Title: The Ocean Between Us
Author: strangelittleswirl
Pairing: Ariadne/Cobb
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Minor for the movie, angst.
Words: 2,082
Disclaimer: Inception is not my property; I'm merely playing but promise to return all of the characters and concepts in their shiny, new packaging.
Summary: Prompted by poptartmuse over at inception_kink. Dom wakes on the plane unable to remember anything but the face of a young woman and the sea. AU
The full prompt was:
AU: When Cobb wakes up at the end of the movie, he has amnesia. He clings to Ariadne, because she's the last person he remembers seeing (in limbo). He doesn't even remember his kids, or Mal. Ariadne doesn't want to remind him of the pain he's been through. Arthur does not approve of not telling Cobb about his past. Intense fighting between Arthur and Ariadne about Cobb's future, while Cobb desperately tries to remember his past life, while meanwhile falling head over heels for an already smitten-with-him Ariadne.
Bonus points for a guilty Ariadne, as if she's taking advantage of him.
It's fine, everything is fine, until Arthur shows up. Four weeks of happiness shattered, decimated with a few words.
"He wouldn't want this, Ariadne."
He wouldn't. He wouldn't want this happiness at the expense of memory.
Because when Ariadne went to leave the airport, Cobb had followed after her, begged to know how they knew each other, why he couldn't remember anything but her face, her face and the ocean.
She calmed him down before Fischer and his flank of security noticed, and she ended up riding home with Miles and Cobb – it was very clear he was scared, and other than Ariadne, he did not trust anyone. He was borderline paranoid, and kept his eyes out wherever he went.
Seeing his children rush to him - to see their faces happy and elated at his return, but to not see that same emotion reflected on his face – was painful. This was something the man had struggled to achieve for so long and now that he had it, he couldn't appreciate it.
Miles and Ariadne start with simple questions: did he remember his name? His Alma Mater? Anything at all?
Cobb is frustrated as he sits at the table, hands clasped in front of him, the din of the children playing in the room behind them. He can't remember anything but Ariadne. When he looks up to her, desperation naked and strong on his face, she has to look away.
Miles and Ariadne huddle in the living room a short time later, and he begs her to stay, since Cobb seems to be eased by her presence; she's the only thing he can remember, and even that is vague. Stephen's not sure he should bring up dream share, and what exactly happened to Mal – Cobb doesn't remember her, but numbly accepts that he has a dead wife – not yet at least.
"We'll give him some time before we start to try to reintroduce those facts," her professor decides, and Ariadne is left to dumbly nod along. "We'll see what he remembers."
And so starts Ariadne's stay at the Cobb house.
He's fond of the children but he's acting more as an uncle than father and Ariadne watches the children, sees that moment of worry and hesitation, and prays that he will remember.
A part of her hopes that he doesn't.
Dominic Cobb is a happy man, without the memory of his dead wife, without the knowledge of what they've been through, what happened.
Before she knows it, a week has gone by, and she doesn't want the frown return, the grim expression. When Dom smiles it's brilliant and she loves it too much to give it up.
The first time is an accident. It's what she tells herself, tries to convince herself.
They're watching a film, the children put to bed, and he pauses it suddenly, drops the remote onto the coffee table, and turns to her.
"What went on between us?" he asks, demands really.
Ariadne stares at him for a moment. "What exactly do you remember?" she counters.
He sighs and rakes a hand through his hair, then goes back over it with his hand flattened, to smooth it. "You. I remember you. I remember you and me in this place...in the water. I took your hand. It's jumbled, I mean, I don't remember everything, but I remember your face. And it's...It's all I have."
The way he says it, its meaning, is the same as the way he cradles her face with his hands, his eyes searching over her face for some sign of his past.
She kisses him – it was going to happen, and she feels like the guilt she has over all of this might as well be justified. Cobb readily responds, and before she knows it, they're in her bed, and it's tongues and teeth, skin and heat. There's no guilt on his side, no reluctance. Only gentle fingers, tender looks that seem to worship her.
She knows better than this.
Arthur shows up for dinner four weeks later. Ariadne has woken up tangled in the sheets with Cobb for three weeks. She's pretty sure she's set herself on an inevitable course towards heartbreak for the last one.
Cobb doesn't recognize the man at the door, and looks to Ariadne to see if he should.
"Dom, it's Arthur," she says gently, but it is only after she puts a reassuring hand on his back that he allows the man into the house.
The children come crashing into the room; they've accepted Ariadne's presence with cautious curiosity, but they're downright ecstatic to see the slim, dark-haired man at the door. Cobb watches the interaction with a stranger's jealousy.
And despite Ariadne's best nonverbal attempts to warn Dom against that the small displays of affection he has started to drop upon her at random intervals, he still reaches over at one point in the meal and grabs her hand to kiss the back of it.
Arthur's eyes harden for only an instant, and then he ducks down to finish his food.
