Disclaimer: I do not own Inception and I do not expect an ending.
Author's Note: Hello all you loyal fans of my writing (which a lot of you say is good; thank you. Because of you, I have not given up on my dream of becoming a screenwriter)! I am super sorry for my hiatus but I haven't felt inspired. To me, writing a junk chapter for a story I genuinely care about (Half Nelson) was just the same as ending it too soon so I couldn't write. I hope you guys understand that and I hope you guys enjoy this one. Once again, I have absolutely no idea where it is going! I was just reading all of these new stories and it made me happy to see that there are still Inception fic fans out there so I wanted to write something for the newbies, the oldies, and the angry people ready to collect my head . And of course it A/A! Trust me, I love A/E as much as the next person but when I try to write those fics, mine just blow!
Amygdale: An almond shaped part of the limbic system linked to the regulation of emotional responses, especially fear and pleasure.
Arthur's ears screamed and his head felt as if it were being compressed by a melon squeezer. His heart was beating so fast and so loudly, like he was being groomed and neatly prepared for a guillotine death. He exhaled heavily, but he didn't lean over like he wanted to. He didn't grip at his chest to squeeze his heart, stopping it from beating so fast. He didn't cradle his aching head in his sweaty hands. He didn't let the ringing in his ears drop him down to his knees.
Because they were all watching.
He straightened his back and looked at the smoking pistol in his right hand. He noticed the specks of blood on it from the bludgeoning he performed only minutes ago and he felt even queasier. He noticed the body in front of him. He noticed the spot of blood where the bullet had placed itself. He noticed how the spot was spreading rapidly. He noticed the pool of blood forming. He also noticed the very familiar weight in his pocket that told him it was all real.
Yet, all he could think about was how loud the ringing was in his ear. He remembered why he hated murder by guns so much.
He removed the handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped the gun clean. He looked down at the body once more.
A damn shame, he thought to himself. For all of this could have easily been avoided. All Arthur wanted was information. It's a damn shame what we kill for in this day and age.
He heard a voice but it was muddled through the ringing. He put a free hand up to his ear. A younger man walked up to him, facing him, looking him dead in the eyes.
"We can take it from here," the younger man said with a strong voice as he took the gun from Arthur's hand as well as the white handkerchief.
Arthur nodded once and left the dark room, shuddering as he did. Dark rooms always felt like death to him. He chuckled to himself.
I wonder why.
As he walked out in the light of day, he gave his clothes a quick once over and managed a smile. He had to give himself credit; he had a niche for keeping himself tidy when doing his dirty work. He reached into his pants pocket and retrieved a pack of gum. He scoped the parking lot as he popped a Winter Fresh stick into his mouth.
He spotted the black Shelby GT and headed forward.
Ariadne stood in the mostly vacant bookstore and removed her sunglasses. She took another look at the post it note in her hand and bit her lip. Where the hell would she find a book about psychology when the only two aisles were labeled as 'Self Help' and 'Novel'? Could she consider it under 'Self Help' since the book she was looking for was a study aid of sorts?
Or novel…because everything can be a novel?
The store clerk looked at her and, despite being a new admission to the team, knew exactly what she had to do due to Ariadne's perfect imitation of Bambi's 'Mom Just Got Shot' look of awe.
"May I help you?"
Ariadne looked up from her note and smiled a genuine grin composed of relief and gratefulness. "Yes," she sighed. "With all twelve of these!"
Everything about the scene was perfect. A perfect cup of chai tea, not too much milk, nor too much sugar, nor too hot for enjoyment. A perfect chair to sit in…actually it was more of couch to her but seeing as others could not find the same amount of comfort she did, it was a chair. Perfect lighting for reading her books. And a perfect sweatshirt with the perfect scent to make her feel just at home.
Of course being at home had something to do with it as well.
She took a sip from her mug and continued reading the psych book, much to her discontent. Despite working in a field in which psychology are the basic fundamentals, the novel was boring her. However, it was important to brush up on the terminology and basic concepts before the next job.
The front door opened and Ariadne looked up, smiling at the person entering the apartment. Arthur shut the door behind him quietly and a look of surprise crossed his face when he saw her sitting across from him. He smiled and walked up to her, planting a small kiss on her forehead. He smiled even more when he saw that she had her neck extended for such a greeting. He backed away and pulled off his blazer.
"I didn't know you were a Lakers fan," he smiled at her knowingly, referring to the Lakers hoodie she had on. The one that belonged to him.
Her smile faded bit by bit as confusion came over her. She sniffed.
"Arthur, what's that smell?"
"What, on me?"
"Yeah," Ariadne stood to her feet and, on her way to the kitchen, sniffed him as she passed. "You smell like something…I don't know, can't place it."
Arthur lifted his forearm and sniffed his sleeve as he heard the faucet turn on in the kitchen. He cursed himself. Just because he looked clean didn't mean he was clean and Ariadne was no idiot; she could recognize the scent of gunpowder.
"Not sure what it is," he said, quickly grabbing his blazer. "But I'll shower anyway because I love you."