Time Has a Grudge Against Us

Five years post-inception, Dominick Cobb starts having dreams again. Every few nights, his mind imagines him in a city vastly unlike his own, working long hours, eating at nice restaurants, and going on dates. He's relieved that his subconscious finally seems to be back to its natural state, until he starts finding notes he doesn't remember writing, and his children tell him about things he doesn't remember doing.
Cobb is not dreaming. He and Saito are swapping bodies.

Chapter Text

Dominick Cobb isn’t sure why he dreams of the city. He isn’t sure why he doesn’t dream of his city. At night, he sees a city, and it’s not Los Angeles. It’s silver and shining and geometrical. He hears trains when he dreams.

He’s grateful for any dreams. After almost a decade of nonstop somnacin use, they don’t come easy. When your subconscious has spent years relying on outside influence to construct dreams, it simply stops. Now, five years after the last job, Fischer’s job, Cobb hasn’t touched the stuff. He’s had no need to. He has his family, and he has work at an investment firm, just until he can get a stable income. He has a life. He doesn’t need dreams to make another one.

But he dreams again, and it’s a relief, because the natural dreams mean that a part of his old life is gone. He no longer has “extractor” written all over his brain’s chemistry.

But he does not dream of his city. He expects to be haunted at night by familiar faces and to wake up in a panic, but he doesn’t. It’s just this one city, and an imaginary life his healing subconscious seems to have constructed for itself. It’s very vivid.

He thinks that maybe, somewhere in his mind, he misses the thrill of it. He misses traveling to faraway cities and living life at such a fast pace. Maybe this is his mind’s way of coming to terms with that secret nostalgia. He doesn’t miss running for his life, always hiding, always trying to stay one step ahead of all the people who wanted him dead. He misses the freedom and the agency.

* * *

In the dreams, he’s in a tall building overlooking an entire city. He watches the sun rise over an ocean in the distance, shining brightly like a mirror. He’s rarely bothered in the spacious office he sees again and again. Occasionally people come in, asking for approval on forms that he doesn’t understand, and he gives it. He gets food and drinks delivered. He wonders if this is something his subconscious longs for. Just to be alone for a day, silently watching over a city that seems to belong to him.

Maybe it’s a leftover memory from when he built a city from scratch. He tries not to miss that, but he can’t deny the way that kind of creative freedom made him feel.

When he dreams of the evenings, he dreams of private cars taking him anywhere in the city, and lights coming on across a skyline, lighting up the sea.

There are large dinner parties that feel more like a daze, and he ends up quiet, lost in the background as louder, older businessmen take over the conversation and drink late into the night. There are brainstorming sessions where very little gets written down, and Cobb simply listens to the conversations his mind creates.

They talk about an upcoming project; something big, unlike anything done before. They whisper about dreams and extraction. Cobb wonders what this symbolizes.

The car takes him to a house. It is gray and geometrical, a wonder of modern architecture. Sometimes he just wanders the house, exploring the creations of his own natural subconscious. He pours himself a drink and waits at night for her.

There’s a woman in the dream. He sees her almost every night. Late in the evening of the dream, she comes in a coat and a cocktail dress and wanders the house too, mumbling about work. She pours herself a drink. She sits on the sofa and stares at him. She invites him to the bedroom.

They never go very far. Even in a dream, Cobb feels strange touching her. She reminds him a little bit of Mal. It’s something about the twist of her mouth when he amuses her. She has dark hair and dark eyes, and long slender hands.

He admires her hands as she undoes her top and twists her fingers through his hair, and they kiss, but never for long. She leaves a few lipstick stains on his collar, and he delicately kisses her jaw, and they go through the motions. They do it as though they’re acting, putting on a show for someone who isn’t there.

Cobb feels strange, and she seems unenthusiastic. He finds excuses, like headaches, and they lie down next to each other. He listens to her complain about her cousin, who she says is getting married and wants everything to be perfect. She tells him that he’s a good listener.

Something about their meetings is strange, Cobb thinks. It’s like they’re both trying to fill a void. Even his dream projections are unsatisfied. But he listens, and he makes sure she’s comfortable, and they sleep in the large, empty house.

Then, he always wakes up. He wakes up right as his dream self drifts off to sleep.

* * *

“Is something funny?”

Philippa Cobb smiles over her cereal, looking down like she knows something her father doesn’t. James also seems to be in on the joke, barely holding back giggles as Dominick Cobb straightens his tie, waiting for the bus to come from the school downtown and pick them up.

“You were acting funny,” James blurts out.

“I was?” Cobb smiles. “When was I acting funny, huh? I’m just getting dressed.”

“Not today. Yesterday.”

Cobb dismisses their antics, smoothing his jacket and taking one last look in his bag to make sure he has everything for the day. It’s not an ordinary day at the firm; there’s a meeting. The boss , Cobb thinks. The boss has to approve . It’s a pitch meeting for new strategies of leadership in the workplace, new ways of connecting to customers, and Cobb’s been preparing for it until the words he says are burned into his mind. They’re not exactly the words he wants to say, but they’re the words he knows his boss wants to hear.

Mr. Anderson is no one’s favorite to work under. Mr. Anderson is completely detached from his employees’ lives. Mr. Anderson doesn’t think about anyone but himself. A boss, not a leader.

Cobb doesn’t want to step out of line and lose the job, though. He’s changed himself for the security and stability of the job. He carries a mobile phone, a recent purchase in a bold move of overcoming old paranoia. He never liked them, but for the job, he has no choice. He has to put himself on the grid.

At least I’m not a fugitive. At least I’m not halfway across the globe, running for my life , Cobb thinks.

“You guys make sure you have everything for the bus, okay? I’m going to have you stay later at the after-school program because of my meeting, but I should be back in time to drive you guys to gymnastics, okay?”

Philippa laughs. “We don’t have gym today,” she says incredulously. “You’re being weird again.”

“Don’t be silly. I have to go as soon as that bus shows up, and when I get back, you can be as silly as you want, but I’m on a tight schedule.”

He kisses their heads as the bus pulls up to the house, and he sends them on their way. He checks his bag to make sure he has a pen. Mr. Anderson is terrible at providing his employees pens. Mr. Anderson never remembers what they need, and he’s been meaning to talk to him about it, but if he lost Mr. Anderson’s favor…

Cobb tests a pen from his bag on a napkin, and it’s out of ink. He scoffs, testing another one. They are brand-new pens. At least, he thought they were, and he can’t be writing in his sleep.

Cobb puts a new belonging, a leather-bound notebook he got as a gift from Miles, in his back pocket. He hasn’t gotten a chance to write in it yet, but he plans to put it to good use.

Wednesday’s meeting is very important.

* * *

The office falls silent as Cobb enters. Not in a dramatic, cinematic way, but a way so subtle only someone with Cobb’s attention to detail would notice. He doesn’t like the way some of them glance at him through cracked cubicle doors and over desks.

He shares his space with Anna, a younger intern whom he’s been mentoring. Anna is curious and eager to learn. Anna feels familiar to him.

Today, Anna stares at him silently over her coffee when he enters, smiling uneasily. Cobb sits down and places paperwork on his desk. His only remaining working pen. The notebook.

“Hey,” says Anna.

“Hey,” he replies.

“I just wanted to say that… I think it was pretty cool what you did yesterday.”

Cobb tries to think of something he could have done on Tuesday that would have been “cool.” Tuesday’s work was filing papers and making copies and preparing his speech. He barely spoke to Anna. He didn’t get the chance.

“What do you mean?”

“At the meeting, when you spoke up for us like that. I seriously thought most of us were getting laid off, the way Anderson was talking, but then you stood up and talked to him like that… It was amazing, Cobb. I had no idea you had it in you.”

Cobb freezes. “I”m sorry?”

“I mean, he’s probably going to call you into his office any minute, now that he knows you’re here. I can’t say I envy what’s going to happen to you, but you really convinced him. That takes a lot of guts.”

Cobb spins in his chair to face Anna, who sips her coffee as if she hasn’t said anything strange.

“Anna. What are you talking about? What did I say to Anderson?”

“Yesterday at the meeting. Don’t you remember? When you told him off for screwing over his employees.”

“Anna, there wasn’t any meeting yesterday.”

Anna smiles. “In denial, huh? Come on, at least own it.”

“The meeting is today, Anna. Wednesday.”

Anna starts to open her mouth, as if to correct him, but another figure appears in the door of the cubicle. Nick, the marketing consultant.

“Cobb, uh… Mr. Anderson asked to see you in his office.”

Cobb stands like a man ready to be walked to his execution. “What’s going on?”

“I’d think you of all people would know. You should have expected this.”

Cobb goes to the office, more for answers than to speak with Anderson. He finds his boss there, staring at him, balanced on the back legs of his chair. Anderson is an intimidating figure, but he seems somehow smaller today.

“Close the door,” says Anderson.

“Mr. Anderson, I’m a little bit confused. Anna told me-”

“I don’t think you’re confused. I could tell that you knew exactly what you were saying yesterday. Frankly, I was surprised at you, calling me out like that in front of my entire team. That’s not something any manager wants to go through, Cobb. You must understand that it felt demeaning.”

“Sir, I just need to ask-”

“No, Cobb, you can ask when I’m done. For a moment, I started asking myself if I was going to fire you, the way you walked out of the meeting that way. It crossed my mind, but I went home to my family and I thought about it. Honestly, you were right about the pay cuts. That would be an inhumane thing to do, and terrible for the team. Your speech was a bit of a wake-up call for me, so as much as I feel like you deserve punishment for that… demonstration, I should thank you.”

“What?” Cobb stares, perplexed.

“That’s right. You showed real leadership and drive yesterday, and we need that in this company. So I won’t be firing you, Mr. Cobb. You’re getting a raise and a promotion.”

“Mr. Anderson, I-”

“I know, I know. You weren’t expecting this. I’m more than happy to reward that kind of leadership. Don’t go thinking of me as a villain, do you hear? I’m on your side, Cobb.” Anderson pauses, smiling. “Just, next time you disagree with me at a meeting, maybe keep your voice down and adopt a more… constructive approach.”

Before Cobb can speak, he’s being shown out of the office, and the door closes behind him. Once again, all eyes are on him.

“Fired?” asks Nick, who has been waiting by the door.

Cobb stammers. “No… he gave me a raise.”

“Are you serious? Anderson? ”

“Nick, what day is it?”

Nick’s hands are in his hair, complete and total shock on his face. “You just got Anderson to promote you and you’re thinking about the week?”

“Answer me, Nick.” Cobb orders. “What day is it?”

“Thursday. Dude, this is insane.”

“It can’t be Thursday, Nick. The last time I came to work, it was Tuesday. Yesterday. I never attended that meeting.” Cobb feels his tone grow desperate. “I don’t remember anything from yesterday.”

“I read that sometimes your brain blocks out traumatic memories,” Nick suggests casually. “Maybe in all that adrenaline, you forgot. Anyway, it’s Thursday, and I can’t believe this. He didn’t fire you?”

It can’t be Thursday.

Cobb tries to remember something, anything from the previous day that he might have forgotten, but he draws a blank. He remembers Tuesday, and he remembers sleep and dreaming.

Dreaming . His first dreams in what feels like ages, so vivid and clear and comfortable to return to without the aid of somnacin, and now he’s forgetting entire days. Maybe, just maybe, this is a side effect he’s never heard of before. His mind has been through a lot, he knows. He’s subjected himself to years of experiments, so some sort of withdrawal is expected.

But not forgetting entire days.

“Cobb?”

“Nick.”

“Is everything okay? You seem kind of spacey.”

Cobb shakes his head, stalking back to his desk with Nick following close. “It’s just so odd. I remember none of the meeting, but that’s impossible.”

