Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

December 20

Ariadne knew the moment she picked up that phone that her Christmas vacation was about to go straight to hell.

Usually, she and her brother would be dragged home each Christmas to spend time with their mother, her "wonderful" luncheons and fancy dinners, their workaholic father, and then finally the annoying bartender at the town's local pub.

The last one wasn't really forced; it was inevitable.

So, despite her better judgement on the cloudy winter afternoon, she picks up the phone after three rings.

"Hello?"

"Ariadne?" Her mother never called her by any kind of nickname. Very formal. "How are you?" Small talk leads to nothing good when it came to her mother. She was the master of pushing you into so much small talk that you'd be begging her to just flat out tell you why she had called.

In the background, she swears she could hear the sounds of her father's latest business meeting growing louder as well as her mother's calculated clicking of her heels hitting the stone floor of her childhood home.

Neither Ariadne nor her mother address the noise.

"I'm great, Mother. How are you?" Ariadne twirls the landline's cord around her fingertips, circling the living room of her California flat.

The cloud-covered sunset peaks its way into her window, letting her know that she was definitely going to be late to her dinner meeting with the professor...again.

He had mentioned something about her new job, one that he undoubtingly disapproved of. 

Professor Miles didn't like the idea of her becoming a dream thief. The thrill of the chase mixed with the blood pumping loudly in your ears, the sound that you would learn to ignore, making it hard to ignore the job offers. Ariadne, in fact, was starting to crave them.

There is nothing in the world close to the way you feel in a dream. The structures she could never have in real life pull her toward the most natural unnatural concoctions. Lights from the Parisian skyline folding within themselves until they become a diamond in her hand. The bridges and rivers given a life beyond their own. Ariadne Eames held this creation above all else in her life at the moment.

This creation was about to be severely limited by her mother's plans.

"Ariadne, you're coming to Christmas, right?"

Yes. She always does.

Unlike Eames, she is a good child. Whenever Eames fucked up, Ariadne was right there still being the perfect child.

Her older brother was the favorite in her mother's eyes and could do no wrong. Luckily, Eames came to her rescue whenever Mother drove them both (and sometimes Arthur) insane.

Eames wasn't here at the moment.

"Yes, Mother. I'll be there on the 23rd. Have you talked to Rupert yet?" She tries to change the subject off of her.

She fails.

"A few days ago, actually. You know, Ariadne, dear, Rupert and Arthur have such a lovely relationship. Arthur offered to help me with my luncheon this year, can you believe that? What a sweet young man...you need to find someone like that, Ariadne."

"Well, Mother, there can only be one Arthur." Thank god for that.

Ari rolls up her sleeves and opens one of the cabinets under the TV. She pulls out some dusty old movie and throws it on her sofa for later.

"Ariadne, when are you going to find yourself a boyfriend?" And there's the real reason for the call.

Rupert Eames, Mother's darling little Rupert, had gotten married five years back, and now she was going to try everything in her power to see that Ariadne had someone as well.

And knowing her, he was going to be as wonderful and as well-behaved as Arthur. Jokes on Mother because it was actually Arthur and not Eames that ruined her lovely dining room drapes.

Sometimes on a whim, Ari likes to send Arthur thank you cards for finally getting rid of the awful floral-patterned fabric from hell that haunted her childhood home for years.

Good on him.

She tried to for ten whole years but no dice.

That aside, Ariadne in her typical fashion...didn't have a boyfriend, not since she dumped her last one a few months back. So, it wouldn't make any sense to lie to her-

"Actually Mother, I do have a boyfriend."

Shit.

"Oh Ariadne, dear, that's wonderful! What does he do? What does he look like? How old is he? You should bring him for Christmas! You've been dating him for a long time, yes?"

"Yep...eight months."

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

"So, what's his name? What does-"

"You know what, Mother, you can ask him all the questions you want when we get there on the 23rd."

Please let her change the subject. Please let her change the subject.

"Oh, that is simply wonderful!" Yes! Subject successfully changed.

Ariadne hums in agreement.

"Well, I will see you both in three days!" Her mother sounds insanely cheerful as she hangs up.

No wait!

Ari stares at her phone as if it was a seventy year old man walking down New York City wearing large clown shoes and a rubber red nose. Which, of course, is to say she is feeling confused, not surprised, but a little frightened as to what will happen next.

She rubs her temples, putting her phone back on the hook without looking.

Great.

What a "wonderful" mess you've gotten yourself into this time, Ariadne.

Just fucking great.

-:-

The dim lights of the restaurant didn't help in her quest for familiar faces. California air blows through the open windows, running its fingers across the paper lanterns and holiday tinsel. Sounds of bells reach Ariadne's ears, soothing. Adjacent from the entrance is a long colorful bar decked with neon signs and multicolored bottles of alcohol behind the ever-moving bartender.

She scans the rest of the open room.

A figure on the opposite end of the restaurant raises a glass up as if giving a toast.

She grins. Found the professor.

She slips her small purse onto one of the chair arms before sitting down.

Professor Miles, who is seated across from her, waves over a waiter from a nearby table to take her drink order.

"Shirley Temple." She doesn't really feel up to drinking the night away or drinking much of anything tonight. She doesn't even bother looking much at the waiter and focuses her attention on Miles. "How are Cobb and his children?"

She pretends she hadn't heard about this stuff from Arthur last week.

He had spent the night at the Cobbs' earlier this month and had politely informed Ariadne on all the juicy details like Phillipa's new art projects and the man that had been following Cobb that the Point Man had "taken care of" for the retired dreamer.

"Oh, he's doing well. James and Phillipa are doing just marvelously."

They smile at each other for a while more, adding bits of small talk here and there until both parties had their food and drinks in front of them.

"Let's cut to the chase, shall we?"

Ariadne nods, waiting for his disapproval of her new lifestyle. Miles taps his fingers against the table, rhythmically as if waiting for the right moment.

"You need to be more careful on who you do jobs for, Ariadne. I'm worries you'll find yourself on the wrong end of a pistol sooner rather than later...best case scenario, never."

Ariadne stares at the noodles looped around her fork. Miles tries to meet her eyeline, but she is completely focused on her dinner.

"Thank you for your input, sir." She tries not to sound too condescending toward her former teacher. If he could tell, he doesn't dare mention it.

They ate the rest of the meal in relative silence.

Twenty or so minutes later, Miles gets up, pats Ariadne on the shoulder, and leaves the restaurant.

She's seated in the shadows for the next few moments which makes hiding her surprise a lot easier when two figures made their way into the room. She leans in, listening.

"Robert, are you sure we can't go somewhere else? This place is...filthy." The bartender serving drinks near the door gives the suit-cladded man a dirty look.

The younger man's reply is the one that really caught Ariadne's attention.

"If you don't like it here, Peter, you can leave." Robert Fischer, the man that Ari would pay good money to avoid for the rest of her existence, is standing in the doorway of the restaurant, the restaurant that she was currently sitting in, the restaurant Peter Browning is currently complaining about, this restaurant.

He looks good, objectively speaking of course, Ariadne muses. His suit is a deep blue, and he tugs at his tie every few minutes, a nervous tick. His eyes glance around the room, settling thankfully at the bar.

Browning hums with disapproval. "Fine, maybe I will. I'll see you tomorrow, Robert."

Fischer nods as if to say he understands the older man's words but doesn't gazing in his direction or seem to notice that he had left.

Ariadne holds her breath.

Robert sits down, ordering something that the bartender laughs at and both smile as the bartender tosses around glasses, filling the one in front of Robert with a greenish liquid.

"Miss, do you need anything else?" A waiter beside her asks. She waves him off without even sparing him a glance.

Then she does something stupid. Something so stupid that later that night she would stare up at her bedroom ceiling, wondering where in the world her brain was at this moment.

Ariadne Eames walks over to the bar and slides in the chair next to Fischer.

"Hi." She gives him her best smile. "I need your help."

Robert whips around to face her. She prays to whatever gods will listen that he doesn't recognize her.

"I'm sorry, who are you?"

She holds out her hand to shake.

He just stares at it like she was offering him a dead fish or worse. She slowly puts her hand down.

"Ariadne, and I need your help."

"I'm not going to give you money."

"Money?" She plays dumb. "Why would you be giving me money?"

Robert stumbles through his next sentence. "Well because...umm...why...why do you need my help?"

Ari smiles sweetly at him, only to turn away and order a drink. This time it had alcohol in it.

She takes a deep breath, moving her hands wildly as she explains. "Ok, so, it's a really long story, but my mother has been on my case since my brother's wedding that I need to find myself a boyfriend. So, I may or may not have lied to my mother when she called me today. I said I had a boyfriend which I don't. I very much don't." She gives a hollow chuckle.

Robert's eyes grow wider when she continues.

"I saw you walk in, and I thought you looked nice. I hope you don't have a girlfriend or boyfriend because I would love for you to pretend to be my boyfriend for a week...unless you're busy?"

He shakes his head not unlike a hyper dog. "Oh no no I'm not busy at all."

She giggles a little at this.

Ariadne could have sworn Robert Michael Fischer blushes a deep red.

He pauses to process what exactly he had been told. "You want me," He gestures between them and Ariadne nods. "To fake date you to get your mother off your back?"

"Yes."

"But you don't know me. I could be a serial killer for all you know."

"Are you?"

"Well...no, but are you sure you want my help?" He rubs the back of his neck, alternating his view between his half empty drink and Ari's raised eyebrow.

"Yes. Are you sure you're not busy tomorrow?"

"I'm sure." He sends her a shy smile. Ari lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding.

She grins back at him. "Great."

She calls the bartender over to ask for a pen then gestures to Robert's arm. She scribbles her number, pats his wrist, winks, knocks back the rest of her drink, and leaves.

Robert watches her; his eyes blown wide with surprise.

