of how to live a normal after doing a four layer dream. That could have been nice.

After she woken up in the airplane and the two of them waited in a tense silence for Saito and Cobb to do the same, she felt that he was feeling exactly like she was. His jaw was set and her eyes could not move away from Cobb's closed eyelids. When finally he had woken, they briefly looked at each other with a relieved grin of a job done well. They're dazed and proud at the same time and when their eyes met she felt he was in sync with her in a way. Like they shared something, like another kiss.

Maybe she felt wrong. She didn't know. Maybe he didn't care much for her mazes, her talents, or her lips. Maybe he thought she was just an annoying architecture student, meddling too much in other people subconscious (most of the times literally) and affairs. She also had terrible organizational skills.

In any case, she didn't know how to contact him and make him explain to her what he really thought. Sadly she was an easily frustrated person, with a tryst for knowledge and maybe too much curiosity. So she kept her doubts to herself for a long time, but not near long enough.

One day, determined to quell her questions, she arrived in Mile's class two hours earlier, sitting in the seat right in front of his desk, drawing mazes on her notebook while waiting for him to appear.

"Ariadne? Goodness, what are you doing here so early? This maybe is the first time one of my students set on beating me to class. Actually, they usually think more proper to never show up. Are you quite all right?"

"I'm fine, thank you, Professor."

"No trouble sleeping, perhaps?"

"Why? Is it normal to have any after a job?"

He looked at her with worry, sitting in his comfortable chair behind the desk.

"Well, actually, it is quite normal."

"Then I'm lucky. I'm sleeping fine," she continued, absently drawing a circular maze.

"I thought they explained everything to you. Cobb seemed to suggest that, at least."

"Maybe something slip his mind, he had… other things to worry about, right?"

"That's no excuse. It was his responsibility. Extraction is a dangerous task, not to be done without proper preparation."

"Is over now, though, and I'm back safe and sound" she said, immediately jumping to defend Cobb. She owed him that at least after understanding what he had being fighting alone.

"Yes, for which I'm glad".

She bit her lower lip, sitting more upwards. The few seconds of silence were enough for the professor to think their talk was over. It wasn't. Time to dig deeper.

"Professor… Is Cobb doing okay? His family is alright now, right?"

He looked up from his papers, smiling slightly.

"Oh yes. I had never seen James and Phillipa happier. And Cobb… He seems lighter."

"I'm glad," she paused, trying to approach carefully; it wasn't easy to talk about Inception with him, "Do you think he… Is he going back to…? You know?"

"I hope not. It's hard to say. He never… Ariadne, he was exactly like you, when I met him: an artist with an insatiable need to create. What he wanted from dreams was to make art, a tool for never ending concepts. I don't think he seems them this away any longer."

She nodded already suspecting the answer.

"How about Arthur and the others?"

"Is this some ploy to find you another job?" he asked, half a smile on his face.
"Is it working?"

"Absolutely not," now the smile was full on his lips.

"Come on. Just give me Arthur's cell number. As a favor, please?"

"This is not going to end well," he sighed, but she knew her plea had worked.

Hours later, when the class was finished he gave her a piece of paper with a number on it. She neglected the rest of her classes and went straight home.

Back at her apartment, she stared at paper, cell phone on the other hand. Her heartbeats accelerated as she dialed the number, waiting to hear his professional tone. Waiting for the thrill of dream sharing to start all over again.

Maybe she didn't want to go back to life after all.

a.. a.. a.. a..

He waits for her to call. Or, more precisely, he hopes she'll call. He wishes he could make the decision for her, the decision to keep dreaming and stealing (and maybe dying in the process), except it wouldn't be fair. He remembers his first job and, while not half as complicated as the Fisher job, he still needed time to think after and to try being normal.

So he waits and hopes and tries not to think about it. Most of the time he manages by distracting himself with books, information gathering and by visiting Cobb and his children. He looks for a job that's risk safe (not too safe, though), looks at resumes for a new architect and extractor. Nobody catches his interest.

He wonders if his wish to work with Ariadne again was truly only professional (and knows the answer already). But not for long, because that line of thought never ended well. Part of the reason he didn't give her his number, didn't even give her a proper goodbye, was to end anything before it even began. If she was to call, if she did find herself a way to contact him, it was going to be because of the job. For professional reasons. It was how he preferred things (no, in this case, he really didn't).

And suddenly a job finally appears, almost literally falling on his lap. He's at Cobb's (and Mal's), enjoying coffee and thinking how surreal was to be back at that house. And then Cobb started talking about something big.

"I thought you're out," was the first thing on his mind.

"I am. But this guy, he called me two days ago, offering anything, everything, to me, he was practically begging. I had to listen."

He eyed Dom with doubt.

"Please tell is not inception again. Wasn't one time enough? "

His friend smiled, shaking his head, probably thinking Arthur was too cautious. Dom always had bigger dreams (sometimes literary) than him.
"It's not Inception. It's something different, nothing like we ever did before."