He doesn’t want to go into too much detail and explain why he thinks he might be losing memories. These people don’t know about his criminal past, and he knows they would never look at him the same. They don’t understand him like…

Arthur. He’ll call Arthur. Arthur knows almost everything about extractors and symptoms. Arthur is a planner and a researcher.

“I’m fine,” Cobb insists. “Don’t worry about it. You’re right. It’s probably adrenaline.”

* * *

Arthur is also punctual. It only takes one phone call and a few words, and Arthur understands that he’s needed. Cobb would never ask him to drop everything, but that’s simply what Arthur does. Even after minimal communication and contact, after years since their last job together, Arthur is loyal as anything. With no jobs currently occupying him, he only takes a day to touch down in L.A.

Cobb and Philippa are in the kitchen together, washing evening dishes, when they hear James shout from the front of the house.

“Arthur! Dad, Arthur’s here! Did you know Arthur was coming?”

Cobb laughs as James presses his face to the window to watch the sleek black rental car pull into the driveway.

“I thought I’d make it a surprise. He told me he can’t wait to see you again.”

“And he brought Uncle Eames!”

Cobb turns, glancing out the window in surprise. Of course, he knows he shouldn’t be surprised. It was something during their inception of Fischer that brought the two back together after various work and emotional circumstances separated them. Since then, he’s called Arthur at various hotels across the globe and heard Eames humming in the background, or chatting casually about nothing. They might easily be using each other to expand their own lists of contacts, Cobb thinks, or it might be something else.

“James,” Cobb laughs, “I know that when he came to visit he told you to call him that, but he’s not actually your uncle. He’s not related to me.”

James disregards the fact, dancing circles on the carpet and waving his arms as the doorbell rings, and Cobb goes to open it.

After all this time, they seem to have rubbed off on each other, and Cobb smiles when he sees these little signs of living, and of the world going on without him. Arthur’s hair is longer, curlier, and unstyled. His clothing is light and loose, and his smile tilts in a knowing way when he sees Cobb and squeezes his shoulders with an amiable greeting. Eames’ individual spirit is unchanged, but Cobb notices carefully-fitted clothes and a beard showing a more delicate level of maintenance than Eames has ever shown. Maybe Eames is picking up on some of Arthur’s careful habits, or maybe he’s not the one cutting his hair and picking his clothes. Either way, the two of them seem relaxed and content for a pair of extractors.

Business must be good, or maybe they’ve found a good work/life balance.

Eames scoops up the children to hug them as Cobb invites them in for coffee. He and Arthur chat—the usual catching-up between friends. Arthur and Eames are between jobs, just coming off a delicate operation in Belize and getting ready to head for France in a few months to do some scouting for a patron. Although it’s behind him, Cobb listens intently. He doesn’t miss the pain, but he misses the rush.

And then he puts the kids to bed, despite their complaining that they want to hang out with the new guests.

“We’ll still be here tomorrow,” Arthur reassures them. Then, to Cobb, “I got us a hotel. I wasn’t sure how long you needed me for, but there’s no rush.”

Cobb sighs, settling into the couch. “Yes. About that…”

“You said it wasn’t good,” says Eames. “From what I’d heard, your recovery was doing pretty well. What happened? Are we back at square one?”

“Not quite that bad, but the symptoms have been weird. The good news,” says Cobb, “is that I’m dreaming again. I did the math, given my near constant exposure years ago, and this was about the time I expected my mind to start doing things on its own again.”

“Good, good,” says Arthur, thoughtfully sipping his coffee. “I’m guessing there’s a but .”

“ But there’s this thing that happened at work. I don’t know if I spaced out, or if this is a hint at something worse going on, and you might have some insight.”

Carefully, omitting no detail, Cobb explains the twenty-four hours that vanished from his mind.

“It’s strange, how just when I start having these vivid, recurring dreams, I start forgetting stuff. I mean, I expected some recurring dreams, since my mind is basically learning how to build them on its own from scratch, but you know.”

Arthur nods. “What do you dream about? Is it… her again?”

“No,” Cobb laughs softly, lowering his voice as if speaking Mal’s name will somehow speak her ghost into existence again. “Mal is just a memory now. I don’t see her, but I see cities and the same people again and again, and it’s like an entire day in recurrence. I have a job, and I have an entirely different house, but it’s not like the one I built in limbo. It’s not anything like something I’d build. None of my dreams are built from memories. They’re all brand-new.”

“That could be good,” says Eames. “That could be a sign of healed abstract trauma in the subconscious… or something.”

Arthur shoots him a glance across the couch. “Is that something you know about?”

“No, darling, but I heard Yusuf say it one time and it sounded clever.”

Arthur bites his lip to keep from laughing.

Cobb smiles. “It might. I just wish I knew what was going on with my mind topside. My coworkers remembered interacting with me that day. So did my children. But I don’t know what happened. And apparently, I was acting pretty differently.”

“I wish I had answers,” says Arthur, “but I’ve never heard of something like that happening to anyone. Of course, you aren’t exactly anyone. You’ve had more experience than anyone I’ve met. I could see that playing out here.”

“Maybe I could give Yusuf a call,” adds Eames hopefully. “He’s worked with all kinds of compounds. If anyone knows about side-effects, it’s him.”

“I appreciate that,” says Cobb.

Arthur thinks for a moment, swirling the last of the coffee in his cup as the evening light outside begins to fade. Cobb can practically see the gears turning in his friend’s mind as Arthur forms a plan. Arthur’s always been good with plans.

“Not to go all therapist on you,” says Arthur finally, “but I’d try journaling, just so you don’t forget anything. Keep track of every incident and see if you notice any patterns. If you can find a pattern, you can connect some dots and find a cause.”

Cobb snaps his fingers. “Brilliant, actually. Miles just got me some new leather blank book, and I’ve been meaning to put it to some use. Might as well be science.”

While Arthur and Eames talk together, Cobb goes to the kitchen and finds his bag from work. The unused notebook has been weighing on him, since he hates leaving gifts untouched. Now, he can solve two problems at once, he thinks, as he reaches into the bag and grabs the spine.

There’s something different about the journal. When he raises it out of the bag, the pages flop like they’ve been used, and the texture of the spine betrays wear.

It’s been opened.

Cobb loses his grip on the smooth leather, and the journal falls open on the floor, pages fluttering. He sees ink. But he has not touched the journal. He knows, because the guilt of not using it has been weighing on him all week. He has not touched the journal.

It falls open a few pages in, and there is writing all over the fresh paper. He recognizes the smooth ink. His office pen, the one that had suddenly and mysteriously run out of ink.

The writing is not his hand, and the letters are not his language. Cobb picks it up and holds the paper to the light. Not letters. Characters, hastily scrawled like whoever wrote them was rushing to get their ideas down.

Hiragana . He flips the page. Hiragana . He flips the page.

“Arthur?” Cobb calls.

“Yeah?”

“You might want to come see this.”

Cobb flips another page. There are days of fast notes here, and he desperately wishes he could understand them, because they are not his. Someone else has been writing in this journal, but somehow with his pen. And yet, it’s impossible. The thing never left his bag or his pocket.

Arthur and Eames pass the book back and forth, reading, trying to make sense of it. Characters, small sketches, numbers and mathematical equations.

“It’s not mine,” says Cobb softly. “It can’t be. I don’t understand it.”

Eames frowns. “I’ve heard of people coming out of comas with the ability to speak entirely new languages, but this… there’s so many variables at play. You don’t remember any of this?”

“I haven’t touched this journal, Eames.” Cobb’s tone rises into slight desperation. “I swear. I haven’t.”

“Okay, okay. That’s okay, I’m only wondering. It’s a little odd.”

“You think?”

Cobb turns another page, and suddenly there’s writing in English. More hasty notes. The pen began to run out of ink, he assumes. He can barely make out the faint words in the dim light of the kitchen.

Something is going on. The dream feels real. If you find this, contact me.

And that’s where it ends. No more information. No clues. Just a riddle Cobb can’t even begin to make sense of.

“I’m losing my mind,” he mutters.

Arthur’s expression turns concerned. “Maybe it would be better if we stayed here tonight.”

“No, no, I’m okay. Don’t feel like you have to. I just…”

“I’ll set up the guest room,” says Arthur. “You just get some rest.”

Cobb runs the words over in his mind.

The dream feels real.

He is not dreaming. He knows this. He’s tested it over and over as a compulsion. Less so in recent years, but he’s certain now. He’s never been more certain of anything. So why is he beginning to doubt?

And who is in his head?

* * *

“You’re being quiet. Talk to me.”

She is there. She stands in the doorway to the bedroom in a thin, silk robe, displaying herself, staring him in the eye where he lies. He stares at her, her robe, her soft hair tied back, loose strands framing her face.

“Do you like what you see?” she asks, drawing aside the robe to expose her thigh.

“Not tonight,” says Cobb politely.

The haze of the dream clouds his mind, but he is aware he is dreaming. It’s all so fantastical, and so identical to the dreams he’s been slipping into for weeks. He wants to analyze every detail.

She shrugs, not showing much disappointment, and glides across the room to join him on the bed. She sighs as she leans back on the pillows.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks.

“A lot of things.”

“Work? I told you not to think about work when we’re together.”

Cobb shakes his head. “This place. You. It doesn’t make sense. Such vivid dreams, but I can’t keep track of reality.”

“Isn’t that the way of it sometimes?” She makes a contented noise as she rolls over on silk. “Do you dream about me?”

“Just about every other night. I’m dreaming of you right now, which makes no sense. I’ve never seen you before in my life. You’re just something my mind’s created. Every other night, it’s the city, and the office, and then I ride the train, and then I come back here and I see you. But I don’t even know your name.”

She smiles. “You say things so beautifully, but I don’t always understand them. You make no sense. You sound like poetry. The other day you didn’t say two words to me and now you’re talking about dreaming of me at night. You’re hot and then you’re cold again, and what do you mean you don’t know my name?”

Cobb reaches across the bed to clasp her hand. “I mean it. You’re a creation of my subconscious.”

“That sounds like poetry too, but sometimes I wonder if you’ve simply forgotten my name and are trying to avoid using it.” She smiles mischievously. “Tell me my name.”

Cobb feels like he’s stirring up memories. Some surface-level thing in his mind which doesn’t feel like a memory he himself made, but it’s still there. It whispers information to him about this place, about this person.

Hyodo Sayaka. She’s your secretary. Your relationship is a secret.

“Sayaka,” Cobb whispers.

“That’s right, darling.”

Why do I know your name?

Sayaka sighs. “It sounds so pretty when you say it. Yesterday I was only Hyodo-san. I thought you’d gone cold on me. I was developing a theory.”

“What kind of theory?”

“There’s another woman. You spent all that time in your office making calls, and every time I tried to talk to you, you said you were ‘figuring something out.’ You perplex me, the way you treat women, Mr. Saito. I’ll admit I don’t love you, and this won’t last, but I wish you’d just say so. I’m tired of playing games.” Sayaka rolls her eyes, running a hand through her hair and releasing it from its updo. “You’re a tease. I’m not here to be a toy. I want to be with you as an equal, and I want to talk.”

Cobb sits up. “Sayaka, I know this is hard to believe, but-”

“Mm-hm?”

He moves to touch her shoulder. “Sayaka, what did you call me?”

“A tease, and you are.”

“No, no. Before that. You said ‘Saito’.”

“What’s the matter? Forgot your own name too?” Sayaka teases.

The dream clouds his senses, his awareness, but Cobb forces himself to be aware.

Saito.

He glances down at his hands, his fingers, his shoes. In the dreams, he doesn’t wear clothes he owns or recognizes. The watch on his hand ticks, and it is not his watch. He sits up on the bed and stands, forcing himself to be aware of his body.

“Saito,” repeats Sayaka, looking confused.

“Saito,” says Cobb, equally confused. “It doesn’t make sense.”