He clutches his arm with the numbers like he is afraid they would leave the restaurant with her.

Chapter Text

December 21

The door is right there. Robert could just walk through it and this whole problem he managed to get himself into would be over, fixed, finished, done zo.

Will he feel terrible for abandoning Ariadne?

Yes, without a doubt. But there are just some things that Robert doesn't think he should stick his nose in, and family holidays was starting to inch its way onto that list.

He's no Casanova. Oh, any reporters that called him that, well, if he cared enough, he would have a few of those articles framed. Tease what you want...they were a little funny.

That's not to say that he doesn't have one-night stands.

It's one thing to pick up a woman at a bar and have a lovely one-night stand; picking up a woman at a bar to join her on her elaborate scheme to trick her parents is quite definitely another. Maybe he should have listened to Peter and left that place.

No. No, Peter has done enough damage to his life this year. Plus, the older man's anger of the company's division is driving him completely up the wall to the point where he really, really wanted to just pause his entire life for just a week.

Nevermind, this holiday is a perfect plan then.

Someone clears their throat, knocking him out of his thoughts. A man trying to leave the downtown coffee shop pushes past him as he blocks the door.

Oh right.

Probably should start actually walking towards Ariadne who is waving at him from near the counter. She's holding some kind of drink. The steam curls around her face, framing it. She smiles and gestures again for him to join her.

The early morning rush hour is no joke. He can barely stay near the door without being pulled into one direction or another. Conversations flood his senses, filling his head so much that he can barely hear his thoughts.

But her smile.

He shakes away his musings. No, now is not the time to get distracted.

After a moment, his legs decide to finally pay attention to his head and bring him up to the barista.

"A medium coffee, black." He slides out his card, but Ariadne stops him. Her hand is on his wrist.

On his wrist! Her hand!

He feels himself blush and tries to duck his head. Developing crushes on beautiful unobtainable women is a no go. He clears his throat once, then twice.

"I'll pay."

"No really it's no big deal. You don't have to..." She smiles sweetly at him.

He melts.

She takes out a card herself and hand it off to the barista before he can bother to argue. "I insist. After all, you're helping me."

The barista laughs and points to him. "So, he's your ball of anxiety?"

Ariadne turns away from him for a few seconds. "Yep," She brings it up like it's natural. "He's my boyfriend." She taps her nails on his wrist.

"He's cute." The barista winks at them both before handing him the black coffee and moving on to the next customer in line.

He coughs. "Umm...do you want to sit down or..."

'Nah, I have a better idea." She finally lets go of his wrists only to clasp her hand in his instead.

Well shit. He's a goner.

-:-

So, you're English?"

"Can't you tell?" She sips on her half empty drink, hiding her smirk against the lid.

"Well, you don't really have an accent." He freezes at what had just come out of his mouth. His eyes whip around the outdoor mall as a way to avoid looking at her expression.

It's a nice day with a clear sky, and the air just cold enough to warrant jeans and a light jacket. Others around them are close together, holding hands or chatting in small groups. Children are leading their parents to shops decorated with winter themed wonderlands. A line for Santa in the distance seems to be growing each time Robert looks back. Teenagers, on the other hand, are busy at work although some are drinking coffee with huge dollops of whipped cream and chocolate or caramel drizzle, leaning against the several fountains of the mall.

Ariadne is dressed to the nines or at least Robert seems to think so with her doc martens, ripped jeans, and simple t-shirt. Robert in contrast is wearing a suit like he always does.

You may think that Robert's opinion of dressing to the nines is bias especially if it involves ripped jeans and doc fucking martens.

But Robert Fischer lives a boring life of suits after suits after suits. Lawyers and businesswomen and men only appear to have one setting when it comes to outfits.

The answer is suits if you couldn't tell.

"Nah, it's okay. My father's American so I managed to adopt a bit of his accent. The rest is something I tend to do consciously. My brother uses an accent similar to our mother's, British." She clarifies.

Robert notices that she moves her arms wildly when she's discussing things that make her happy.

"You've mentioned your brother before; are you close?"

"Well, it's a little difficult since we're seven years apart, but we're gotten closer these past years since he invited me to his impromptu wedding and not Mother." She giggles. "Oh, she had a cow when she found out."

"Do you make a habit of pissing off your mother?" He couldn’t bear to think what he would do if he ever pissed off his mother. He knows he could never get her back, but if her could, he would savor every happy minute he possibly could.

"She likes to put her nose into my business a lot, more than I would like so I purposely make it interesting or sometimes scandalous. About a month before I went to college in Paris, I fucked her best friend's daughter. We were bored at that stupid luncheon and well, nothing better to do." Ariadne shrugs as if it is nothing, but she is clearing waiting for his response.

"So, you're bisexual?" They stopped in front of one of the mall fountains. Ariadne taps her hand against her jeans, waiting.

"Yep."

"Good for you." They continue on their walk once more.

She rolls her eyes playfully. "Thank you, I try."

"Luncheon?" He dares to ask.

“Oh yeah. My mother likes to host her own during the holiday or any time to be honest. Sometimes I feel like she has a giant wheel like ‘The Price is Right’ and spins it whenever she needs a new excuse.” She turns to him. “You’ll be happy to know that we don’t have to help with the prep of it.”

"Do you usually?"

“Sometimes but thankful Arthur ‘volunteered.’” She makes quotation marks with her fingers and pulls an annoyed face.

They are both silent for a second.

"...Who's Arthur?"

“Huh?” She gives him a strange look before it dawns on her. “OH. He’s my brother’s husband. Oops, probably should have mentioned that before.”

She shrugs and Robert lets it go. Not a big deal.

Robert and Ariadne wander aimlessly through the outdoor mall for a little while longer before Ariadne pulls him toward one of the many grand Christmas window displays. Large nutcrackers decked in red, green, and snow-white stare back at him. He gives them a lopsided smile in return.

"You want to go inside?" She nudges him with her shoulder.

"Oh no, I couldn't." He hadn't been in a toy shop since he was a little kid; plus, they had no reason to go inside anyway. He voices this.

"My brother's friend has two kids. I was planning to buy them something later and send it but since we're already here we might as well, right?" She opens the glass door and leads him in. "So Phillipa likes all kinds of art at the moment, so I was planning to buy her maybe a nice sketchbook or some paints."

The toy store is...colorful to say the least. Children rush past them, giggling and holding up model trains over their heads. They're watching the track that run from the entrance to the service counter where an old man looking just a bit like Santa is manning it. Each part of the store has dozens of shelves. Everything is organized but disorganized in a strange sort of way. To his right, Ariadne is toying, pun not intended, with one of the model dolls houses on the shelf in front of her.

"What do you think?" She opens the window of the second story of the house and pulls out a small baby-shaped doll piece. "I don't know if Phillipa will like it, but James might?"

"Does he like that sort of thing?" Robert gets slightly distracted by a collection of Hot Wheels a kid is playing with, making "zooming" noises and pushing the car across the round red rug like a racetrack. A boy next to her pushes his car as well.

Ariadne follows his eyeline and smiles sweetly. "I think so. He loves houses and building so maybe just the house and not the dolls would be more up his alley. We should probably come up with a backstory before we leave in two days." She mentions the last part offhandedly like she isn't even aware that she had while taking a hold of the house and setting down on the counter.

Pulling out a Christmas themed reusable bag, the older man messes with his white beard. The Santa lookalike types something in the computer. It looks like it’s about this close to dying on him. The keys creak as he moves his hands across them.

"Do you have any sketchbooks?"

The old man points to one of the walls on the other side of the store. Hundreds of spiral bound books and more types of pencils than Robert even wanted to count.

Ariadne grins and pats Robert on the arm before going to pick out something for Phillipa.

"How many children do you have?"

He whips around so his glaze now fell on the faux Santa. “What?” Surprise evident in his voice.

“How many children do you have?” He repeats his question, pointing to the doll house Robert’s companion had chosen.

“Oh!” Robert shakes his head borderline violently again and again in denial. “Oh no, these are for her friend’s children.”

“Ah.” The man scratches his white beard and goes back to his older than the earth itself computer. Ariadne comes back with a good nine by twelve spiral multimedia one. She grins at him.

“Ready to go?” She pulls out the same credit card she paid for his coffee with and hands it to the man.

They continue shopping for a while until Ariadne decides they should stop for lunch. Robert tries to awkwardly suggest places around the mall include the food court of all things. He’s never been to the mall…sue him.

Ariadne insists they go somewhere not in the mall but close by. Better place to have a more private conversation. She pauses for a moment in thought and then lights up like a Christmas tree.

“There is this wonderful diner just around the corner if you feel up for it. My brother and I used to get milkshakes there all the time when I just moved here. The chocolate ones are the best. Do you like milkshakes?”

"I've never had one."

Ariadne's mouth flies open. "Seriously?"

“Are they any good?” He had been meaning to try one. He just…didn’t have the time.

“Oh, now we are so going!” She grins and pulls him down the street; it’s not really pulling if he goes with her willing.

One of the waitresses of the diner grabs her notebook and seats them as fast as lightning when they enter. She taps her foot to the song that is playing softly under the noise of the other occupants. It sounds jazzy? He can’t tell from here.

He fumbles with the menu, trying to figure out what he wants. The nervous energy he has been feeling all day seems to come back in full force ready to strike. His hands shaking. His eyes darting.

“I got this.” She said for the thousandth time today. Seriously Robert…can’t even order a fucking meal for yourself in front of her, you idiot. Still, the day has been going pretty well.

She orders hamburgers and fries for them both and then insists on chocolate milkshakes; however, as if Robert spoke too soon, everything soon goes to shit.

The waitress leaves but something stops Ariadne from looking back at him. Her eyes widen as the bell above the door rings and two men step through the threshold of the diner.