"More details would be nice. Actually, even broad statements are appreciated."

"Specificity, uh?"

"I'm that kind of guy."

"I know," he paused, smiling. "I'm done with it, but I thought you would like this one. So this is for you to do with your own team. And make that the very best team."

And then he gave Arthur a briefcase, which he eyed with suspicion after feeling its weight. While Cobb played with James, he read all the books, notes and papers inside. When he finally finished it actually made his skin crawl. It wasn't inception, but it was probably worse.

"After what happened with Mal, do you really think this kind of thing is a good idea?"

Cobb's expression was grave; he sat down next to him, letting James go to play with his sister and sighed before speaking again.

"This is nothing like it."

"Really? For me it looks exactly it."

"You haven't heard the story from the client's mouth. This…" he pointed to a photo of the would-be subject, "This is justice."

Arthur wasn't going to be convinced that easily.

"What if it was you?"

"I was innocent."

"Are you?"

He knew he went too far, but for a long time he wanted to ask that question. Maybe it wasn't fair; maybe he wasn't a good friend for doing it. Still, the old suspicion returned months ago the moment Dom had told him about already doing inception once.

For his part, Dom didn't seem angry, just defeated. Regretting even bringing the subject, Arthur tried to make amends.

"What I'm trying to say is that nobody can be sure. Besides… The court decided he wasn't guilty."

"The court didn't have free access to his mind."

He shook his head, unsure. That wasn't the clean, easy job he wanted. It had too many complications, too much variables. Dom, of course, saw his hesitation.

"Look, take time to think about it. And if you are still interested after, give me a call, so I can arrange a meeting between you two."

Arthur nodded at least, thinking it was worth to consider carefully his options before ruling out completely the proposition. The money was beyond anything he ever received, even from Saito. And the challenge? Well, it was bigger than inception.

He walked back to his hotel that afternoon, gathering his thoughts, considering all the things that could (and probably would) go wrong. If he was honest with himself, the ethical problems of invading others' dreams, stealing their secrets and manipulating their minds never bothered him. It was job, the only job for him. If the market had need of this type of work, then the problem wasn't with him, but with his employers. Cynical, maybe, but it let him sleep at night. Most of the times.

But that new job was something else. The ethical implications were too overwhelming to reflect on, so he decided that he was looking at the thing the wrong way. He needed to look past the main problem and focus on the practical details, to think like it was a normal job and see if it was worth the trouble. A mental list formed quickly, if one thing was certain was that Arthur was very good with lists.

Who would he need for the job? A forger, the best one. (That would mean Eames, which was definitive not an incentive for the job). Also an architect with intelligence, mathematical precision and pure talent. (That would mean Ariadne, a plus). He would have to use Yusuf's sedative again or perhaps something even stronger. He would need a backup plan (two for safety) and an extractor with enough courage and no moral compass. He also would need weeks studying the target and the victim, which meant months of preparation and probably years in dreamtime. Also someone on the outside to watch their backs. Someone trustworthy.

It was doable. He could probably pull it off. The question was: should he?

Finally back at his hotel room, he poured down all the contents of the briefcase on the floor, organizing the documents by importance and relevance. Then he took his die from the pocket of his jacket, sat down on the bed and just kept feeling the totem's weight between his fingers, while reading everything once more. There was a huge chance the target was innocent, that much was truth.

But what if he wasn't?

Picking up with his other hand the main document on the man, Arthur tried to see anything that could point to the truth. Instead he just heard his cell phone, the one he gives the number only to few people, vibrating on the floor. The caller id was Ariadne's number.

He stood up, trying carefully not to step on the documents, and picked up the phone. For a brief second he hesitated, wondering what to say and more precisely what not to say.

"Arthur here," he answered, immediately hearing her chuckle at his greeting.

"Hey, it's Ariadne."

"So you found out my number then. Cobb or Miles?" he asked playfully.

"Miles."

"You actually managed to do that? I'm impressed."

"Actually, it didn't take much. I'm his favorite student, you know," she paused, probably thinking how to approach the subject he already suspects she wants to talk about, "So. How are things?"

"Calm. Really calm."

"Oh… No work?"

He could see she was trying not to sound too disappointed. It made him chuckle. It didn't take her long to decide, after all. He would be lying if he said he wasn't pleased.

"Actually, I'm glad you called. I may have something…"

"I'm in. I'm so in."

It was impossible not to laugh at that.

"Can you just wait to hear what it is first?"

"Oh fine, if you want," she laughed. "But I'm definitely in."

His smile disappeared. He looked down to all the papers in the floor.

"It's risky. Complicated."

"More than a third level dream?"

"Maybe."

There's a pause. He wondered if too many details would scare her away and if that was a good or bad thing.

"But it's not inception", she finally finished and when he didn't continued she came to the next logical conclusion, "And it's not extraction either."

"No. Not quite."

"Now I'm intrigued. What is it?"

"It's destruction."

She doesn't say anything else and he can't stand the silence.

"Still in?"