He crosses the room to the full-length mirror, lit around the edges in a way that casts a soft glow around his face. And through the haze of the dream state, he can make it out. Clothes, hands, and a bone structure that is just different enough to not be his.

He touches his face. He touches Saito’s face, which is his.

He meets eyes he hasn’t stared into in five years. They are a perfect replica by his subconscious. This Saito could easily be the Saito he worked with so long ago, so remarkably unchanged. He stares in curiosity, running his index finger down the side of the face, and feels the touch. He cups his own jaw as gently as if he were handling another person, staring at details. How vivid it all is.

And why is he dreaming that he’s Saito?

“Are you all right?” asks Sayaka, rising from the bed to stand at his side, meeting his eyes in the reflection.

“Fine,” says Cobb.

Through the cloud of the dream, he suddenly realizes that that is not what he said. It was what he thought, and what he heard in his mind, but it was not the word he spoke. The thought sounded different. Longer.

As he forces more awareness, he knows he is not speaking his language. He’s not even thinking his language. His thoughts are different now, but he can still understand everything.

“Sayaka,” he says, with a mouth that pronounces it so well. He doesn’t even have to think about it.

“You’re acting strange,” she says.

“I feel strange. I… this is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. I’m not…”

The writing. The journal. Someone’s notes.

Something is going on. The dream feels real. If you find this, contact me.

Notes, Cobb thinks. Contact me. Notes. The dream feels real.

It does feel real.

All of a sudden, it’s like the haze of the dream grows thicker, and he finds himself stumbling. Sayaka steadies him.

“Mr. Saito, what is going on?” she gasps.

“I’m okay,” Cobb insists. “I’m not… I’m just tired. And I’m not Saito.”

“What?”

It’s like the sensation of waking up. Feeling the world fade around you. It’s not blacking out, it’s a pulling sensation. He’s being pulled away, and Sayaka seems to be growing smaller.

Contact me.

Cobb forces himself to stay present as the sensation grows harder and harder to fight. “Sayaka, I need a pen.”

“A pen?”

“Please, Sayaka. I don’t know where they are.”

She disappears, and within moments, returns with a permanent marker. Cobb looks around the room for paper as he pulls off the cap with his teeth, but doesn’t see any.

Damn rich people and their perfectly clean houses.

So Cobb rolls up his sleeve and writes the only thing he can think to write. His phone number. He frantically writes digits, irritating his skin with the effort, as Sayaka stares in shock. The sensation of pulling grows too strong, and he feels himself slipping away. The pen falls.

“It’s Cobb,” he gasps, sinking to the carpet, overwhelmed by drowsiness stronger than a drug. “Sayaka, when he wakes up, tell him it’s Dominick Cobb.”

The room goes black.

* * *

Cobb is in his bed, and the sun is streaming through the window, warming his face. The clock on the wall ticks softly, and it is seven in the morning.

He can hear footsteps down the hall. Some are soft and quick. Some are heavier. He hears the voices of his children as they laugh, and he hears Eames and Arthur.

Somehow, he is on his stomach. He’s never slept on his stomach—he can’t stand the way the pillow feels against his face. He sits up and blinks, his eyes adjusting to the bright light, and that’s when he feels it under the pillow.

The notebook.

Last night’s dream is starting to fade now, as dreams so often do, and he wonders how his notebook ended up under his pillow. Not only that, but he was holding it all night, his thumb between the covers, marking a certain page.

His mouth falls open as he glances at the paper. It is covered in writing that isn’t his. Paragraphs in careful pen. Paragraphs and paragraphs.

Good morning, Mr. Cobb.

When you read this, it will be Sunday. I know this because I am writing this on Saturday, and I’ve found the pattern. By now you’ve probably noticed that we’re switching every other day, and we have been for about a week.

Cobb frowns, gripping the leather binding.

I keep trying to find some way to contact you, but I get so caught up in your life and I forget. You’re a little bit off the grid. On the next few pages, I’ve written some of the things I remember doing here, which might fill in some blanks. I thought I was dreaming, but the recurrences were too vivid.

Don’t worry. I got the children to their gymnastics club just fine. Your front left tire has a slow leak and needs to be changed.

I don’t understand anything about this, but I thought you might, or one of your associates. I don’t claim to be a scientist, but I wonder if when we spent all that time together, connected neurally, parts of ourselves were left behind in each other. It sounds too impossible to be true, but as I write this, I am staring at your face in the mirror right now.

Cobb runs a finger over the handwriting that isn’t his, exhaling softly.

I saw that you invited Arthur and Eames over. I have not told them about this, and I did my best yesterday to act natural. I didn’t feel prepared to explain something I didn’t understand. For now, I think this will be our secret until we find some way to manage it. It’s unbelievable.

I hope we find some way to contact each other soon.

斉藤

Saito.

Cobb clutches the journal, trying to steady his breathing. His suspicion was correct, and he’d been so proud of his deduction, but it seems that Saito is already miles ahead of him. Saito has already figured out their circumstances to a science.

They are switching places. They are in each other’s minds.

Cobb touches the signature at the bottom of the page. It’s not possible. This kind of thing doesn’t happen. Not with somnacin or any substance known to man. Pieces of people don’t stay behind in each other’s minds when they share dreams.

But they went so deep together, Cobb wonders. He spent so long trying to find Saito. He searched his mind and Saito’s together, and every place where they overlapped, trying to bring Saito back. When he did the same for Mal, a part of her was always with him, even after she died.

Maybe something about that depth becomes a connection, he wonders. Maybe, so deep in the dream, the lines where he ended and Saito began became blurred.

But why now? Why five entire years after the fact?

There’s a knock on the door, and Arthur enters.

“Hey, uh, Eames is making breakfast. Feeling any better?” Arthur asks, good-naturedly. “You seemed in better spirits last night, but Friday was rough on you.”

“Oh yes, much better,” says Cobb, trying to force any expression other than pure bafflement. “Much better. Thanks.”

“Good. Any more dreams last night?”

“Just… the usual kind,” Cobb lies.

“See, it’s good that you talked about it to someone. Maybe that helped on a psychological level. Listen to me, I’m turning into a therapist again, huh?” Arthur laughs, smacking the door. “Don’t worry about us. We’ll stay for as long as you need us. I just wanted to make sure you were going to be okay.”

“Thank you, Arthur. That means a lot.”

* * *

“So I was in the back alley with these three guys, and their boss came out all put out because obviously I was cheating, and he’d caught me that time. Don’t cheat, by the way. Actually, don’t gamble. You’re what, nine?”

“ Eleven ,” corrects Philippa, staring up at Eames. “ James is nine.”

“Right. So yeah, don’t gamble.”

James pokes at a strip of bacon with his fork. “But if the bad guys were chasing you and trapped you in the alley, how’d you escape?”

“Science, actually. It was science and some quick thinking.”

Philippa scoffs. “You escaped because of science? I don’t believe you.”

“Do you know what a Molotov cocktail is?”

Arthur clears his throat loudly, shooting Eames a look. “Alright, who wants waffles?”

Eames smirks.

Cobb finds himself deep in thought as they eat. Eames manages to keep the kids occupied, and Cobb allows his mind to wander back through the dreams. He wants to open the journal again and share the letter, but maybe Saito had the right idea. He can’t tell Arthur or Eames without sounding absolutely insane. Maybe later, when they have it figured out.

Cobb still doesn’t even know what it is.

“Dom.”

Cobb glances up, and Eames is tapping a fork on his plate of waffles to get his attention.

“Your phone’s ringing,” says Eames.

“Right,” says Cobb, zoning back in and hearing the chime. It’s the generic ring, and there’s no caller ID. He wants to think, not talk, and considers shutting it off. But something, somewhere deep in his mind, compels him to answer as he steps out of the room.

“Yeah, hello?”

“Cobb.”

He almost drops the phone. It’s Saito.

“Saito.” Cobb drops his voice almost to a whisper as he turns down the hall to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He stares at his reflection in the mirror, unable to believe it.

There’s a moment’s pause.

“I can’t believe… I…”

“I know,” says Cobb. “It’s a mess. I… shit, I don’t even know what to say. I’ve been in this business for years. Well, I was, and I’ve never heard of anything like this.”

“I found your phone number on my arm this morning, and Sayaka was scared. She said she almost called the ambulance because I… you passed out on the floor, and then I woke up.”

Cobb laughs, his voice shaking. “Did you explain? I don’t even know how you’d explain.”

“I couldn’t. I told her I’d been having insomnia. I was exhausted and delirious.”

“Did she believe you?” asks Cobb.

“Of course not,” says Saito, and Cobb can hear the smile in his voice.

Cobb pauses again, sighing, laughing awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. And all of a sudden, he feels uneasy.

“Saito?”

“Cobb.”

“I… I wish I knew… I don’t know how to explain this, and I don’t know how to fix it. I wish I had answers. Honestly, I’m scared. What if we never get it to stop?”

“You mean the switching?” Saito asks.

“I don’t know how we’ll live. Maybe if we could meet in person and go over…”

Saito is quick with an answer. “Fly out here next weekend. We’ll try it out and swap notes and keep in contact, but I have this thing coming up with a new power plant, and they’ll need me in my office. It’s just this one building dedication when we fire it up, but this project is taking so much time. I want to be able to give you my full attention.”

“Saito,” says Cobb. “I’ll be in your office. An entire other week and I…” he pauses to count, closing his eyes. “I’ll be you three out of those seven days. What will I do?”

“I’ll leave you notes. I’ll take care of it. As soon as this is over, we have to meet in person. We have to talk. Listen, if you fly on Saturday morning, you’ll be you and I’ll be me, and that night is the night of the ceremony at the plant. You can come, and we can talk.”

“I’ll do that,” says Cobb, desperately trying to retain the information in the rush of confusion. “Saturday morning?”

“Saturday morning. Is that okay?”

“That’s perfect.” Cobb laughs. “I just… I just want answers. Saito… I’m scared of this.”

A pause, and Saito seems to be collecting his thoughts.

“Me too,” says Saito. “But we’ll figure it out. Whatever’s happening, we’ll figure it out. We’ll find more patterns, and we can stop it.”

Idiot. Cobb’s first thought is harsher than he’d like. Why do you trust me so much?

* * *

“Who was that?” asks Arthur when Cobb returns to the kitchen and his waffles, more enthusiastic than before.

“Telemarketer.”

Arthur is like Sayaka Hyodo, Cobb thinks. Calm and collected. They both go with the flow, but they know a lie when they hear one. Arthur is sharp and observant, and he knows Cobb.

But Arthur simply smiles. “May I have another waffle, dear?”

“Coming right up,” says Eames, casually.

“I hate to ask this of you,” says Cobb, “but I have something this next weekend. Saturday, I have a conference, and I’m taking a day flight. Would you be willing to stay, just until then, to watch the kids?”

“Of course,” says Eames without hesitation. “They aren’t nearly the rambunctious brats you told me they’d be.”

Philippa elbows him. Hard. Eames laughs.

“I don’t mind at all,” adds Arthur. “Happy to help. But if you need anything, you’ll let me know, okay?”

“Of course I would,” says Cobb. “You know I would.”

Arthur smiles again. A knowing smile. That smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes for a brief moment. That smile that says, you lie to me so well.

* * *

Cobb takes the elevator up to the top floor of the building and past Sayaka Hyodo’s desk. He takes care to smile at her and greet her by name. She does not return the smile, but she brings him tea.

The permanent marker on his arm has been scrubbed raw, Cobb notices, but the faded numbers are still there.

“Sorry,” he laughs under his breath, touching the skin delicately where it still aches.

There are notes on the desk. Those yellow sticky notes, covered in that careful, elegant handwriting.

Don’t try to sign any papers. I’ll take care of them tomorrow.