Chapter Text

December 21

Oh, fucking hell. Nope. Not gonna deal with this today.

Across the table from her, Robert keeps trying to get her attention. "Wait, who are they? Ariadne? Ariadne?"

Do you ever get the feeling that your life would be better off if you were an only child? Because she's really starting to want that.

The figures that were once standing at the door way are growing dangerously closer. She can hear Fischer calling her name but everything other than the approaching two men becomes background sounds like her mother's noise machine that makes the most annoying whale calls known to man.

"Ariadne?" The billionaire's voice is trapping in a well deep in the center of the earth and Ariadne is stuck in a fucking diner, watching her older brother and his husband greet the waitress.

The latter points at her and Robert.

"Hello Aria, how've you been?" Eames' smile would look genuine to anyone who didn't know him well enough.

Beside him, Arthur makes a motion, asking if they were allowed to sit down. Robert scoots over. Arthur sits, but not before unbuttoning his suit a little. Eames still stands.

"Eames?" Arthur's tone candy sweet.

"Yes, Darling?"

"Sit the fuck down before you cause a scene. We don't want another repeat of Dubai."

The Englishman rolls his eyes and joins the rest in the booth. "'Hello Ari how've you been?' 'Oh, I've been great Rupert! I told Mother I had a boyfriend even though we both know for a fact that I don't.' 'Wow, how'd that happen?'" Eames plays out a fake conversation with squeaky parts as Ariadne.

She makes a face, turning back to her "boyfriend."

"Robert, please meet my older brother, Rupert. Rupert, this is my new fake boyfriend that I am most definitely in a real relationship with, and you will not breath a word of it to Mother." Her grin is so strained that it looked as though her teeth would shatter at any minute.

"Oh, really or what?"

"Art co-"

"Not gonna work this time." Eames growls. "She won't believe you. I'm the favorite child."

"So, you're playing THAT card, huh?"

"Definitely." Both siblings engage in an intense staring contest.

Arthur opts to ignore this and instead turn to Fischer. Said man is staring at Ariadne in awe and slight horror. Sensing his confusion, Arthur waves his worries away with a "happens all the time."

"Great." Robert nods. It isn't great.

"What did you say your name was again?" Arthur raises a single thin eyebrow.

"I didn't." He sticks his hand out not unlike Ariadne had done the previous night. "Robert Fischer. And you are?"

"Arthur." You can't blame the Point Man for being a little paranoid especially when your sister-in-law brings a former target out on what appeared to be a date. A date that Mr. Eames and he had apparently crashed.

Oops.

Arthur gingerly takes the offered hand and gives it two short choppy shakes. He doesn't smile.

"Nice to meet you." Robert's own smile is weak.

Thankful by this time the Eames siblings are quite finished with their contest with Eames doing a weird sitting down victory dance. Ariadne ignores this, opting instead to continue with her lunch date with or without her brother crowded adjacent to her.

Obviously, it doesn't work. She turns to Eames once her third attempt falls flat.

"Since when are you two in town?"

"Since always."

"Since yesterday," Arthur corrects his husband with a fond but annoyed look. "We were hoping to find an extr- someone to join us on a job." He stops himself, glancing at Fischer out of the corner of his eye.

He raises an eyebrow. Ariadne shakes her head discreetly as if to say, "No, he doesn't have a clue and I'd very much like to keep it that way, so no one is arrested, or he hates me forever."

Arthur sends her back a look he hopes conveys that "that is a really fucking terrible plan! How the hell are we supposed to deal with that all Christmas? In fact, what the fuck got you in this state of affairs in the first fucking place?" You know, as you do.

"You know what, Aria?" Eames rests his arms behind his head and shoots his younger sister a smug look.

"What?" Fischer is starting look uncomfortable while Ariadne just looked fucking done with Eames' shit.

"We should totally do a double date with your new boyfriend! While Arthur and I are still in town, of course." His voice sounds like a valley girl impression you would do while blackout drunk. Eames then shows off a fanged grin, directed mostly at Fischer.

No one else at the table says a word.

"How's tomorrow sound to you, Aria?"

"Fine." Arthur can practically hear her teeth grinding.

A moment later, Fischer clears his throat awkwardly. "I have a meeting I have to get to soon." He gestures for Arthur to let him out of the booth. Ariadne makes Eames do the same.

She hugs him and gives him a kiss on the cheek. Arthur watches as he hides his flushed cheeks from the woman in front of him. "We'll talk later?"

He nods back, exiting the diner. Fischer glances back at the table once more before heading out the door. Ariadne doesn't seem to notice; Arthur decides not to mention it.

Eames and Arthur wait a minute or two just in case Fischer comes back. Eames turns to his little sister. "What the fuck, Ariadne?"

"Oh, piss off. I have a boyfriend to bring for Christmas; Mother is beyond ecstatic." She reasons.

"Oh, and it just happens to be the same person you helped perform inception on last year? Did you track him down because you wanted to find the worst possible person to bring as your fake boyfriend? And don't get me started on that! A fake boyfriend, how the hell are you going to pull that off? Mother could find out! Your little fake boytoy could arrest us for fucking with his brain pan and uggh!" He finishes his rant with his hands in a clawing like motion almost as if he was strangling an imaginary person. "I fucking hate you, Ariadne Elizabeth."

"No, you don't." She scoffs.

"Not helping your case, Ariadne."

Arthur raises an eyebrow, still watching the trainwreck happen from across the table.

She pursed her lips before answering. "First of all, I didn't go looking for him, I found him at a bar. Second, he doesn't know who we are, and I’d like to keep it that way. As for the fake dating, well..." She trails off wearing the same smug look Eames had a few minutes ago.

Oh fuck no. Nothing good could come of this. Arthur waits for the other shoe to drop.

"I was hoping on you guys help with that."

Arthur beats Eames to the punch. "Oh hell no." Eames repeats his sentiment in turn.

"Oh, you will. In fact, you can help with the whole story on our date tomorrow." She stands up and walks out of the diner, head tilted up in satisfaction.

-:-

Peter Browning prides himself in being, by his standards at least, a reasonable man. He never did anything bad to anyone who didn't deserve it. The older Fischer would have agreed with him on that. The younger Fischer would have two years ago but now...

Now, Robert Fischer was starting to be a pain in the ass. He was breaking apart the company and making deals without consulting him.

He won't even tell him why he keeps doing this!

Peter huffs, brushing the nonexistent lint off his suit. Thank god, they were having a board meeting this afternoon. Peter enters the large office space almost entirely made of windows. In the middle of the room is a long table with a few higher raking members of the company already seated. Peter takes his place at the end closest to the whiteboard placed in the room.

Slowly, each one of the seats are filled over the course of the next ten or so minutes. Surprising or not surprising as of lately, Robert was late.

Peter clears his throat, preparing to write something with the markers under the board. The door of the meeting room slides open, Robert Fischer slips into his seat on the other side of the table.

"Oh, don't stop on my account, Peter." He gestures for him to continue.

Peter can't help but be a little petty with a "Glad you could join us, Robert. Hope we hadn't interrupted your lunch."

The younger man acts like he didn't hear the facetious tone and smiles. "No, not at all."

Peter addressed the new numbers and various other statistics they liked to talk about during these sort of meetings. Robert, every single time that Peter would glance at him, is texting someone on his phone. Peter even catches him grinning sweetly a few times! At the end of the meeting after the rest of the board files out, Peter pulls Robert aside.

"Robert, where were you this morning?"

"Why?" He makes the face of an irked child.

"You seemed a little distracted just a while ago." Understatement of the century. "Is this going to be a problem during any business in the next few days?"

"Actually Peter, would you mind delaying any of my important meetings until around new year’s?"

"ExcuSE ME?" Peter growls. "Why would I do that? What could that possibly have to do with this morning?"

Robert open the door and Peter follows him to the elevator to the younger man's office on the next floor. "I'm going to meet my girlfriend's parents for the holidays, so I won't have time to oversee any of my scheduled meetings." He waves his hand in a dismissing motion.

"Your girlfriend?" Peter asks in horror.

"Yep." The elevator opens and Robert stops at the secretary’s desk right before his office. "Avery, if you could inform anyone who has a meeting with me between the 23rd and the 31st that I'll have to reschedule for the time being?" Avery nods and begins typing away at their computer.

Peter begrudgingly follows into Robert's office and sits down on the opposite side of the desk. "Your girlfriend? Is THAT where you were this morning?"

"Yes." Robert smiles. He fucking smiles.

"Well," Peter still isn't convince that Robert made up a significant other and might just be a little crazy. "Does your girlfriend have a name?"

"Ariadne Eames." Robert messes with something on his desk for a moment. "Oh Peter, she has the most amazing voice and her eyes..." Lovesick...uggh.

Peter could deal with a lot of things but lovesick.

Wait.

Now he has a name he could use that to his advantage. Peter politely excuses himself, leaving Robert in his office slowly ruining the company.

-:-

December 22

"Do you think I'm a bad person, darling?" Arthur lifts his head off Eames' bare chest.

 "Is this really a good time for a philosophical discussion, Mr. Eames? It's too early." He huffs, pulling his husband back toward him. The sun is barely peeking over the horizon, finding its way through their hotel room window.

"I just think that maybe I might be using my mother’s favoritism to get back at Aria. What do you think?"

Arthur yawns. Eames stares back at him, still holding onto him tightly.

"I think you should go back to sleep and worry about this later." Arthur pulls Eames down for a kiss.

"Hmm...you might be onto something."

-:-

"Do I even wanna know why you two are late?" Ariadne holds the door of the restaurant open for the older couple. Fischer is standing beside her, not saying a word.

"Nope." Eames hums, staring a definitely not subtle look with the Point Man.