He corners her in the kitchen as they clean up.
"Please tell me I didn't-"
"You did," she cuts him off impatiently, because she's imagined his reaction already. "We are."
His lips pucker, and he starts to squint, but it's not the same as when Cobb ever did the same. Disgust. That's disgust she's seeing.
"Is he remembering anything? Have you tried to get him to remember?"
She nods. "A little. A few things here and there. I think he's starting to remember small things – he went out and grabbed the kids' favorite ice cream flavors the other night without prompting. No memories about Dream Share, but it's something."
"It's a drop in the ocean, a grain of sand," he corrects, "on a very large beach." While Ariadne finishes up, he watches her, as if debating how to say what she doesn't want to hear. Above them, Cobb puts his children to sleep.
"He wouldn't want this, Ariadne."
"But what if this is better? For Christ's sake, you saw him; he's at peace. The guilt is gone. Dom deserves that, deserves the world."
One of Arthur's eyebrows starts to rise. "He's an Extractor, one of the best, and his mind will work all of this out with time. Help him along so we can get him back. Morally, this is reprehensible."
"You'd rather he was depressed for the rest of his life with a guilty conscious, defined by that?"
Arthur shakes his sleek head. "He's living a lie, and you're enabling him."
She thinks she loves Dom. She wants to say it, but can't.
After Arthur leaves, and Ariadne and Cobb finally settle into the bed, she cannot sleep. She stares at the ceiling, no longer finding a sense of calm in the steady breathing of the man next to her.
"It's the strangest thing," Dom had said the other morning, hands skimming over sheets, searching, hunting for what he wanted: an opening in the fabric that would allow him access to her hidden flesh; even without remembering, he is always extracting. "I cannot remember a single dream since the airport. Weird, huh?"
The breaths next to her are waves, and they are pushing the real Dominic Cobb further away. And it's her fault. He's shown no real desire to remember, not while she is there.
In his sleep, his brow furrows, and she sees him, the real him. She strokes his face.
Ariadne misses him.
She loves him.
Another week goes by, and Ariadne knows the children know something is wrong. She finds Miles comforting a hysterical Phillipa in the playroom.
"I don't care, I don't!" she sobs, all pink skin and stringy tear soaked strands of blonde hair. "I want my real daddy back."
She buys the plane ticket that same day.
Cobb watches her pack, but makes no move to stop her. "I'm starting to remember," he states, as if hoping that will keep her there. Ariadne continues the process of removing her things. "And I need you here, to remind me."
"You have children that need you, and me being here? It's not helping with that," she replies, knowing it's the truth but it hurts regardless. "Miles is right; even if you don't remember now, you need to, you'll want to. You fought so hard to get your life back."
He speaks so quietly, she almost doesn't hear him. "But I want you in it."
She turns to him, and knows he can't see what she does between them: years, Mal, family, his past. He easily takes a step forward and wraps his arms around her. "Don't do this."
"I'm doing this for you."
Ariadne kisses him; it's not really a kiss, more a pressing of skin on skin, and a part of her, the fanciful part she tries to tamp down, hopes that the action sears the feeling into her memory, forever. This is love, she realizes as she lifts her suitcase up and heads for the door, Cobb just behind her. Leaving him, so he can remember, so Arthur and Miles can slowly reintroduce him to the life he's earned back, is a sign of love.
"Goodbye," she says, and means it.
He understands, but watches the taxi until it cannot be seen. Then, he turns back around slowly and walks back into a house where two children are waiting for their father.
It's still a love story. Love stories don't necessarily end happily, or in tragedy. Sometimes they just end, and people walk away from them, affected, altered forever.
Ten years later, Cobb is at an architectural conference in Seville, and after check-in he ventures away from the hotel to walk the streets and take in some of the buildings in the area. He finds himself staring up at Seville Cathedral, at its sheer size and intricacies.
He's still anxious, even all these years later. He still keeps a close eye when he's out in crowds, even though his teenaged children chide him for it. So when he notices that there is a person standing awfully still in the bustling crowd, he looks askance and cannot help but turn and stare.
It's a petite woman, but he knows her shape and easily recognizes the look of wonder on her face. In the ten years since he has seen her, he's slowly gained back his memories, connected himself completely to the life he had forgotten. He remembers everything. He remembers walking the streets of Paris in a dream, and how he marveled at her ability. He remembers how she helped him face the guilt he had surrounded himself with over his wife's death.
He understands why she left him, back then.
She's older; of course she's older. Age has settled onto her in an competent, elegant way. She's wearing a scarf, and clothes that could pass as business casual albeit eccentric.
Ariadne is aware that someone is watching her, and tries to inconspicuously see who is doing so. Her eyes widen when she sees that it is Dom. She gives him a warm smile, and starts to walk towards him.
It's a good reunion. They both find out they are in Seville for the conference, and agree to meet up for coffee that night.
The good thing about endings is that they leave room for beginnings.