A man named Tanaka should come in at noon with some forms he needs approval on. Say yes to everything, unless he mentions a meeting at Insheim.

If anything comes in that you don’t understand, tell them to take it to Kobayashi two floors down. He’ll handle it.

Wednesday is Hyodo’s birthday. I’ll buy something for her, but you’ll have to present it. Be formal and apologetic. We had a fight yesterday.

Cobb opens a drawer in the desk as he sits down with his tea and finds yet another sticky note.

Everything in here is arranged by color and alphabetically. Don’t move anything unless you have to.

Cobb smiles at that.

* * *

Cobb lies on the bed, Sayaka beside him, but not acknowledging his presence. She seems to have come more out of habit than interest, and they do not make any attempt at their performative intimacy.

“Have you seen a doctor about your insomnia?” she asks, bored.

“No,” says Cobb.

“You should. I heard about people getting very sick from that. They can have hallucinations. I saw it in a documentary.”

“What documentary?”

“ Fight Club .”

Cobb laughs. Sayaka is joking again. That’s a good sign.

“Sayaka, may I ask you a question?”

“Anything,” says Sayaka.

“What am I like? I mean, in the past. What do you think of me?”

“You want me to tell you about yourself?”

“I’m curious what you think,” says Cobb.

“Well,” says Sayaka, “you’ve always been determined. Once you have your mind set on something, you don’t stop until you get it. I admire that. I wish more of the people I’ve worked for could be like that.”

“Oh yeah?”

“But you’re very easy to read. If you’re unsatisfied, or pretending, I can always tell. I can tell what you’re thinking right now, you know.”

Cobb smiles. “What am I thinking about?”

“Someone else. Probably someone you love.”

“How can you tell?”

Sayaka sighs dreamily. “You get this look. I think it’s beautiful. I love looking at people in love.”

“But you don’t think I’m in love with you.”

“You aren’t. And I’m not in love with you. This was just… to pass the time, I think. I think we’re both wandering souls, Mr. Saito. We’re both looking for something.” Sayaka turns, brushing dark hair off her forehead. “Or someone.”

“I hope you find that thing,” says Cobb, “or that person, Sayaka.”

“I wish the same for you.”

* * *

Under the pillow must be one of Saito’s favorite hiding places for things, because Cobb wakes up in his home, sleeping on his stomach, with a handful of sticky notes tucked under his head.

Eames and Arthur are going out into the city this afternoon and won’t be home for dinner. I told the kids we could go to the high school courts and play tennis.

I took the tire in to get fixed. They tried to charge you $200 but I talked them down to fifty.

Anna at your job needs you to fix the copy machine. She says something’s stuck. I didn’t understand it, so I said I (you) would do it today.

You’re out of milk :)

Something about the smiley face makes Cobb crack up. Maybe it’s the absurdity of it. Their consciousnesses swapping bodies across five thousand miles of ocean, and Saito is writing him notes like they share a fridge.

Philippa has been begging for tennis for weeks, but he’s been so busy. He can imagine the delight on her face yesterday when he finally said yes. Maybe Saito taking his body is the best thing to happen to the kids in a while.

His house is tidier. The cars runs smoothly. Arthur and Eames seem more at ease as they chat with him late in the evenings. Maybe Saito is better at pretending to be okay than he is.

* * *

“Saito?”

“Cobb. I was hoping I’d hear from you today.”

Cobb sits on his porch in the evening sun, letting it warm him. “How’s the power plant coming?”

“We’re almost ready for Saturday. Thanks for taking care of that thing with Tanaka for me.” Saito laughs. “Maybe, if we ever fix this, you can come work for me. You seem to know your way around.”

“Yeah, that happens when I have access to all your surface memories,” Cobb jokes.

If we ever fix this. As if something is broken or missing. But Cobb doesn’t feel so broken anymore, and nothing feels missing. There’s only more. More memories. More thoughts. More feelings.

If we don’t fix it, Cobb considers, we’ll be alright.

It would be maddening, always going back and forth for eternity. But they take such good care of each other.

In the afternoon, Cobb plays tennis with the kids until they’re all breathless and laughing, and they get ice cream on the drive home. Arthur and Eames help tuck them in for the night. At night, Cobb leaves his notes, disguised as reminders for himself.

Dinner is in the fridge. Take anything from the containers that you’d like.

Don’t forget the kids’ gymnastics!

Help James with his science homework.

He starts leaving thank-yous under the pillow.

Thanks for helping Philippa with her essay.

Thank you for organizing my desk.

The car looks beautiful.

* * *

“Happy birthday, Sayaka,” says Cobb, stopping at her desk to slide her a small, velvet box. He found it by his bed that morning, along with a card.

Sayaka opens the box and finds the silver bracelet Saito picked out, engraved with the line from the poem that only Cobb heard her profess her love for, in the intimate hours they shared together one night. It was a team effort, but Sayaka doesn’t know that.

“It’s beautiful, Mr. Saito.” She smiles, holding it up to the light. But her smile fades suddenly.

“Is something wrong?”

She shakes her head ever so slightly. “Mr. Uemura called again.”

Cobb runs over Saito’s careful notes in his mind, but doesn’t remember an Uemura. From Sayaka’s tone, it’s not a good call to receive.

“Oh? What did he say?”

She shoots him a look, and Cobb suddenly feels cold. “Don’t play games. You know he knows what you did, and you know he’d rather die than let you have that land. I don’t trust him.”

“What did he say, Sayaka?”

“He asked you to back out of the geothermal deal, or there would be… consequences.” Sayaka swallows emotion visibly, glancing down. “He said this was the last time he would call.”

Cobb does as he was told. “Can you ask Kobayashi to handle it?”

“That’s not funny. I’m worried, Saito.”

“Don’t be,” says Cobb. “I’m sure everything will be alright. We can’t let ourselves be threatened so easily.”

“I wish you’d never gotten involved with Uemura,” mutters Sayaka.

Cobb sighs and opens the door to his office—Saito’s office—and grabs another sticky note off the pad on the desk. He rummages for a pen and writes:

Who is Uemura?

Saito will know. He considers just leaving the note there for Saito to see later, but it occurs to him that he has a more direct route to communicate. He takes care to close the door, goes to his phone, and dials a number he knows by heart—his own.

Nothing unsettling compares to the sound of your own voice answering your call.

“Saito?” asks Cobb, who is Saito.

“Cobb,” replies Saito, who is Cobb.

There’s a pause, uneasy and amused, as they try to get used to it together.

“There’s a problem,” says Cobb.

“What with?”

“Sayaka says there’s someone named Uemura. He’s been sending threats. It’s about this upcoming event, and this geothermal deal you’re in, I think.”

Saito takes a while to answer. “I know.”

“Is this a problem? I mean, should I be doing something? What’d you do to Uemura?”

Saito sighs. “He’s just a small-scale rival, but he’s smart and he has influence. Since the arrangement with Fischer, I’ve continued working with… people like you. You know. Those kinds of information dealers.” He dances around the word extractor, as if he fears someone’s listening in right now. “There’s plenty to be had in Tokyo, for the right money.”

“And?”

“The power plant we’re opening this weekend is built on land that Uemura was planning to buy. It’s a perfect location, and only he and a few of his close associates knew about the plan. I may or may not have intercepted one of those associates on the Yamanote Line.”

“Ah,” says Cobb. “And Uemura knows.”

“Like I said, he’s not an idiot. He’s incompentent in business, though. I couldn’t have let him take that land. He wouldn’t know what to do with it, and it would have gone to waste. He has so many technological ruins around the country because he just can’t keep them running. It’s pathetic.”

“How serious is this threat, Saito?”

“Nothing you need to worry about, I can assure you,” says Saito. “He doesn’t have the guts.”

Chapter 2: After

Chapter Text

Saturday arrives so quickly.

Cobb has only flown a few times since the Fischer job. Short flights to see relatives, to Miles’ summer home. He won’t deny his hand is shaking when he tucks the boarding pass into his pocket.

“I’ll be back by the end of the weekend,” he says, squeezing James and Philippa goodbye before he goes through security. “I promise.”

“We’ll take care of them,” Eames assures him, patting Arthur’s shoulder. “Don’t you worry about us.”

“Take care of yourself,” says Arthur.

“Always.”

* * *

“They’re going to want you out at the site at one-thirty,” says Sayaka, tucking a clipboard under her arm as Saito turns off the light in his office. “Don’t be long.”

“I won’t. I’m just seeing an old friend at the airport. He said his plane should be in no later than eleven o’clock.”

“See you at the power plant, then.”

Saito smiles cheerfully, and Sayaka notices the unusually high spirits. She notices the way Saito adjusts his tie several times, as though he’s nervous about something. Nervous, yet so happy.

* * *

Breathe.

Cobb reassures himself as the city stretches out below him, all silver and modern and shining in the sun. Now, finally, they’ll be able to really talk. They might be able to figure this out together.

He checks his watch impatiently. Ten forty-five.

The plane rumbles and slows to a halt on the tarmac, and the seatbelt lights turn off as passengers rise to retrieve their baggage. Saito promised to meet him by the check-in stations, under the international travel banner.

He walks through the arrival gate, breathing deeply. Haneda Airport, and Saito is here waiting for him.

* * *

“That’s eleven,” says the attendant standing by Saito, waiting patiently with the luggage cart to meet this mysterious friend his employer has been describing. “I don’t see him yet.”

“The plane comes in at eleven. That doesn’t mean he can be right here in this spot at eleven,” Saito chuckles. “Have some patience.”

* * *

It takes Cobb forever to find the right spot. The check-in counter. The banner. He finally spots it, smiling as he looks around for Saito. He stares up at the blue banner, flowing with the roar of the air conditioners, and listens to crowd noise as he plants himself firmly in the spot to wait.

* * *

“Eleven-fifteen, Mr. Saito.”

“I know,” says Saito. “I have a watch.”

“Is there a possibility that his flight was delayed? Did he give you the number?”

“He didn’t,” says Saito. “He just gave me the time. We can wait a little longer.”

“It’s an hour’s drive to the site of the event tonight. You might want to get an early start, since you’re the host.”

“We can wait a little longer,” Saito insists. “It won’t kill us.”

* * *

“Eleven-thirty,” Cobb mutters to himself, glancing at the big clock on the wall.

Eleven-thirty, and still no sign of Saito. He considers he might be in the wrong spot, but surely by now, Saito would have called him, either his phone or the intercom.

Saito simply isn’t there. Cobb begins to wonder if something’s happened.

* * *

Saito uneasily eyes the clock, almost an hour past. There are people who would be late to an anticipated meeting, and then there is Dominick Cobb.

“Mr. Saito, we should really be going.” The attendant taps his foot softly on the marble floor.

“I know.”

“If there was a plane crash, don’t you think we would have heard about it?”

Saito scoffs. “Don’t be absurd. There hasn’t been a plane crash. Call and make sure we have someone posted at the arrivals pickup. Tell them to stay all day if they have to.”

“Yes, sir.”

Reluctantly, Saito turns and leaves the spot, scanning the crowd one more time for any sign of Cobb. He walks to the window overlooking the tarmac, lightly touching the glass. Planes come in and planes go out.

He didn’t come.

“I’ll get the car ready, Mr. Saito. We should arrive at the power plant in seventy minutes.”

* * *

There are people who would be late to pick someone up from the airport, Cobb thinks, and then there is Saito.

He checks his watch. Noon, and still no sign of anyone looking for him. Even if Saito couldn’t be there in person for some reason, he would have at least sent someone, or a car. Cobb sighs and leaves the spot to check the arrival pickups parked at the curb. The curb is mostly deserted, except for a mother picking up her two young children.

Cobb goes inside to a service desk and asks to make an intercom announcement for Saito.

“First name?” asks the man at the desk.