"Great." Aria grumbles. Fischer follows close behind and stays on the same side of the table as her this time around. Eames rolls his eyes.

"So, you're going to help us with a backstory?" Fischer dares to ask. Seriously Aria, out of all the men in the world, him?

"Whoever told you that bullshit?" Eames crosses his arms, refusing to look at his sister.

Fischer looks helplessly at Ariadne but Arthur elbows Eames in the ribs, stopping him from making another jab at the billionaire.

"Rupert, pretty please!" Aria laces her fingers together and bats her eyes.

That's stupid. It's not gonna work thi-

"Fine, Aria." He sighs. "You win this time."

"Oh, thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" She squeals.

"Yeah, yeah, let's get cooking then." Eames slaps his hands together. "You ready to lie to sixty year old English woman, trust fund kid?" he asks Fischer.

"Eames, play nice." Arthur hums.

"Arthur, darling, I am nice." His husband snorts like he knows it's a bold-faced lie. "I am!"

"Whatever you say, Mr. Eames."

"Of course. Now Aria, I love you to death but please tell you have at least some idea of a backstory because I don't trust Mr. Awkward Billionaire Boy over there. No offense."

"...what?" Fischer manages to say.

"Don't worry about it." Arthur runs a bit of damage control. "Let's get started, where did you meet?"   

Chapter Text

December 23

"This is a terrible idea." Her brother groans, throwing his head back. Arthur rolls his eyes, ignoring his husband next to him in favor of his newest mystery book. Arthur, when he isn't stressed about the job, likes to seek out independent bookstores and buy as many cozy mystery novels as he possibly can. Ariadne thinks the excuse of ignoring Eames or any other person in the vicinity might factor into the Point Man's decision just a bit.

Ari and Robert are both seated in one row of chairs while Arthur and Eames sit across from them in another row. The airport is mostly empty except for a very buy line for coffee on the other side of the hall.

Arthur takes sip of Eames' coffee, flipping a page.

Robert uncrosses his legs, then crosses them, then uncrosses, then-

"Fischer, would you quit that?" Eames glares.

"Right, sorry." He looks slightly uncomfortable at the prospect of the commercial flight.

Eames points this out but all he gets is a dirty look from Ariadne and a "hmm" from Arthur. "I get that we're riding in first class, but Fischer could have spared his private jet for a trip. After all, it's for his girlfriend." Eames glances at her from across the carpet strip.

"Fake girlfriend, Rupert."

"Better get rid of the 'fake' before we meet up with your mother." Arthur doesn't look from his book to say this.

"Right." She pretends like that thought had occurred to her long before this and she definitely did not need Arthur to remind her. Of course…

Beat.

"You never answered my question, Aria. Why can't we just take Fischer's jet? Wouldn't have the pay for a thing if we did!" He tries to reason with her.

Arthur murmurs something along the lines of "why are you worried about money? You don't even pay taxes."

"Because, Rupert," She gives him a fanged grin that looks seconds away from cracking. "Mother would be beyond annoying if she knew about a private jet. You know how she gets."

Eames hums in agreement. Nothing like siblings teaming up against their parents. What a time to be alive.

Their mother thought she was all that with her dry martinis. Have you ever tried one of those things? Ugh. Ariadne hates that drink with a burning passion. Now shitty beer, that is the elixir of the gods.

Especially after the mess that is the Eames Family Christmas Celebration. It was tradition after all for her, Eames, and now Arthur to go to the pub in town after boxing day. Maybe she could take Robert there after this whole mess. Would he like that sort of thing?

Arthur clears his throat, glares pointedly at his husband, and goes back to his book once more. Eames grins back at him and hugs his shoulder just a little in a sweet, almost subtle-like fashion. Arthur smiles.

Ariadne watches as Arthur then proceeds to read the same page over again a dozen times and pretend he isn't blushing red at the attention.

"Is your hometown nice this time of year?" Robert says next to her. The expression he is currently sport reminds her somewhat of a baby owl, clueless but eager.

She laughs. "Only if you like bitter snow and ice and suddenly sunshine all in the same day, then oh definitely, you're going to love it there." She can't tell if he can tell she's being sarcastic.

Eh. Not the most dire thing to worry about at this moment. There are a lot of things that Ariadne didn't need to worry about this moment in time like the extensive line at Starbucks or the plane they hadn't boarded yet but are just waiting for, or maybe even the fact that Arthur and Eames look awfully close to making out right now in the middle of the airport.

Ok never mind.

She should definitely worry about the last one. If they did, she could probably just go hide in the bathroom. Or maybe give them a little taste of their own medicine.

Robert next to her looking pretty with his clean pressed suit and knitted eyebrows. If she didn't know he is nervous and a bit wired from his coffee earlier, she would have thought he was concentrating on something really important. Is the important thing at this minute his shoes? Maybe...

Still, he looks amazing.

No. Not worth it.

She'd ruin everything if she would make out with him now. Plus, how are you supposed to make "making out near the Starbucks of the San Diego International Airport" into something romantic? Ariadne is starting to think maybe her priorities aren't very straight.

Then again, neither is she.

"Oh, well, I can't say I've dealt with something like that..."

"Hard to believe that, mate. After all, you-" Arthur cuts off Eames grabbing his face and kiss him. The rest of the words the brit was going to say are now lost to Arthur's lips.

Ariadne rolls her eyes and ignores them, even more when they don't stop.

Thankful for both her and Robert, a pleasant voice announces that their flight is now boarding.

-:-

Ariadne's older brother is very strange; he wears the strangest clothing as well. Bright printed button ups with flowers and other tropical themed things. Which is a great idea if you’re going on vacation on a beach somewhere or an island in the summer but is definitely out of place for the winter holidays in England.

Robert finds his way into a first-class seat across the row from Ariadne. Arthur is behind him, and Eames is behind Ariadne.

"So, Fischer," Eames' calm husband- Arthur- his brain supplies, waits for Robert to face him before he speaks again. "Would you like to hear the story of how Mr. Eames and I met?"

"Oh Darling, you should let me tell it."

“I’d rather not, Mr. Eames.”

“Why?” Ariadne’s brother pouts like a child, crossing his arms.

Arthur sighs, amused. "Because you always exaggerate the details."

Eames' mouth flies open in protest. "I do NOT!"

"Do so."

"Do not."

The two bicker back and forth for a few minutes. Ariadne finally has enough and interrupts them.

"Are you going to tell him the story or not because we need to review the facts by the time we get home."

"Oh please, Aria. We have ten hours. The facts can wait just a minute or two. We don't want to bore Mr. Fischer with all those boring details." Eames teases. "Now Arthur, darling, if you would be so kind."

The other man puts his mystery book down on his lap. "Joining the military was a mistake, in my opinion. Did I meet a wonderfully endearing man through the military? Yes. But the military is still terrible. I regret joining at such an early age and I'm glad I'm now retired."

"What did you do that made you retire?" Robert dares to ask.

"I...um...decided to dream a little bigger." If Robert looked close enough, Arthur almost looked embarrassed.

Arthur, Eames, and Ariadne seem to share this strange tiresome but delightful look that everyone but him knew, some inside joke.

"Oh," He prompts the suit-cladded man to continue speaking.

"We met through mutual friends at a party. Mr. Eames spilled an entire liter of coke down my suit and followed me around the rest of the night apologizing every few minutes. When I finally forgave him, he promised he would take me on the grandest date I had ever been on. He gave me his number, and I called him back a week or so later to see if we could meet.

“Turns out he was being shipped out to do a tour in Iraq. So, we played phone tag for a while even when I was pulled into my own tour, and we still hadn't had our first date. After my tour, he found where we were staying just after coming back from Iraq and took me on that date. 2 years later, we got married."

"See, romantic." Eames' lips curl up at the corners when he looks at Arthur. "I think I tell it better though, darling."

"Whatever you say, Mr. Eames."

For the next two hours, Robert listens to the two bicker and tell various stories about themselves. Most are kind of cute except for the one about Ariadne's brother hitting his head on a sign while riding his bike. Ariadne is giggling the whole time which make it a little hard to get the full narrative.

"So, Fischer, what's your best childhood story?" Eames leers, a little tipsy at this point from the free champagne he is continuing to drink. The others don't seem to mind.

"Ummm..." He struggles for a moment as Ariadne and the couple stare at him expectantly. "I don't really have one. My family isn't what you would call...a family? In any sort of way." He glances out the window to avoid the looks of pity he is surely getting right now.

"Woo! Childhood trauma!" Robert turns back around just in time to see Ariadne and Eames high five. Eames offers his hand to Robert, but the billionaire just stares at it awkwardly.

Eames tries to do the same to Arthur. Arthur, on the other hand, doesn’t stare at the hand and instead, rolls his eyes and takes out his book again.

"Perhaps, Ariadne, it would be beneficial for you and Fischer to go over your cover story once more?" He says it as if it's a question, but the more Robert gets to know the uptight man, the more he realizes that it's almost never a question you should answer with "no."

Ariadne tilts her body so she's adjacent to him and can see his face well enough. Robert does the same.

"So," Ariadne clasps her hands together, trying the rid the aura of the building tension. It doesn’t really work since Eames and Arthur are still beside them. "Quiz time, you ready?"

He nods after a few seconds.

"What are my parents' names and what do they do? Where did we meet? How long have we been dating?"

Ok, he's got this. No pressure.

"Your mom's name is Charlotte. Your dad's name is George; he runs an architecture business up north while your mother works with charities." He pauses to watch Ariadne nod. Yes! Two down! "You’re an architect yourself, and we met when I hired you to do some consulting work for one of my companies in California. We have been dating for eight months."

"Perfect!"

They go back and forth for a little while talking about favorite colors and stuff they like. Every so often one of them would pose a question that the other would have to guess.

"Just one thing you forgot, Aria!" Eames butts in with a sing-songy tone.

"What, Rupert?"

"If you have been dating for eight months, shouldn't you show a little PDA?" He starts making loud kissing noises in Ariadne's ears. She places her entire palm on his face and deliberately pushes him away.

"Quit it!"

"You know I’m right."

"Just because you're right doesn't mean to you have to be annoying about it." Shit. Robert definitely should have thought that through before he said it aloud.

He waits for them to glare or kick him out of the plane. The second was unlikely but still. Instead, Arthur and Ariadne both start to laugh.

"I knew there is a reason I like you." Ariadne grins.

He blushes.

"Handholding and kisses okay with you?" She asks after everyone has stopped snickering at Eames' expense.

He nods and the conversation goes back to funny stories about Eames and Arthur. Robert tunes most of this out to stare at the clouds passing them in the window.

Everything will work out just fine. He gets to have a whole week off without Peter breathing down his neck or other companies trying to win him over. Plus, he can celebrate Christmas for the first time in a long time so that's great. Everything is coming up roses! Almost nothing can ruin his good mood right now.

Chapter Text

December 23

There's a car to pick them up at the airport.

"A little impersonal," Eames murmurs beside him. That was the only comment made on the subject as Ariadne pretends she doesn't care, and Robert Fischer apparently lives in a world where this is a common occurrence.

Arthur would pray to any god that could listen (and he happens to be an atheist, thank you very much) that if him and Eames ever have kids, they were never going to be like Charlotte Eames.

Or Cobb for that matter. That man. Sure, he worked for him for years, but after inception Eames complained for a month and a half of the danger Cobb had put them in.

"Seriously, Arthur darling, if Cobb ever gets back into dreamsharing again and tries to drag you down with him, I will kill him myself." Eames had told him one morning last spring. They were living in Arthur's New York apartment at the time, and they were thoroughly enjoying themselves on their well-deserved vacation if you catch his drift.

The apartment was beautiful, one of the finest that Arthur had ever lived in. He was even contemplating making this one of his permanent residences. The furniture was leather, the sheets on their bed had a wonderful thread count, and the artwork above the headboard was a forgery Eames made for him of "The Blue Dancers" by Edgar Degas.

Personally, Arthur preferred more postmodern artwork but this one is special. Eames had taken him to the art museum in Moscow early in their relationship and had waxed poetry about the way the ballet dancers were depicted. So, when he had shown Eames that new apartment a year later, well, he had the perfect idea on what they should do with the bedroom.

And if you ask Arthur about the fact that Eames had to break into the museum several times just to perfect the forgery, Arthur wouldn't dare mention that he found it super attractive and definitely rewarded Eames on all his hard work.

Arthur loves their apartment because it's alone and not crowded with dreamsharers or family. Arthur did not love Mrs. Eames demanding that Arthur helps her with all of her Christmas activities this year. She might even ruin their plan of staying in the room above the pub like always. But as strong-willed as Arthur is, he really doesn't feel like getting into an argument with the Eames family matriarch today or tomorrow or anytime this week for that matter.

So, he wasn't going to bring up the sleeping situations, any luncheon they would be forced into, or the car at the airport either.

On the bright side, by the time they had spent four or five minutes in the car, everyone seemed more relaxed except Fischer. Arthur's starting to think nervous is just his baseline.

Arthur tunes into Ariadne and Fischer's conversation just as the former tries to assure the billionaire. "But you don't want to be obvious that we're pretending, you know? Also, you have to be polite but not a pushover. Answer every single one of her questions, but don't let her egg you on. You get it right?"

Fischer gaps like a fish, pun not intended. "...I think so?"

"Good."

Eames inches closer to his ear to whisper, "They're so screwed." Arthur glares back at his husband but secretly agrees.

-:-

They continue down a gravel-like road past the many houses of the English town and then most of the town. A woman dressed in overalls waves from the front of the town’s pub. She seems to recognize the car they are in.

The dusty road gives way to what can only be described as a portal to an enchanted forest. A little cheesy, Robert surmises, but accurate.

The car stops in front of a manor-like house with large bayside windows. The sides of the house are painted a tasteful dark blue and a man dressed in a clean pressed suit walks out the front door to open the car for them. Eames is the last to step out.

Robert watches at Eames greets him as "Jeeves" and mockingly salutes him. The other man doesn't bat an eye and returns the favor by calling the younger man "Master Wayne."

Beside him, Ariadne offers a wave. "Hello, Max. How are you?"

"Very good, Miss Ariadne. Your parents are inside and have already prepared food for the evening." He gestures to the manor's entrance. "If you or Mr. Rupert require anything else, please let me know soon. Otherwise, I will take my leave for the holidays." Max waits for any kind of response for Ariadne or her older brother.

"We're fine, thank you." Eames sounds sincere. "Where are you going, if I may ask?"

Max smiles and adjust his necktie just a smidge. "My wife and I are visiting our eldest daughter in Germany. I will not be back until mid-January since she is going to have a baby soon. Please remind your mother of this around the new year."

"You would hate for her to call you up while on holiday." Eames finished for him.

"Exactly." Max leads them all inside.

The house is beyond beautiful with large winding staircase and clerestory windows that carve their own place in the ceiling above the main room. There's an older woman with a cocktail dress slowly stepping down the tile stairs. Her dark brown hair sits on either side of her shoulder. Once she reaches the bottom, she holds her arms open to offer hugs. The siblings each give her one in turn.

She manages, despite what Robert thinks, to rope Arthur into a hug as well. He looks extremely uncomfortable. Thankful, Robert doesn't receive one.

"Hello, and who might you be?" The woman, who at this point he assumes is Charlotte Eames, hums. She glances at him up and down with a hint of disapproval.

Before he can speak and promptly embarrass himself, Ariadne butts in. "Mother, this is my boyfriend...you know, the one I mentioned on the phone."

"Yes, yes, Ariadne, I remember! I'm not senile yet!" She sneers.

There a beat of awkward silence before Eames clears his throat. "I'm starving. What are we eating for dinner?"

-:-

The grandfather clock against the wall stares back at him. The hands are curled into vines while still keeping their shape. A bright light fixture hangs low in the dining room. Robert thinks maybe if he stares hard enough at it, he'll go blind, pass out, and not have to deal with parental interrogation while jetlagged.

Unfortunately, wishes these days are hard to come by, and once everyone is seated and served, Mrs. Eames coughs to get the table's attention.

Her husband barely looks up from his plate. He looks almost like the spitting image of Eames but seems to have dealt with Mrs. Eames dramatic flair enough that he barely bats an eye. His suit is tidy and unwrinkled. His face is not.

"So, Ariadne, please introduce me to your boyfriend." She picks a wine glass and sips gracefully.

Ariadne, who is seated between Eames and Robert, freezes for a second. She set her fork down next to her own glass of red wine. Eames nods at her to continue.

"Right...umm..."

"Don't stutter, Ariadne."

Eames shares a discrete look with his husband which Robert can guess amounts to "seriously, her stuttering or lack thereof is the least terrible thing at this dinner" or something like that.

Reading minds is not a superpower you gain while working with energy conglomerates. Sorry to disappoint the masses on that one.

"Mother, this is my boyfriend, Robert Fischer. Robert, this is my mother, Charlotte Eames."

He politely smiles. Mrs. Eames inclines her head.

"Fischer?" She brings up after a moment of extremely awkward silence. "Where do I know that name from?"

"I own an energy company along with a few other things. Fischer-Marrow?" He always hated to name drop. Peter loves doing it but then again, it’s Peter.

"Oh!" She leers but in a very graceful sort of way unlike when your drunk aunt who has been divorced three times has a terrible idea of dancing on mom's old coffee table during Thanksgiving. That is the kind of situation that is never gracefully.

In case you were wondering, this is a totally made-up metaphor and definitely didn't happen when Robert was eight.

“How in the world did you meet my Ariadne?"

Moment of truth. Here goes nothing. He opens his mouth to answer but nothing comes out.

Beat.

"We met when I was consult for one of his new projects, Mother."

"Oh yes, your freelancing career. How could I forget?" She waves her daughter off. The older Mr. Eames looks up from his plate as if he is going to mention something; he doesn't.

"Yes, well," he pretends if he is in a meeting with the board. He's a badass. He could do this.

Ariadne looks pleading at him. Her sweet brown eyes blink at him like a cute deer.

Oh. He melts into a pile of goo at the table. Despite her now annoyed disposition, her appearance is beyond heavenly.

Uggh.

Snap out of it, you idiot.

He manages to pry himself away from his thoughts just in time for another question.

"Robert, dear, will you be staying for Christmas? You don't have to get back to work so soon?" This seems like a trap.

No. He could do this. "I took the week off actually. Just for her." He reaches out and clasps her hand, squeezing it once. Ariadne's thin frown curves up at one end.

"Aww!" Mrs. Eames coos. "That's wonderful. Isn't that wonderful, George?" The older man nods and replies with what Robert can only assume is an involuntary response. Maybe someday someone will mention its resemblances to a broken record.

"Of course, dear."

The large clock in the dining room chimes signaling that it's now eight o'clock.

Most of the seated members of the Eames family don’t move. They do however put down their glasses of fancy, cost more than most college tuition, wine and various other silverware.

Eames cross the room to kiss his mother on the cheek. "Well, Mother, Arthur and I will just be going." Arthur had spoken to Robert about that earlier today on the plane. Arthur and Eames got along fine with Mr. and Mrs. Eames, yet sometimes you need just a teeny, tiny break from family to live your own life.

"Oh Rupert, just this once, stay." Mrs. Eames grips his arms a bit too tightly.

"But Mother-" She shoots him a glare that could melt the sun itself.

"We'd love to stay, Mrs. Eames." Arthur cuts his husband off before he could start anymore world-shattering trouble. Both share a strange look; Eames nods slowly.