It occurs to Cobb that he still doesn’t know. In their business, they never worked with any more names than they absolutely needed. Saito never would have known him as anything but “Cobb” if the circumstances hadn’t gotten so muddled.

“I… don’t know,” admits Cobb.

The man at the desk gives him a strange look and makes an announcement in Japanese, then again in English.

Mr. Saito to the west service desk, please. Mr. Saito to the west service desk.

After a very tense five minutes, a strange man—barely twenty—walks up to the desk, backpack slung over one shoulder, balancing a takeout salad in the other hand. His expression is pure exhaustion.

“Mr. Saito?” The desk man gestures to where Cobb is standing. “Are you here to meet someone?”

The other Mr. Saito shakes his head, turning to Cobb. “Look, dude, I don’t know what you want, but I have a plane to catch in ten minutes. Have we met?”

“No,” says Cobb softly. “We haven’t. I’m sorry.”

The other Mr. Saito shrugs and walks away.

“Maybe you can wait a few minutes and we’ll try again,” suggests the man at the desk. “Or you can give your friend a call.”

Cobb still isn’t used to the personal phone. He slips it out of his jacket pocket and opens his recent calls, but strangely doesn’t find Saito’s number there. He must have accidentally deleted his call history.

He punches the number in, and it dials, but after a long wait, a pleasant voice announces that the number doesn’t exist.

That can’t be right.

“Is everything alright, sir?” The man at the desk forces a polite, customer service smile.

“I don’t know,” says Cobb.

* * *

He goes it alone, into Tokyo at mid-day, looking for answers.

Mid-day turns to afternoon.

Afternoon turns to evening.

Evening turns to night.

Cobb finds himself at a bar downtown, studying a map of the city’s public transport, looking for the building he remembers seeing so many times on the skyline. He can’t recall feeling so lost and alone as he navigates the nightlife, using faded memories and Google Translate to ask a few broken questions to passers-by, all of whom smile politely, but make no indication that they understand what he’s trying to ask.

Late in the evening, office workers pour out of buildings and onto the trains and buses, heading home for the day. It’s about the time Cobb would have been going to the house and meeting Sayaka, but he doesn’t know where the house is, and he can’t even begin to know where Sayaka is.

He buys himself a beer and sits on the curb by the train station entrance, studying the map. He looks for patterns, but nothing looks familiar. Without Saito’s surface memories loose in his mind, he’s disoriented in Tokyo.

He checks his watch. Saito must be at the power plant by now. The power plant might be something to look for. He might have more luck.

Across the street is a small library, with more maps and possibly assistance to be found. Cobb enters, and the doorbell rings cheerfully as a young woman at the desk looks up from her computer to acknowledge him.

Bigger maps, he thinks. Industrial maps and plans. They might have them here. It’s been on the tip of his tongue, but he finally remembers the name.

“Excuse me, Miss. Do you happen to know how I can get to Akatora Plant? It’s just outside of Odawara, I think.”

She shakes her head, making an indication that she can’t understand him.

“Odawara? South?,” says Cobb.

The woman nods, opening a drawer of maps. “Odawara?”

“Odawara. Yes.”

She unfolds a map and points to a spot below the city. “Koko ni.”

“I see. Uh… do you know how I… Akatora? Akatora Plant?”

The woman frowns. “Akatora?”

She points behind him to a shelf of thick historical records.

“No, uh, a map, I mean. How do I get there?”

“Ichiban-jō no tana.”

Cobb sighs, giving in. “Thank you anyway.”

He doesn’t need the history of the area. Just some way to get there. Some way to find out where on earth Saito went.

That’s how Cobb finds himself out on the curb again, studying yet another map, looking for trains to Odawara.

That’s when he hears a few coins clatter to the ground by his feet as a woman passes, her high heels clicking on the cool pavement.

Cobb realizes that between the mess of maps and paper, his disheveled hair, and the worn jacket he brought for the day trip, he does probably look homeless. He stands up quickly, laughing to himself, and calls after her.

“Hey, Miss! I don’t need these. I’m just-”

And then she turns, her shoulder-length hair swishing in a distinctive way, silhouetted in the traffic lights, and the woman is Sayaka Hyodo. He would know her anywhere.

“Sayaka,” Cobb gasps. “Sayaka.”

Sayaka blinks, stunned. As he rises to approach her, she flinches, putting more space between them. “ Hōttoite! I’m not giving you any more money.”

“No, Sayaka. I don’t want your money. I just-” It occurs to Cobb, for the first time, that she doesn’t know him. It doesn’t matter now, anyway. She doesn’t have to know him. She just has to show him how to find Saito.

“How do you know my name?” demands Sayaka, her voice slightly different from how he remembers. Of course. He’s never heard her speak English. It’s not the only thing about Sayaka that’s different, though. Her hair is different. Shorter. Styled differently. She wears less makeup.

“I’m a friend,” says Cobb. “I’m a friend of Saito’s.”

Sayaka freezes, and all of a sudden, her expression grows colder and harsher than Cobb has ever seen.

“You’re a reporter,” accuses Sayaka. “You’re with the press. I suppose this is fun for you, following leads like this. Well I’ve had enough of your conspiracy theories. Go away.”

“No! No, Sayaka, I’m not with the press. What are you talking about? I’m just looking for Saito.”

“This isn’t even remotely funny. You are a disgusting person. Leave me alone.” Sayaka turns to leave.

“Sayaka! Please!”

“Go away!”

Desperation rises in Cobb’s throat, aching on his tone. “Sayaka, I just need to see him. Please. What is going on?”

She turns, and for a moment, concern replaces disgust. Sayaka, Cobb knows, has always been good at reading people. Surely she notices his genuine fear.

“You really don’t know?” Sayaka utters through a clenched jaw, and Cobb sees the beginnings of angry tears sparkling in the corners of her eyes.

“I don’t understand,” says Cobb.

“Saito,” says Sayaka, “is dead.”

The corners of Cobb’s vision grow dim, and he stares at Sayaka, too baffled to say anything at first.

“But… how?” he finally manages. “He was on the way to Akatora, the last time I heard. He was supposed to come and see me.”

“Do you know nothing?” Sayaka grimaces. “I don’t know who you are or where you’ve been, but Saito is gone. Akatora is gone. It blew up. There was… an accident.” She chokes on the word, pausing to steady her breathing. “That was three years ago.”

* * *

Cobb stands before the smooth, stone wall by the harbor. The monument is cold, black, and etched in perfect characters with at least a hundred names. Everything about it is artificial and unfeeling, and so juxtaposed with the cherry tree hanging low over the stone, occasionally sprinkling the season’s last petals.

“In memory of the losses of the Akatora power plant disaster,” reads Sayaka, standing a few paces behind him with her hands folded over her purse in rigid reverence. “Today is the anniversary.”

Cobb sighs, scanning the names. He doesn’t know any kanji but two. The same two he saw so often on sticky notes in his house, under his pillow, on his fridge.

斉藤

His fingers touch them lightly when he sees them, the same way he used to touch the notes, and Cobb feels the evening chill more deeply.

“Saito,” he says.

“Saito Daisuke,” reads Sayaka.

“I just… I don’t…” Cobb stares up at the marble. “I don’t know how this is possible.”

“You claim to be his friend, but you never knew?” Sayaka frowns.

“Well, I was just talking to him… and when I was an extractor…”

“Extractor?” Sayaka gasps. “You worked on Uemura, didn’t you?”

She starts to back away, and Cobb turns to calm her down. “No, no, it’s not like that. I haven’t actually been to see him in five years. We knew each other… briefly.”

Sayaka sits on the concrete bench in front of the monument, staring up at the rows of names. She’s made her peace with it, Cobb thinks, but it still hurts her.

“Sorry for earlier,” she whispers. “The reporters still come by. There are theories about the accident. They don’t think it was an accident, but no one can prove anything. But I know. I know it had to be Uemura. Only he would do something like that.”

“You think Uemura blew up the plant with all those people inside?”

Sayaka nods. “It was that mess with the extractors. I told him not to get involved. I knew Uemura would find out, and he’d stop at nothing to get revenge.”

It’s still chilling to Cobb as he becomes aware of the reality of it. Saito, whom he talked to only a day ago, is dead. He has been dead for years.

But they spoke. They spoke together, and they saw each other alive. But that Saito was an echo of the past.

They were separated by time.

Cobb looks at Sayaka. She is different because she is not the same Sayaka he spent those nights with. She’s three years older, and she’s someone else.

Three entire years.

He doesn’t believe it.

The crushing weight of all that time seems to hit him all at once, and Cobb lowers himself to the ground in front of the monument, keeping his fingers still on that name.

“Daisuke,” he murmurs.

He thinks for a moment that it might be the most beautiful name he’s ever heard.

He feels like he should be able to cry for him, but Saito is like a ghost in his mind. Too real to be dead. Too dead to be real. He’s caught in a strange state of limbo between belief and disbelief, and Cobb can’t make a sound. He’s paralyzed in confusion and emptiness.

“Who are you?” asks Sayaka.

“Someone he trusted,” is Cobb’s choked reply.

“You still haven’t told me how you know my name.”

“If I tell you,” says Cobb, “you’ll think I’m crazy.”

“I have time,” says Sayaka, patting the concrete bench beside her in an invitation. “You seem to be feeling this very deeply.”

If it were anyone else, Cobb would hesitate, but it’s Sayaka. He knows her, and she knows him, even if she doesn’t know it yet. So he tells her everything, from the Fischer job to the mysterious dreams, to the epiphany that he and Saito shared. He retraces his steps to Tokyo, and she listens to every word.

When he finishes, Sayaka is silent. She stares up at the cherry blossoms and closes her eyes.

“I would be lying if I said I believed you, Mr. Cobb,” she finally whispers. “But I do not understand inception or the mind. It is not my place to say what is possible.”

“You don’t have to believe me,” says Cobb. “That silver bracelet on your wrist. I gave it to you on your birthday—three days ago, exactly three years ago. That was the day you told me about Uemura’s threat. There’s an inscription on the inside.”

Sayaka exhales softly.

“Lord Byron. Your favorite,” says Cobb, reciting slowly:

“She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that’s best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes;”

Sayaka nods, touching the bracelet. “That’s right.”

They grieve together, silently, before the memorial in the park. No tears. No words. It’s only Sayaka and Cobb, and her faded memories, and his recent ones that seem to be fading so fast.

Saito is gone, and they are once again victims of time and all its mystery.

* * *

“Dad’s back! Arthur, look! Dad’s home!”

“Already?”

Arthur is lying on the couch, half-awake, Eames fully asleep and mostly on top of him, as Jurassic Park plays at low volume for the kids on the television. He blinks the sleep out of his eyes and sees the car pull into the driveway, headlights briefly illuminating the dark room.

The kids jump up, delighted at the surprise, but something seems off about it. There are footsteps, and then a key in the door, and Cobb steps into the dimly-lit house.

Without so much as a word or a greeting, he bends down to embrace James and Philippa tightly, longer than usual. Arthur gently nudges Eames awake and gets up to see Cobb. That’s when James speaks up.

“Daddy, why are you crying?”

Arthur catches a glimpse of Cobb’s face in the light of the TV, and sure enough, there are tears running down his face. Silent.

“I’ve just had a long day,” Cobb whispers. “A very, very, long day. How about you guys go to bed, okay?”

“Dom,” says Arthur.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. Don’t lie to me. What happened?”

“It’s okay, Daddy,” says James innocently.

This is what breaks Cobb.

“It’s not… It's not okay. I messed up. I don’t even know why it happened, but it stopped, and I messed up, and now he’s gone.” Whatever facade Cobb built up on the ride to the house begins to break, and he shatters with it, allowing Arthur to lead him to the couch without a protest, sitting down weakly. He doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes. “I can’t do anything about it. Why’d I even get a chance if I didn’t figure it out in time? I could have stopped it. I probably could have, if I’d had time, but I didn’t get time.”