"Guess we better go to bed too." Ariadne pushes her chair in. She pulls Robert out of the room, or at least three fourths out of the room then Mrs. Eames mentions something that might ruin his entire forever for all of his existence on this planet.

Mistletoe. The insistent little berry that had no other purpose Christmas wise than forced romance. Oh, what fun. There is a reason Robert kept all of his girlfriends, one-night stands, or lovers far, far away from any mistletoe planted around the office or in his house.

His house cleaner, on the other hand, thought it would be funny. Every year she hangs up ten of them and every year Robert takes down ten different doorway wreaths in the name of the depressing holiday season.

Mrs. Eames points up above them, grinning from ear to ear. "Go on, Robert. Give her a kiss."

Eames and Arthur have long since left the room so they wouldn’t try and hold this over Robert and Ariadne’s head. You know, as Eames has a great habit of doing such.

He flushes red. The clock behind him slows down, each tick of the second hand is a second longer that they stand there in the threshold of the dining room and the main hall. The room is silent. He's pretty sure Ariadne can hear the gears in his head turning. They were now facing each other, the Christmas plant above them.

Oh fuck.

Chapter Text

December 23

Instead of giving him a quick peck on the cheek or even acting like she was too tired to kiss, Ariadne just stares at Robert like an idiot. The room is silent as mother waits for a response. It feels like those gameshows she always plays on her TV while scrolling through her phone, not really paying a lot of attention to.

The light of the set would be in neon blue or green. She'd be standing in front of the huge audience as the timer ticks down.

"Welcome back to another episode of everyone's favorite gameshow, "Where Did It Go Wrong?" Your next question, Ariadne, is which part of your plan did everything go wrong?" The man in the painfully bright three-piece suit, not unlike some of her brother fashion choices holds the mic up to her face. "Was it A. Not noticing the decorated doorways, B. Talking to Robert Fischer in the first place, C. Not killing your brother while you had the chance, D. Avoid the Christmas holidays all together, or E. All of the above?"

The audience watches with the rapture of vultures. "E?"

There's a pause as the man brings the mic back towards him and looks down at his cue cards. "That is...correct!" Everyone cheers as balloons fall from the ceiling, one of them lightly touching her hair.

"Ariadne?" Robert asks softly, touching the side of her face like the imaginary balloon had. "Are you ok?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." She lies.

Without warning, she pulls Robert closer. He freezes for a moment then melts into the kiss. His lips are a bit chapped, but she certainly isn't complaining as he moves his hands to her waist. Her thoughts drift away like they’re nothing. Her and Robert break away after what seems like hours.

Mother is smiling at her. "Aww! Isn't that adorable?" She then turns to Ariadne's companion. "Robert, you and Ariadne are welcome to share her childhood bedroom. I'm going to bed. George?"

"Be up in a minute, 'Lotte." Her father hums. Once Mother leaves, he approaches the couple who is still in the doorway. He glares pointedly at the both of them.

"Hi Dad." She tries to break the tension.

"Mr. Fischer and I will be having a long talk tomorrow morning to make sure he's treating you right." Dad makes a 'I'm watching you' motion, turns, and heads up to bed.

"Night Dad." She tries to hide her grin.

"Goodnight, Ariadne."

Robert lets go of her waist. "Sorry."

"No, it's fine." She brushes him off. "Let me show you my room."

-:-

"I'm sor- You're naked!" Robert slaps his hands over his eyes. Ariadne walks out her conjoined bathroom with a white towel wrapped around her. Robert is laying over the made queen bed in the center of the room. Part of it is still decorated like it had been eight years before now, the posters and drawing tools spread across various surfaces.

"I am." She walks over to her walk-in closet, paying no mind to Robert who is blushing a brilliant bright red behind his palms. "I hope that kiss didn't make you uncomfortable."

Ariadne selects a navy-blue nightgown. She unties the soft towel wrapped around her chest, letting it rest on a hook near the closet door.

"No, no, no. It was gr- fine. The kiss was fine. Everything was fine. The mistletoe was fine. The kiss didn't make me uncomfortable; in fact, I really enjoyed the ki- company. I enjoyed...your presence? I'm gonna stop talking now..." Robert Fischer trails off. His hands are still covering his upper facial expressions, but he's turned toward the sound of her voice and his mouth is turned into the shape you would make if you just bit into a piece of sour candy.

Ariadne hums, slips into the gown, and curls her fingers around the billionaire's fingers. They are soft. They hold on to her as if her fingertips are delicate, made of glass about to shatter.

She lowers his hands from his face, pats them when they finally rest in his lap.

If Robert could turn even redder, he would have won the contest for most embarrassed man in the world.

"It's ok if you don't want us to kiss anymore. I can find an excuse if my mother asks?"

"Umm..." He stutters, his eyes trail down her body then snaps up. "You look bea- nice."

"Thank you?" She sits down next to him, the mattress pushing them toward each other just a bit. "That's not what I ask though."

"Oh."

They sit in silence avoiding each other's glaze. The billionaire clears his throat, watching the steam from her bathroom create drops of water on the mirror. He stands up.

"We can kiss more." He offers her a smile. "I don't mind. We have to keep up the story, right?"

"Right." She lies. Ariadne curls her hands on her knees over and over again.

"Good."

They stare at each other. No one moves. Ariadne's almost tempted to kiss him again. She shakes away this thought. No. This whole affair made him incredible nervous so it would benefit her more if she doesn't listen to these sorts of ideas. Listening to them once caused a huge fire in the south side of the house.

Ok, so it was practically Eames' fault for being the lighter fluid and three boxes of matches, but she had been the one who set it off. They didn't even need all the boxes. Ariadne has a sneaking suspicion that her older brother just grabbed whatever things he had hiding in his room. At the time, she had been eleven and as a responsible eighteen year old brother and role model, Eames smoked weed and a few other things when their mother wasn't looking.

Ariadne never told him, but he was probably observant enough to realize that Ariadne had once tried his weed. She hated it. She never tries it or goes snooping through Eames' secret places in his room ever again. But what Eames doesn't know, won't kill him.

Arthur being Arthur definitely knew...somehow.

He also most likely heard the fire story before and doesn't trust Eames around lighter fluid either. Mother never found out about the fire just for the record. Max had. As did Dad.

Dad was pissed. Thankfully, he never figures out where Eames had gotten the matches.

So, following random ideas doesn't go well for anyone in the Eames family. Kissing Robert would only backfire.

"I'm going to take a shower if you don't mind?" He points to the attached bathroom.

"Right, sure, definitely." She nods much more than was necessary, watching the brown-haired man quickly grab his clothes as to not walk around with a towel like she had done.

The door slams behind him. Better luck next time then.

Picking up a book she had packed for the trip but had been much too anxious to bother reading it on the plane or in the car ride here, she slips under the blankets and opens to where she had left off.

-:-

Eames listens to the conversation Arthur is having with someone on the phone next to him while they both watch the light from the sun creep away back down the hills. Arthur curls his hand around Eames'.

"What! What do you mean he's missing? Where could he have possibly gone?" Arthur's grip tighten just a bit.

Eames catches his eye and gives him a look that mean, "Is this a job?"

Arthur, in turn, brushes him off by shaking his head. Eames relaxes, crossing his teenage bedroom to uncover the bed for the night.

The covers are lime green in the most annoying way possible that he is most definitely sure Arthur will point out when given the chance. The poster of "The Clash" that he should have taken down by now stares at him as he climbs into bed. He pats the bed when Arthur glances back at him.

"One minute." Arthur mouths. "Well, Mr. Eames and I are not available at the moment, I do apologize for the inconvenience." Arthur is nothing if not polite, that's part of the reason he likes him. "No, we'll not be able to assist until after new year’s. Yes, well, that's not my concern, Cobb. I can’t be in there every single time you mess something up, okay?"

Ah. Now it makes sense why Arthur has gotten so worked up.

Eames pulls himself up with a grunt, guiding his husband to bed. Arthur doesn't put down the phone.

"Tell Phillipa and James we said hello. If you still want our help on your job, contact us after new year’s. Uh huh. You too. Merry Christmas." Arthur throws the phone perfectly into his open suitcase near the door after hanging up.

"Cobb always has to ruin our plans." Eames hums, beginning to massage the Point Man's shoulders.

"Hmm...yes. Although if he could think of a way to get me out of helping your mother with her luncheon tomorrow, I might keep taking all his stupid jobs. Plus, they always pay well enough"

"Arthur." He doesn't want it to go back to the way it was before inception with Arthur running around with that asshole, wanted by more than a few international governments. Don't get him wrong, Eames has his fair share of wanted posters and prices on his head but dealing with all that and a depressed Dominic Cobb takes a saint. Personally, Eames would have strangled Cobb the first week in.

"Eames," He faces him, grabbing his arms gently. "I promise something like that will never happen again."

"You can't promise that sort of thing, darling."

"Yes." Kiss. "I." Another kiss. "Can." Another. Arthur stops talking, but they keep kissing. Eames lowers them both into bed, neither daring to let go.

They break apart for a minute to breathe. "You know, darling, I'm just not convinced yet. How about you show me?" Eames teases.

Arthur rolls his eyes then goes back to kissing him. "I love you."

"Mhm, you do?" Eames grips the back of Arthur's head pulling him down even more. "I love you too, darling."

-:-

"What do you mean this is all you found?" Peter Browning lifts the paper-thin manila booklet, the description fairly accurate seeing as it was only a single page stuff into a file folder. He raises a single eyebrow at the nervous man in front of him.

"That's all, sir." The man nods a few times, and then a few times more for good measure.

The curtains of his office are pulled closed with each stack of papers on his desk placed in neat little piles. The singular chair in front of said desk rarely found use as Peter Browning was known to host meeting as short and choppy as possible. No one ever dared to ask to sit down. Even if they did, it would be like sitting in a chair made in hell. Peter purposely chose it that way.

"No, you see, I don't think you understood what I meant when I said I needed everything on her! This is not everything!” He slams the paper don on his desk. “Get out of my sight!" He points to his office door, watching the other man scurry out like a frightened mouse.

"This is bullshit."

"Ariadne Eames," the paper read. "DOB- August 6, 1986." It goes on to list a place in England as well as a small list of school starting from primary and ending with a famous architecture program at an excellent university in Paris. There is no current address nor job position listed.

Something about this woman doesn't sit right with Peter. She appears in Robert's life, he takes off during the holidays which he had never done the entire time the younger man has worked or run this company, and no one could find more than the bare minimum of evidence that she even exists. Why had she been in California? What was her goal?

Something clearly is wrong here. 

Chapter Text

December 24

Arthur has learned many things in the thirty years he has existed on this strange planet. Some of which he gained from personal experience like maybe don't touch poison ivy, that's a bad idea. Some he learned from other people like when you betray dream thieves, it might be a good idea to not drag your partner into shit like that as he has told Eames more than enough times.

Arthur is meticulous, often to the point of obsession. He, however, could never been as organized as Mrs. Eames is when it comes to her Christmas Eve Luncheon. A few minutes ago, someone handed him a tray of hors d'oeuvres and if he's being honest, he has no fucking clue what he supposed to do with it.

Most Christmases before Eames and the whole illegal dream stuff, Arthur would go home to visit his dad and stepmom, and his older sister would join them on occasion from Seattle if she is able to. Her work usually took up a lot of her time; the last time Arthur has seen her was when she had been a witness at his wedding. Arthur is the youngest of three although he doesn't like to talk about his brother. Partly because they didn't get along and partly because he fucked off a long time ago to somewhere in New York for god know what.

One day Arthur is going to give in and actually look him up to see how he was doing, but not today.

Today, he is stuck in a ballroom with Mrs. Eames, a catering service, a large stage, and Robert fucking Fischer. Because, of course, like the awesome person he is, Arthur lost a rock, paper, scissors game with Eames and now here he stands.

Great.

"Hey..." Fischer slides up next to him with his own platter of food. "Why are we here again?"

Arthur lets out a groan quiet enough that Mrs. Eames can't hear it. "I have no idea why you're here, Fischer, but I'm only here 'cause I picked rock in my moment of hubris."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Don't worry about it. Let's just put these down somewhere and see if we can find a better hiding place than the middle of the room."

"Hiding place?" Fischer hands his dish to one of the many people in the catering service as they pass by. Said woman shoots him an ugly glare.

"Believe me, you'll want to be hiding from Charlotte Eames for the next hour. It can only get worst from here." Arthur points to the older woman who is currently throwing a fit about the shrimp on the other side of the room near the stage.

He gestures for Fischer to follow him outside.

The manor's grass is freshly cut, and the gardening is arranged to impress. "It should be around here somewhere." He murmurs mostly to himself. "Ah!"

In front of them is a relatively small garage with a rusty blue golf cart stuff unceremoniously into it. "Time for a 'quick' run for more ice." He turns to Fischer to make the quotation marks.

-:-

"Are we really going to go get ice?" Robert asks after they have past the manor's entrance gates ten minutes before.

"A little late for that question, Fischer." Arthur carefully maneuvers the ancient cart around the gravel roads of the tiny English town. "It's a truly a miracle you haven't been kidnapped by a man in a white van offering you candy yet."

Robert rolls his eyes. Only once. And he managed to escape ten minutes later so it's ok. His dad didn't even know he was missing. Which probably says more out their father-son relationship than anything.

"Like I said, we're going on an ice run." He parks the golf cart in front of a pub and gets out. "You coming or what?"

The pub looks like it's seen better days or at least Robert hopes that it has. The door creaks when Arthur pushes it open, and snaps close behind him not unlike a horror movie. The inside of the building falls into an awkward silence which reminds him of Charles Dickens' Christmas Carol except only the part with the ghost of Christmas Future. For the record, that part always scared the living crap out of him. Well, that and the rancor from Return of the Jedi. He couldn't get past that scene without shutting the VHS player off until he was ten.

"Arthur!" A bearded man from behind the bar shouts.

"Henry!" Arthur crosses the pub and jumps into one of the bar stools. "How's business?"

"Waiting for you and the Eameses to join us for your annual drinking contest."

"Drinking contest?" He creeps up to the bar, avoiding the other patrons' glares, like hawks watching field mice.

Henry gives him a confused look before Arthur butts in to answer. "We come here after Christmas, Eames, Ariadne and I to escape the rest of the family. Nothing good comes from too much time with family, I would know." The suit-cladded man doesn't elaborate on what he meant by the last part. Robert knows better than to pry this time.

"Yes, but you three have such a wonderful time drinking me into bankruptcy."

"Aww, don't be like that, Henry. We pay for every sip. Scouts honor." Arthur points up at Henry. "And unlike my dearest husband, I actually was a scout."

"You seem like the type." The billionaire slaps his hand over his mouth. Shit. He didn't mean to say that.

Henry just laughs and Arthur rolls his eyes. Neither tries to attack Robert so that's good.

"So, what can I get you boys to drink?"

"Beer." Arthur grins, turning to Robert to ask, "You're old enough to drink, right?"

"I'm twenty-eight?" Robert thinks it's safe to assume Arthur is messing with him.

"Eh, good enough. Beer for him too. We're on a very important ice run for Charlotte Eames." Arthur leans in to whisper to Henry. The other man laughs.

A little while later when they are seated in a corner booth, Robert tries to start up a conversation. "I thought you were the most responsible one, but you took me to a bar to get drunk instead of helping with the luncheon."

Arthur raises an eyebrow, finished his beer with two swigs, and slams it down. "I'm gonna let you in on a little secret, Fischer. Despite what Charlotte or George Eames do or threaten, neither one of their children are going to care. Ariadne and Eames are their own people and pissing off their parents is just something they do. I was only part of the luncheon because I lost a game of rock, paper, scissors. Can you believe that? So, when it comes to the heads of the Eames family, don't worry about it." He pauses. "George Eames said he was going to give you 'the shovel talk,' right?"

Robert nods.

"I wouldn't worry too much about that. He threatened the same thing to me, but he's far too distracted by his architecture firm to bother. I've been waiting for his talk for seven years now. Although, we should probably get back to the manor in the next twenty minutes because unlike her husband, Charlotte Eames will threaten us in a timely manner."

"Ummm...do you mind if I ask you something?" Robert sips his drink carefully.

"Not at all." Arthur folds his arms and gestures for the younger man to continue.

"Why do you call your husband Eames and not his first name?"

Arthur freezes or at Robert thinks he does. There is a hint of fear in his eyes and then it's gone faster than he could point it out.

"Military training tends to bleed into your daily life after a while." It sounds like he's hiding something. "Finish your drink, we need to go soon."

And that was the end of that conversation.

-:-

Kelly Franklin is not the best dream thief. She's not even top ten. So, when a rich businessman by the name of Peter Browning offers to pay off the bounty on her head, well, integrity kind of goes out the window. He contracted her last night with a simple mission, go to England, find Robert Fischer, report back anything you find.

Now, this didn't involve any dream entering of any kind, disappointing to say the least. Still, she has what basically amounts to a paid vacation and a job that isn't going to get her shot at.

Off to England she goes then.

-:-

"So, what do you think?" Eames presents his newest artwork like he's the woman from Wheel of Fortune. His sister, who is draped across one of his many chairs in the upstairs studio, looks up from her phone.

"Yeah, great." She immediately goes back to scrolling on whatever website she found this time.

"You didn't even look, did you?" The siblings are currently hanging out in the painting studio that Mother had made for them, mostly so they would stop painting at the kitchen table and dripping greens and blues onto her fancy rugs.

"Pssh, of course I did."

"Oh really? Then what's it a painting of?"

"The one with the...uh...the diner, right?" She waves her hands around.

Eames glances back at this forgery of Edward Hopper's Nighthawks with a pout. "Lucky guess." He growls as Ariadne chuckles behind him.

He makes a square shape using both of his index and thumbs, looking through it as if it's a camera lens. "I'm thinking about selling this, thoughts?"

"No, no thoughts right now. Brain empty." Ariadne ignores his scowl at her comment.

"Ari." He huffs, folding his arms.

"You know for a fact, Rupert, that you can't sell that. The real one is in some museum, and they would definitely figure out that it's a fake."

"It's actually in the Art Institute of Chicago."

"See! There you go! Solved your own problem." When Eames doesn't retort anything back, she peeks up from her screen. Her brother is sulking like a child. "Just give it to Arthur as an anniversary day present if you like it so much."

"Fine."

"Fine."

Beat.

"You wanna go check on Robert and Arthur and make sure Mother hasn't killed them yet?" She asks him.

He shrugs. "Eh, why not. Nothing better to do now. Christmas Eve luncheon nightmare, here we come."

-:-

"I, for one, thought that went great." Eames grins, leaning against his husband. Both couples are lounging about on the roof of the manor, passing around one of George Eames' fancy bottles of vodka one of the sibling most likely stole. Ariadne hands Robert the bottle, who takes a big gulp and leans back against the dark blue roof shingles with a sigh.

The manor is slanted for the most part except for the tiny little area that functions as a really shitty balcony when needed. It also helps them from not falling off the roof while drunk.

"Which part, Mr. Eames? The part where the stage nearly caught on fire or the part where Fischer played makeshift dominoes with the waitstaff?"

"Oh yeah, I forgot about the second! Good job on that one, mate." He pats the always stressed and nervous billionaire on the chest.