“Who’s gone?” asks Eames, sitting on Cobb’s other side.

“What happened?” repeats Arthur. “Dom, please talk to me.”

“I can’t… I… I don’t know what… I can’t explain it.” Cobb’s face contorts with the ache of trying not to cry here, in front of his children.

Philippa starts to cry, overwhelmed and scared.

“Oh, honey, come here,” Cobb says. “It’s okay. We’re all going to be just fine. I just missed a chance to do something. It’s a chance I’m never going to get again.”

She buries her face in his shirt as he holds her, and he feels Arthur’s hand on his back, reassuring him. James joins, squeezing into the embrace and leaning his head against his dad’s arm.

“Dominick,” says Eames softly. “I don’t know exactly what’s happened, but… you’re okay. You can tell us when you’re ready.”

Cobb leans into Arthur, nodding. “Thank you. Thank you.”

There was more. More feelings. More memories. Now there’s an emptiness, but he feels held.

* * *

When the children are asleep, Cobb goes to his only evidence that it ever happened. The journal. He removes it from the pocket of his bag and opens it, and as he does, the spine cracks like it’s never been opened.

Inside, he finds nothing but blank pages.

Neither Arthur nor Eames say they remember seeing writing in the journal when Cobb asks them. Arthur says he came because Cobb was having some insomnia and needed advice.

There are blank sticky notes in the paper basket. Dozens.

* * *

It strikes Cobb that he is forgetting too. Late in the night, he grabs the journal and writes what he can. Saito. He knows it’s about Saito. Something happened to Saito, and he went to Tokyo.

Why did he go to Tokyo?

He remembers a woman. A bracelet. A memorial. But he can’t remember why he went.

“Don’t stay up too late,” says Arthur softly from the doorway. “You seem like you need a lot of rest.”

“I just need to clear my mind,” says Cobb.

Don’t forget. You lost Saito in the accident. You were in Tokyo before. You went to see him. He’s gone.

“Take all the time you need,” says Arthur.

Don’t forget.

Cobb drives into town, taking turns wherever he feels like it, running over impossible information in his mind. He was Saito. They were taking each other’s places. They were supposed to meet. Saito is gone.

He sees the train station and pulls into the lot just as an evening train does, and the doors hiss open for passengers. He still hates trains. He hates to hear them. He hates the feel of them. But this might be the only place he can think. The last time he took a train, it was with Saito.

He enters just before the doors close and takes a seat in an empty car, a seat by the window. He watches California go by, illuminated in the night like a sky full of stars.

Maybe it was the universe’s way of warning him. He was being given a chance to save someone, but he didn’t know it, and now it’s too late to do anything.

Why me, he wonders, and why Saito?

Maybe it was never a chance to save him. Cobb knows psychology, and he knows about brain chemistry. In the final moments before death, the brain releases chemicals to comfort itself with memories and feelings, dulling any pain and fear. Saito was alone, Cobb knows. He lived his life. Maybe their last connection was some kind of cosmic comfort. A reminder that no one is truly alone.

In the end, as the steady hum of the train fills his mind and he begins to drift off to sleep, his stubborn nature wins his thoughts.

I’d give anything for another chance.

* * *

A train is what’s known as a liminal space, or a space of change. A threshold.

It is a place you go to cross over into something else. When you are on a train, you have not fully left a place, and you are not fully in a new one. It can be disorienting, but you are also free.

A liminal space is a place of transition.

* * *

“We’ll be at the site in five minutes, Mr. Saito.”

Cobb opens his eyes as the train hits a bump, jolting him out of his sleep. But trains don’t hit bumps, and he is not on the train.

He is in a car.

“What?”

“Five minutes,” says the driver. “We’re in Odawara now.”

Cobb glances out the window as they pass trees and buildings on the smooth road, and the sun is shining bright in the sky.

Odawara.

He glances down at his hands, and they are not his hands. His clothes are not his clothes. And in the rear-view mirror, he meets eyes that aren’t his.

Saito.

“What day is it,” he manages to gasp, through the haze of his body not being his body.

“Saturday,” replies his driver, confused. “It’s just about noon.”

“Where are we going?”

“Odawara, Mr. Saito, like I said. Akatora Plant.”

Cobb releases a tense breath. His first instinct is to scream to stop the car, but he remembers the wall under the cherry tree. There were over a hundred names on the monument. No, no, that monument can never happen. Not for one person. Not for a hundred.

“Hurry,” demands Cobb.

“We’re a little bit early as it is…”

“Hurry.”

“Yes, Mr. Saito.”

The site is all set up for the opening and speeches. Dozens of people in suits. Engineers in hard hats. Bottles for toasting. An entire news crew. The second the car is parked, Cobb runs. He has a chance. Somehow, he’s been given a chance. He can’t miss it.

Who is in charge? Who will listen?

“Ah, Mr. Saito.” Cobb recognizes the speaker as Tanaka. “Good to see you. We’re just about ready to-”

“Call it off,” pants Cobb, out of breath. “We’re not doing this. We have to get out of here.”

Heads turn. The pavilion falls silent.

“What?”

“We’re leaving!” Cobb yells. “There’s no ceremony today! Everybody get to your cars!”

Tanaka frowns. “Mr. Saito, is everything okay?”

“No. The power plant is going to-” Cobb pauses, watching his words. He needs an orderly evacuation, not panic. “We have to leave. You’ll see. Just help me evacuate everyone.”

“Evacuate? Who’s evacuating?” someone yells. A commotion begins in the crowd. The news crews start filming, training their cameras on Cobb, who’s not even trying to give a convincing impression of Saito.

“No one is evacuating,” says a firm, condescending voice. “Mr. Saito must be delirious from the sun.”

Cobb turns and sees a shorter, balding man standing with arms crossed, glaring at him but smiling for cameras. Uemura.

“The ceremony will continue as planned,” says Uemura. “I’m sorry about the disturbance, everyone.”

“You,” growls Cobb. “What about the disturbance you’re about to create with the explosives you’ve planted in this factory? What about that, huh? Oh yes, I know. You would seriously kill innocent people over a business rivalry, Uemura?”

The cameras catch every word.

Uemura clenches his jaw. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re insane.”

“If we don’t do anything, people are going to die today because of you.”

Uemura laughs loudly as unrest in the crowd grows to a roar. “Everyone, please remain calm. Mr. Saito is getting older, and seems to be losing his mind. These baseless accusations are-”

Cobb knows Saito as a man of level-headed decorum. But Cobb is not Saito.

He punches Uemura squarely in the jaw, and the businessman falls to the ground, unconscious.

Cobb grabs a megaphone from a nearby engineer and clicks it on. “WE ARE EVACUATING.”

Finally, reluctantly, the confused crowd starts to move. News crews stay trained on Cobb as he moves people towards the parking lot, not wasting time to explain anything. He has no idea when the explosion happened, and can’t afford to lose a single minute. It’s the worst feeling, knowing the bomb is under the table, so to speak, but not knowing how much time is on the clock.

Not enough, thinks Cobb. Not enough.

It suddenly dawns on him that he doesn’t see Sayaka Hyodo.

“Where’s Sayaka?” he shouts at Tanaka.

“In the plant with the rest of the tour group!” Tanaka responds. “We need to go get them if there’s a safety issue.”

“You stay here.” Cobb orders. “I’ll get them.”

He throws off his suit jacket and sprints through the crowd as he hears frightened words echo past his ears. Bomb. Explosion. They’re terrified, but at least they’re moving. He’s not sure how to even begin navigating the interior of the plant. It’s a maze of pipes and metal stairs and hallways. Cobb runs, shouting at the top of his lungs until his throat aches. He opens every door. He runs down every stairwell. He shouts until he can’t breathe.

That’s when the first explosion hits.

It must be a building over, and it rocks the entire foundation. Cobb grabs a railing to steady himself, and hears frightened screams a few rooms over. Following the sound that bounces and echoes off the concrete walls, he finds the tour group.

“This way!” Cobb calls to the man in the hard hat leading the tour. “Hurry! It’s coming apart.”

The group of about twenty businesspeople runs down the hallway, following Cobb’s lead as the next one hits. There’s a sound of cracking concrete, and pieces of ceiling rain down, coating black suits in gray dust. It was closer.

“Hayaku! Hayaku kudasai!”

The group starts to move, and the third hits much too close. Cobb can practically feel the hallway crumble as he’s shaken off his feet. The ceiling cracks and some kind of pipe bursts, flooding water into the hallway. More screams as a large chunk of concrete falls above them, narrowly missing people but hitting a steel pipe and breaking it.

The pipe falls, and the hallway is blocked.

“Don’t stop,” Cobb gasps. “We can’t stop moving.”

“There’s nowhere we can go!” shouts another man in a hard hat.

The building shakes. The plant is coming apart.

“Then help me lift the pipe.”

Cobb fully braces himself under the pipe, pushing his weight up against it as a few more bodies join him. They won’t last long. They have to hurry.

“Go! Go now!”

One by one, the group starts to file through the small escape hole under the pipe, coughing from dust and smoke. Overhead, there’s a shower of sparks as another explosion rocks the foundation, and they lose the lights.

One of the other men on the pipe loses his grip and collapses. Cobb feels it press deeper into his back, but doesn’t give in.

“Go! I’ve got it.”

The last few people are just getting through when the foundation finally begins to give way. Cobb can feel the heat of the last explosion on his face. He is the only person on the pipe, and there’s one last group member who hasn’t gone through.

Sayaka Hyodo.

“Mr. Saito.” Her voice is choked with sobs.

“Go, Sayaka,” Cobb orders. “It’s okay. We’ll be fine.”

“I can’t… I-”

“Sayaka. Go. Promise me. Get the rest of them out of here. I know you can.”

“I promise. For you.”

Her voice is barely audible over the roar of the failing generators, and then she’s gone. Cobb is alone, and he lets the pipe drop, unable to hold it any longer. He is trapped. Just as he starts to look for another escape route, the ceiling gives way, and shards of concrete and metal rain down in the dark.

Something hits his leg with a pain that flashes white behind his eyes, and he’s crushed to the floor. He’s trapped.

“Saito,” Cobb murmurs, as though his body is not his, and simply a person he must encourage. “Saito, it’s okay. We did it. I’m going to get you out of here.”

Another heavy piece of concrete comes down, catching his hip, and he feels something break. As he groans and pushes it off, his hands come away warm and wet, and dizziness clouds his senses.

“Saito,” he gasps. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Time passes. An eternity, and he manages to pull himself somewhat upright against the wall, in a place where the ceiling is broken and a little light is filtering in through the clouds of dust. He rests there, his breathing shaky and ragged.

He feels in his pocket for a handkerchief to slow the bleeding on his leg, and finds only a stack of business cards. He stares at the shiny lettering in the dim light, at the phone number. Part of him wants to memorize it, but he knows now that it’s silly to hope. He—Saito—is injured beyond repair. Smoke burns his lungs. In a few hours, this phone number will belong to no one.

He leans back against the wall and sighs, coughing, trying to stay conscious. Every part of his body aches, and he can feel a sensation like slipping away. There’s nothing left to do.

So he wraps his arms around his chest, gently touching the places where skin hurts and clothing is singed and torn. He closes his eyes and breathes, whispering reassurance, soothing.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you, Saito. Just stay with me. Stay with me a little bit longer. I’ve got you.”

Stay with me.

Please.

He suddenly feels cold and helpless, and knows it’s not the first time this body has been through this. Alone. Bleeding out. Dying as a building collapses around him. But this time it’s different. This time he’s not truly alone. He squeezes his chest more tightly with every wave of pain.

He hopes that Saito, wherever he is, feels it too. He hopes that Saito’s consciousness knows that this time, Cobb was with him for every minute of it. This time, he was being held while he died.

There’s a pen in Saito’s pocket, as usual. Cobb briefly considers trying to write his phone number again, just in case, but he won’t be able to stay awake for the entire thing. He can barely control the shake in his hands.

He bites the cap off the pen and raises his arm, trembling, blood-stained, to the light. The faded numbers are just a few dots, no longer legible.

If I could leave Saito with just one thing, what would I say?

He can think of a thousand things he wants to say to Saito, but he needs to comprise every thought, every feeling, every apology. He needs to be fast, before he slips away completely. The pain hits sharply, forcing a groan between his lips.

“Shhh, it’s okay. It’s okay,” he whispers, exhausted, as another jolt of pain burns in his hip. “I’m right here. I’m going to take care of you. I… Saito, I…”

He sighs, laughing softly to himself, weakly, and raises the pen to his skin. He can’t see the letters in the darkness. He has to feel them.

LOVE

* * *

“Sir? Sir?”

The light inside the train is blinding. Cobb stirs, blinking. His muscles are stiff from sleep.

“You’ve been riding all night, sir. You got on in Pasadena, right?”

“Mmh,” Cobb mumbles, disoriented.

“You got a call from someone named Arthur. We told him where you are so he can come pick you up.”

“Oh,” says Cobb. He sits up and stretches. “Oh, okay.”

“It happens,” laughs the train attendant. “We’ll bill you your fare online.”

Arthur is outside with the car, alone. The moment he sees Cobb, he rushes to his side.

“We were so worried, Dom. Don’t ever do something like that again.” Arthur grabs his shoulder, as if checking to see that he’s intact. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Arthur.” Cobb smiles, albeit a little sadly. “I feel much better.”

“If there’s anything you need to talk about, you know you can talk to me. Please don’t hesitate to tell me anything if you-”

“Thank you,” says Cobb. “I really am better. I just needed… I took care of it. I think I’m going to be okay now.”

And for the first time, he really believes it.

They drive home. He makes the children breakfast, and promises tennis and movie outings and anything they want, finally feeling more like himself. He and Arthur and Eames joke and laugh together, no barriers between them. They have coffee on the porch and watch the sun come up.

Anything to get his mind off of it. The pain is still there in Cobb’s mind. The emptiness. But it’s already fading. Soon, he will forget.

But something stirs a vivid memory. Cobb stands in his room, and notices he still hasn’t taken out the trash, the paper basket full of blank sticky notes.

He’ll have to wait until next week. Paper recycling is collected on Fridays at nine o’clock. Cobb is good at remembering small details, especially numbers.

Like phone numbers.

He stands in the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face, and glances over at his cell phone. He can remember every digit, but some part of him is afraid to check, to know the answer to the question he’s been asking since he woke up. It would simply be impossible. Time doesn’t work like that.

He takes a deep breath and grabs the phone, pressing the numbers in succession, and raises it shakily to his ear as he listens to the tone.

“Mr. Saito’s office.”

He drops the phone and it clatters into the sink. Cobb gasps and fumbles for it. It was Sayaka. Sayaka’s voice. Sayaka took his call, so she’s still working…

“Hello? Hello?”

“Hi,” says Cobb, gripping the side of the counter like a vise. “Is… is Mr. Saito… there?”

“He’s in a meeting right now, but I can take a message. May I have your name please?”

“Cobb. Dominick Cobb.”

* * *

Arthur doesn’t try to stop him. Arthur doesn’t ask questions when Cobb apologizes for having to leave for a few minutes. Just a quick drive into the city, he says. Arthur lets him go, hoping for eventual answers.

“Don’t be long,” calls Eames, who is teaching Philippa how to make paper animals at the table.

“I’ll be right back,” Cobb assures them, rushing to the car.

Cobb stands under the sign at the airport, right in the middle of the terminal, watching the incoming arrivals. He can hear his own heartbeat pounding, even through the crowd noise. He waits impatiently, his arms crossed over his chest to stop his hands from shaking too visibly, checking every face, every stranger. Business class files in, and he’s lost in a sea of suits. He can’t seem to look around fast enough, to see everyone.

It’s not possible. It can’t be, but he heard him on the phone.

It’s not possible.

“Cobb?”

Cobb looks up at the sound of his name, snapped into reality.

Saito is there, near the baggage claim; a tall man in a dark suit and storm-gray tie. Saito’s dark hair has grown slightly longer, graying at the temples. At his right hand is a cane, on which he leans slightly to steady himself, as if an old injury never fully healed.

Saito. Cobb mouths the name. He can’t seem to make a sound.

“Cobb!”

Cobb has already crossed the entire distance between them by then, bumping into people multiple times. He stops short when he gets to Saito, unsure what to do, what to say.

Saito grabs Cobb’s shoulder tightly, smiling, eyes glistening, ecstatic. “I woke up and I knew… I meant to call but I tried the number I remembered and it didn’t exist… I… Cobb… I didn’t know where you lived… I couldn’t find you. It’s been so long.”

“Of course,” Cobb laughs, grabbing his arm in return. “Saito… I didn’t… I wouldn’t have had… Saito. You remember?”

“I knew it had to be you. I remember it like it was yesterday. I woke up and I was in the hospital, and they told me I saved all those people from the explosion. But that was you, wasn’t it?”

“Saito.” Cobb, breathless, can’t keep his name out of his mouth. “Saito. Oh my god, Saito. You’re alive. Look at you.”

He almost reaches out to impulsively touch Saito’s face, unable to believe it. Saito looks so different, but so much the same. Of course, it’s been only hours since the accident for Cobb, but three years for Saito. There are more lines around his eyes, deeper, but he still smiles how Cobb remembers, and he hasn’t stopped smiling.

“Look at you,” Cobb repeats. “Look at you. Oh god, your leg.”

Saito glances down, leaning on the cane. “I was very, very lucky.”

“I’m sorry about that,” stammers Cobb, awkwardly.

“Hey. Look at me. You don’t apologize for anything. You saved my life and hundreds of others.”

Saito doesn’t know about the future Cobb lived. Saito doesn’t know about the alternate reality where none of those lives escaped. The thought makes Cobb dizzy. He doesn’t even want to imagine that reality anymore. He’s drunk in the safety of this one. The comfort. Saito.

“Is everything okay, Mr. Cobb?” Saito laughs softly. “Am I not what you were expecting?”

“No,” Cobb keeps his tone low so his voice doesn’t break. “You’re not what I was expecting at all. I never expected to see you again.” He pauses, breathing deeply. “Please, Saito, come home with me. The car’s waiting. We can finally talk.”

“I would like nothing better.”

* * *

Arthur stands in the doorway, stunned and speechless, as Cobb takes Saito’s bag out of the trunk and brings Saito into the house. Saito greets him by name.

“Mr. Eames is here too, isn’t he?”

Arthur nods. “Yes sir.”

“Wonderful.” Saito looks all around the small, elegant house, and his expression grows reverent. He pauses in the dining room, touching the doorframe lightly, closing his eyes. “It’s just like I remember.”

Cobb watches him do this, observing Saito’s silent admiration. He feels something, but he’s not sure what.

“Uh, Dom,” Arthur whispers. “Saito?”

Cobb nods. “I’ll explain tonight. It’s a long story.”

Eames and Arthur both greet Saito, and Saito introduces himself to the children. Something about his manner around Cobb makes Arthur think they need time, so he and Eames take the kids to the kitchen to work on dinner. Arthur nods to Cobb. We’ve got this.

Cobb and Saito find themselves in the backyard as the sunlight begins to ignite the trees golden, and for a while they don’t say anything. Even though they’ve been dying to talk to each other, Cobb suddenly finds himself speechless.

So they stand there, staring up at the blue sky, at a shimmering airplane far overhead, leaving contrails as it flies.

“I still don’t understand it,” says Saito finally. “I don’t know if I ever will.”

“Neither do I,” says Cobb.

He looks over at Saito, and Saito notices him looking, and they smile together.

“But I’m grateful,” Saito continues.

“Me too.”

What do you remember? Do you know I was there with you when I thought you were dying?

It gets to Cobb, the realization of what could have been if he hadn’t somehow gotten one more chance. If he hadn’t gone back. And when he sees Saito staring up at the sky, breathing the fresh air deeply and smiling hopefully, the memories cut him deeply.

“Saito.”

Saito meets his gaze and startles as he sees the beginnings of tears forming, and Cobb gives up trying to hide them. Here, in the safety of his home and Saito’s company, the ordeal behind them, he permits himself to cry. He isn’t sure why, but he needs it now.

“Hey,” Saito soothes, going to him, putting an arm on his shoulder. “Cobb… Dominick.”

Cobb sighs deeply, burying his face in Saito’s jacket, steadying himself against him. “Daisuke.”

Saito pulls away slowly to meet his eyes. “How did you-”

“I saw it,” says Cobb, grimacing, “on your memorial.”

“Memorial,” Saito frowns. “I don’t understand.”

And Cobb is forced to explain the reality Saito never lived. The time difference between them that Saito never knew, and the real reason they never met each other at the airport. How he went to Tokyo and found Sayaka, and she showed him the names. The lost.

“So you see, when you tried to call me after you woke up, you couldn’t have. I didn’t have a cell phone three years ago,” Cobb says. “For you, that accident was years ago, but for me…”

“Only yesterday,” Saito whispers. “I can’t believe it.” He touches the side of Cobb’s face, stunned. “I can’t… I… are you okay? Cobb, I can’t believe…”

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Cobb assures him. “I promise.”

And he finally means it. He’s okay now. All the pieces fit together, and everything is right with the world. Saito, overwhelmed, pulls him close under the sky, rocking them gently back and forth, whispering his gratitude.

Cobb laughs softly, losing himself in the movement and the comfort he’s needed for so long. Saito is steady, and so, so gentle with him. “I had… I had this theory.”

“Mm-hm?”

“That time must have some kind of a grudge against us.”

He feels Saito smile. Saito’s mouth is pressed against his hair in a way that makes him feel suddenly weak at the knees. “Why’s that?”

“Because we never seem to sync up quite right,” says Cobb. “It’s always one of us ahead, and one of us behind. We’re always moving at different speeds, and we keep having to go back for each other.” He laughs. “I have a good mind to never let you out of my sight again, you know.”

Saito hums. “I’m here now.”

Cobb feels the hand that’s been so gently rubbing his shoulders stop short, hesitating. Saito releases a shaky breath.

“Dominick.” Saito whispers.

“Yes?”

“When I woke up, they told me there was writing. I thought it was going to be another phone number…”

“I remember,” says Cobb.

Saito’s sleeve is rolled up, and his arm is clean now, no hint of Cobb’s shaky pen.

If I could leave Saito with just one thing…

“Did you mean that?” Saito asks. “I was worried you’d have forgotten. But when they told me… I… it meant so much. Cobb.”

Cobb glances down, embarrassed. “It was only a few hours ago, remember? Only a few hours for me. And yes, I meant it. Of course I meant it. Every word.”

“Tell me what you wrote.”

Saito knows, of course. But he needs to hear it. He needs to hear it to believe it’s true. Cobb smiles.

“I love you. I love you so much.”

The kiss happens after everything else, in the deep golden sunlight, under endless sky. It’s a crushing tidal wave of relief and gratitude and adoration. It’s multiple long kisses, with pauses for breathless smiling and laughter, and returned to almost instantly, desperately, as if the kiss is what they need and not the air.

“It’s okay,” murmurs Saito. “I’ve got you.”

Cobb chokes on something between a laugh and a sob, unsure what he’s feeling as he leans deeper into the embrace. Maybe it’s relief, catharsis. Or maybe it’s the realization of just how long he’s been in someone else’s arms.

“It’s okay,” Saito repeats, as if he’s reassuring himself as well. “It’s okay.”

“I thought I’d never see you again.” Cobb’s unsteady voice is muffled in Saito’s shirt. “I… I had this idea, this fear that if I closed my eyes, or if I let go even a little bit, you’d be gone. Call me paranoid, but we don’t have the best record of staying together. I just wanted to be safe.”

But Saito is here now. Saito’s hands cupping his jaw, and Saito’s forehead against his are a silent promise. I’m not going anywhere.

“Shhh. We are safe,” Saito whispers. “And you’ve taken such good care of me. Now let me do the same for you.”

It’s a long story. It’s an unbelievable story, and they’ll tell it late in the evening, after dinner and dessert and wine in the living room while the kids play and laugh. They know that Arthur and Eames will think it’s crazy, but that’s not their problem, because it’s true.

They’ll explain later. For now, Saito lets his cane fall against a tree and leans on Cobb. Cobb takes him, not raising his face from Saito’s collar, still lost in the reality of it. And they sway gently, a slow dance to music only they seem to hear. The gentle rhythm of the time passing, time finally ticking in perfect synchronization. Time they can finally share in each other’s arms.

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Account Deleted on Chapter 1 Sat 31 Jul 2021 01:35PM UTC

heart in my throat honestly

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IAmANonnieMouse on Chapter 1 Sat 31 Jul 2021 06:18PM UTC

Omgggggg this is so good i'm !!!!!
First of all, confession, I haven't seen (read?) Kimi No Na Wa so I know NOTHING about the premise and walked in blind but THIS IS SO COOL.
I have to take a moment to laugh at Cobb's "oh Arthur and Eames are spending time together, maybe they're expanding their contacts" lmfao I just love it
Anyway, I'm really loving this, I'm especially loving that you had this set post-canon instead of doing some AU where they were strangers or something, like, I love that added dimension of "is this a side effect of somnacin, or limbo, etc" and I love that Cobb and Saito KNOW each other so they can go right to, like, where do we go from here. ANYWAY ONWARD TO THE NEXT CHAPTER!!!!

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belbeten on Chapter 1 Mon 23 Aug 2021 08:21PM UTC

I am LOVING this concept, and your execution of it, and in particular: the little notes that they leave for each other under the pillow. Tiny little post-it gestures of love have me all 😍😍😍

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SolaLiebedich on Chapter 1 Mon 17 Jan 2022 04:46AM UTC

Bruh, This is so underated.

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Account Deleted on Chapter 2 Sat 31 Jul 2021 02:01PM UTC

honest to god there are tears running down my face right now
beautiful, beautiful. every single word.

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1. aristotle_chipotle on Chapter 2 Sat 31 Jul 2021 06:48PM UTC
  
  I'M SO HAPPY (about your enjoyment not the tears of course lol)
  
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IAmANonnieMouse on Chapter 2 Sat 31 Jul 2021 06:36PM UTC

HOLY SHIIIIIIIIIIIIT
Ohmygod
OhmyGOD
Okay so
I did not see that entire twist coming, obviously
like, HOLY SHIT
I
I was just like frantically reading faster and faster and like SHUT UP MOM I'M READING A VERY IMPORTANT STORY I CAN'T LISTEN TO WHATEVER YOU'RE SAYING RIGHT NOW OMG
This is just
I have no words, rusty. HOLY SHIT. This is so freaking good. SO GOOD. I love this so much, I love more about it than I can say because I am not remotely coherent right now but !!!!!
I'm gonna be thinking about this for a while, omg

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1. aristotle_chipotle on Chapter 2 Sat 31 Jul 2021 06:46PM UTC
  
  I DID WONDER bc you said you'd never seen Kimi No Na Wa so I was like "wait, does mousie know the twist then?" because I think if you've seen my source material you can assume that's coming, but that actually makes it so much better. It can truly be a surprise twist!
  And I'M SO HAPPY YOU ENJOYED!!!
  
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Account Deleted on Chapter 2 Sun 01 Aug 2021 05:56AM UTC

i kept thinking and thinking about this story, and i wondered why it feels so extremely personal this time. there are countless other fics i've read which are just as heartbreaking, but they were never as real and as personal as this one. and then it struck me, everything still comes down to that very specific scene between cobb and his kids -- they're still the heart of it all. i apologize since i'm going to share something quite personal from real life here, but i realized that the exact moment i teared up (and couldn't stop until the end) is when phillipa started to cry.
i just felt that so very, very deeply, because from my own memories and experience as a kid, watching your parents cry over a lost loved one, is the single worst thing you can ever feel in your entire life. the only time i ever watched my dad cry was when his father died (i was too young to remember my grandfather back then, but i clearly remember my dad from that time). and then a bit later when my mom also lost her father, she didn't cry at all but the moment she saw my dad arrive (he was thousands of miles away and couldn't get back in time for the funeral), she went to him and just instantly broke down in his arms.
like, when you were just a kid, you had no idea what grief is all about. but then you watch your mom or dad cry from it, and you just know and feel-- understand it immediately. and of course they'd try to hold strong in front of their kids, to put their pain aside and shield them from it (just like what cobb did) as much as possible. so that part where cobb breaks down when james tells him it's okay, and phillipa crying for him? and him desperately trying to stop his tears and putting aside his sheer grief to comfort them instead? that's the absolute truest feeling i've come across a story in a long, long while.
i have another twenty million things i want to talk about this fic, but i just wanted to get that out first. again, thank you for writing this. it's just so absolutely full of love and emotion and compassion, it's forever lodged in my heart now.

Last Edited Sun 01 Aug 2021 06:10AM UTC

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flux (Guest) on Chapter 2 Mon 02 Aug 2021 04:12AM UTC

oh gosh i'm finally coming around after my n-th reread to try and leave some coherent comments but i can't even form words, this was too beautiful ;-;
i love how you wrote them using their individual personality traits to help out with each others' lives, like saito being a complete boss(tm) and cobb giving no damns about diplomacy and jumping straight into action when people are in danger.
the scene at the plant was so intense omg, and how cobb tries to convey that he was with saito until the end ;-; my heart please
also sayaka is lovely and i adore her character!! <3
and the train as a point of transition! the train was the scene of an important meeting in the original too so i love how this echoes that.
i'm so glad they ended up remembering each other after all that pain ((i was honestly expecting the bittersweet ending where they didn't remember ;-;))
as always, this is incredibly well written. you have such a way with words :') this au is everything i didn't know i needed in my life until now THANK YOU

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Account Deleted on Chapter 2 Tue 03 Aug 2021 03:27PM UTC

i know this is a Your Name AU but like i've mentioned before, this is also a Lake House AU XD
but seriously, this is such a magnificent spin on the whole long-distance relationship i've always envisioned for them post-movie. how they will continue to lead their own lives separately, and yet will still always end up deeply drawn to each other, by mere thought or presence. they've gone through so much for each other in canon, it's hard not to imagine a powerful lifetime bond instantly forged out of that shared experience, even when they're oceans apart.
they're still objectively strangers to each other, but at the same time, they're also already each other's nearest and dearest. it's a most terrifying and inexplicable contradiction, and i especially love that part when cobb confessed that he was scared of what's happening to them, saito immediately assuring him that they're gonna figure things out together, and cobb's first thought is being irrationally angry at just how easily saito trusted him (again).
everything they did when they were in each other's consciousness, they really did take good care of each other. beautiful. i can only imagine saito being such a good dad to james and phillipa, that even when they didn't know it wasn't actually him, they must have felt as safe and loved as if it's their own father. all the pillow/fridge post-it notes, oh my heart. and i'm cracking up at the thought of saito, mister billionaire ceo himself of all people, remembered to haggle tire prices because it's cobb who's going to end up paying for it lmao
sayaka! ahh i love her. the fight club documentary XD i love how integral and pragmatic you've depicted her, as her own person and the relationships she formed with both cobb and saito. her emotions for saito mirrored so much with cobb's, and yet so different too.
Saito was alone, Cobb knows. He lived his life. Maybe their last connection was some kind of cosmic comfort. A reminder that no one is truly alone. / Alone. Bleeding out. Dying as a building collapses around him. But this time it’s different. This time he’s not truly alone. / He hopes that Saito, wherever he is, feels it too. He hopes that Saito’s consciousness knows that this time, Cobb was with him for every minute of it. This time, he was being held while he died.
still so shattered by those acts of pure love by cobb. this has always been him, the way his actions in canon have always been driven by love and emotions, and for someone-- for mal, for his kids, for saito. and the way he was so shocked and crushed with grief when he thought saito was gone forever is just indescribably heartbreaking. the kind of grief you can only feel when you love someone that much. and the way he's only able to let go, only when he had the second chance to say goodbye properly in his heart and soul, just like with mal.
He still hates trains. He hates to hear them. He hates the feel of them. But this might be the only place he can think. The last time he took a train, it was with Saito.
TRAINS. THEM TRAINS. IM ALL VERKLEMPT.
“Thank you,” says Cobb. “I really am better. I just needed… I took care of it. I think I’m going to be okay now.” And for the first time, he really believes it.
i think the loveliest thing about this whole thing is how you portrayed cobb as still being genuinely at peace, before the actual happy ending itself. it's bittersweet, but so fitting with the feel of the movie itself, the way cobb's truest happiness is still ultimately intertwined with his children. and the way arthur and eames are also this very real, grounding force for him, and the way he embraces that. it's wonderful.
but oh, the happy ending. i cry.
their reunion at the airport, and then at cobb's home. when they finally call each other by their given names. their kiss under the open skies. the way you can just feel the lost pieces of their hearts coming together in each other's arms. just... pure love.
thank you for writing and sharing this story with us, i can never say that enough.

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belbeten on Chapter 2 Tue 24 Aug 2021 12:11AM UTC

Wow. Like holy shit wow. This was intense and amazing and I loved it.
I did not see that twist coming! But I had a feeling in chapter 1 when Sayaka (who I LOVE by the way) was all “I don’t trust that Uemura dude” that something bad was bound to happen with him. The scene at the power plant was so captivating.
This whole fic was a phenomenal idea, and so brilliantly done.
Also, this is such a beautiful description: “It’s multiple long kisses, with pauses for breathless smiling and laughter, and returned to almost instantly, desperately, as if the kiss is what they need and not the air.”

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SolaLiebedich on Chapter 2 Mon 17 Jan 2022 05:24AM UTC

"He feels Saito smile. Saito’s mouth is pressed against his hair in a way that makes him feel suddenly weak at the knees. “Why’s that?”
SCREAMS
"Shhh. We are safe,” Saito whispers. “And you’ve taken such good care of me. Now let me do the same for you.”
SCREAMS
"They’ll explain later. For now, Saito lets his cane fall against a tree and leans on Cobb. Cobb takes him, not raising his face from Saito’s collar, still lost in the reality of it. And they sway gently, a slow dance to music only they seem to hear. The gentle rhythm of the time passing, time finally ticking in perfect synchronization. Time they can finally share in each other’s arms"
SCREAMS.
HOW COULD A STORY BE SO PERFECT. I NEED MORE. OH MY GOD I LOVED YOUR WRITING, AND THIS, AKDJAOSMAKKSJWNSAKS
AHHHHHHHH SO FUCKING GOOD ToT

Last Edited Mon 17 Jan 2022 05:25AM UTC

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1. aristotle_chipotle on Chapter 2 Sat 22 Jan 2022 11:03PM UTC
  
  THANK YOU SO MUCH! AHHHHHH this made my day :D
  
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❤️ anon (Guest) on Chapter 2 Fri 26 May 2023 06:51PM UTC

this fic literally saved my life. will not elaborate

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julidoesnotwrite (notjuli) on Chapter 2 Sun 14 Sep 2025 06:46PM UTC

i love this! kudos <3

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