"I really didn't mean to do that, I swear." He smiles at Ariadne like he waits for one of them to yell.

"Nah, Robert, it's ok. Seriously. The first time Arthur came to the Christmas Eve Luncheon he and my brother accidently let a beaver loose in the middle of my mother's speech."

"Yep...accidently." Eames hums. Arthur snickers beside him.

"Wait, it was on purpose?" Ariadne shrieks.

Arthur continues to giggle, probably tipsy at this point from all the day drinking.

"Oh please, says the person who literally had a one-night stand at one of Mother's luncheon."

"Hey! In my defense, Rupert, it wasn't at her Christmas Eve one."

"And that makes it better how?" Eames finishes off the vodka.

"Shut up." Ariadne rolls her eyes, burying her face in Robert's neck while said man blushes stop sign red.

Arthur's laughter echoes into the midnight sky.

Chapter Text

December 25

Arthur offers his husband a cup of coffee the next morning. The older man groans, slamming his head against the kitchen table. The kitchen is a lot less fancy and grand than the dining room they had dinner in two days ago. It is still very decorated but lacks the chandelier obviously and the ‘beautiful’ curtains.

"Why I’d drink so mu-" Eames snores loudly after trailing off. Arthur taps his arms twice to wake him up again. He hands him some Tylenol and goes back to sip on his own coffee. "Good morning, darling." Eames peeks his head out of his crossed arms he is using as a pillow to give Arthur a quick peck on the lips.

"Good morning, Mr. Eames. Merry Christmas." Arthur smiles behind the rim of the cup. He sits down next to Eames, letting their fingers lace together. "I got another call for a job. And it's not Cobb, before you ask."

"Good."

"It is, unfortunately in Brazil which I know you despise because of the weather, but the other offer we’d have for a job involves Daveed." One of the worse extractors in Arthur’s esteemed opinion.

"Uggh…Daveed. Brazil sounds brilliant then."

Eames' younger sister crawls into the room, looking like the undead. After getting a cup of coffee herself (Three sugars and four creams), she joins the other dream sharers at the table.

"Sup, motherfuckers. What exciting things are we getting up to today?" Her sarcastic tone manages to break through both Eames and Arthur's thick hungover skulls. Ariadne is hungover although if someone were to take a good look at her no one could tell. Arthur drinks when he feels like it and well, he doesn't know how much the young woman drank, but she clearly either has a high tolerant or is really good at faking it.

The next person to end up finding their way into the kitchen is not Fischer like he expects. It's Mrs. Eames.

She glares distastefully at her children and Arthur. "Rupert George, Ariadne Elizabeth, are you hungover?" She whispers in horror.

Ariadne giggles. "No, of course not, mother. We would never, in a million years, drink."

The air is dead. No one moves.

"Ariadne, where is your boyfriend?" Short, choppy words. She raises an eyebrow, folding her arms as if to hold her ground.

"How should I know?" Ari is looking for a fight. "I'm not his keeper."

Eames shoots him a worried expression. His husband kicks her in the shin from under the table. Ari hisses through her teeth.

"Have you checked the library?" Ari smiles sweetly like a little angel up at her mother.

"...no." Mrs. Eames huffs, pretending she meant to check there in the first place and storms off.

Eames puts his head against Arthur's shoulder with a groan.

"Is he really in the library?" Arthur asks. Ari grins back at him.

"Nah, he's still asleep, last time I checked anyway. You guys shouldn't have let him drink so much." She waves her arms around. " I get that he needs to loosen up, but still...maybe not the best method to do that. Alcoholism is not what most people consider part of a well-adjusted individual." She smiles, one of the sides of her mouth pulled in a smirk.

Next to him, Eames chuckles into the fabric of his sleeve.

"Wait, Ari?" Eames lifts his head up from Arthur's white button up.

"Yeah?"

"Since when do we have a library?"

-:-

"Ah, Robert Fischer!" Charlotte Eames chirps from the other end of the upstairs hallway.

Robert tries to whip around, going back into Ariadne’s room as fast as humanly possible.

He fails.

She catches him just as he opens the door. "Mrs. Eames, how can I help you?" He puts on his best award-winning smile that if you look close enough, is extremely to the point where it appears like plastic kind of fake.

Mrs. Eames decides, apparently, to drop niceties and cut to the chase. "What is my daughter paying you?"

"Excuse me?" Robert's lips curl up in disgust.

"She must be paying you something big if the head on Fischer-Morrow is willing to be her boyfriend." She spits out the last word.

Robert rolls her shoulders, preparing. Time for his business persona. He meets her eyes on a steady gaze; the older woman watches on as he raises a singular perfectly groomed eyebrow.

"She's not paying me anything. Your daughter is my girlfriend and I love her." Robert lifts his chin up with the faintest smirk. He walks away, down the hallway like a totally badass.

His confident persona last about thirty or so feet until it occurred to him what just happened.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck.

He did not mean for the last part to come out.

Fuck.

Robert doesn't glance back to see if the matron is watching. If he did, she would only see his bright red face, trying to hide in the collars of his shirt not unlike a very strange, embarrassed turtle.

-:-

"He seems like a sweet boy, Ariadne." Her dad says offhandedly. She is curled up on the couch across from his reclining chair, under three or four layers of blankets. The Californian weather is starting to affect her if going home is making her this cold. It could also just be the blizzard outside...

The frost tapping at the drawing room windows, swirl in tiny crystalline patterns. The grass of the yard outside or at the least the part that she could see is covered in snow. Everything, a blinding white, one that she welcomes especially this time of the year.

George Eames folds his newspaper into squares, setting in on his empty lap when she doesn't respond. "Did you hear what I said, Aria?"

"Yeah dad...he's great."

Her dad smiles with a happy sigh. "Ah, reminds me of your mother and I when we were younger, long before you and Rupert." His eyes crinkle a little. "Not to sound cliché but, do you think he's the one?"

There a lot of different ways the rest of this conversation could go. Many different ways to lie to her senior father. Some that she knows will break his heart.

"I think so, yes." There's a hole in her chest that grows wider when she utters those words. Lies. This whole week is a lie. She doesn't feel at all bad about the schemes she has pulled on her mother over the years but this one question. This one simple question that her father took the time to ask.

Yeah, this might break her.

"Good." He unfolds her newspaper to go back to reading. He is none the wiser that his only daughter is deceiving him. He doesn't know...

Ariadne opens her mouth to confess. "Actually-"

"Yes?" The hole is getting wider. Her dad’s eyebrows furrow together, looking on as she struggles to find the right words. A pause as he waits for her to finish.

"I-" She shakes her head. "Never mind, I forgot what I was going to say."

He laughs, flipping a page. "Don't worry, Aria. Happens to the best of us."

The door of the drawing room slams open. The pair of forger and point man stroll in. Arthur pays no attention to Rupert being scolded by dad for damaging the walls and join Ariadne on the couch.

"Your boyfriend's nervously pacing around in the dining room, in case you were curious." Arthur whispers. He turns away, unbuttoning the coat part of his freshly pressed suit. "Eames," He practically shouts to his husband from the other side of the room. "Are we going to honor tradition or what?"

"Oh, of course! Board games on Christmas. How's Twister sound?" He winks with his whole body at Arthur.

"Rupert George Eames!" Dad growls. "The drawing room is not the place."

"Hey! I didn't even say anything, Da! You the one that assumed-" Rolling her eyes, Ariadne walks out the room, closing the door. The rest of the conversation muffled.

-:-

She finds him where Arthur said he was, pacing back and forth in the dining room. He taps his hands against his legs again and again and again and again and again and-

"Robert?"

He freezes. "Hi." He says after staring at her like he caught him doing something he wasn’t supposed to. Her expression imitated a mouse for just a moment.

"Hi? You ok?"

“Fine. Are you-"

"Fine." She nods, not blinking.

"Good." His shirt looks wrinkled beyond belief and his eyes seem to move like bullets of militarized projections, darting from her to the carpet under his feet and back again. She's wearing something the probably looks just as disheveled.

"We...uh...my family and I have a tradition of playing board games on Christmas. Do you want to join?"

"Oh, I don't know. I feel like I've imposed on your holiday enough already as it is." Something is bother Robert Fischer. She just knows it. Unlike Arthur, who would love to stick his nose in the business of others he finds suspicious, Ariadne is going to stay out of the billionaire's head. After all, it would be really bad to break into it a second time especially now that they know it each.

"It's no biggie." That is not very lady-like of her to stay that but it's whatever. The American west coast has corrupted her much more than a phrase like 'no biggie.' "My brother might drag you to the drawing room to play whether you like it or not. He manages to get Arthur to play, and that man would much rather spend the evening reading." She pauses, then decides to sweeten the pot a tiny bit. “Plus, my mother tends to hide up in her room during our board games, says it’s too loud.”

The idea of Rupert dragging him to social situations without his input seems to scare him just a bit. He does look relieved with not talking to her mother. "Sure, just give me a minute?"

"Ok." She hums. Glancing back, Robert is moving his hand up and down the arm of one of the dining room chairs, thinking about something. She doesn't dwell on it too long as the sound of Rupert's cheerful shouts drowns out any thoughts or doubts, she had occupying her mind.

-:-

The snow on the ground makes it harder to sneak up on anyone. Thankfully, no one is outside of the large dark manor to notice. She had asked around town earlier to today from a man fitting Robert Fischer's description. She played it off like she had been an old friend looking to meet up from Christmas while putting on her best fake British accent.

Not to brag but she thinks it's pretty damn good.

One of the locals described a large estate; they called it by its name, but Kelly couldn’t remember what they say for the life of her.

The search leads her to said manor a few miles away from town. No one seems to be watching the outside grounds, so she creeps up around toward one of the first floor windows.

After more than enough empty darken rooms, Kelly Franklin finds the golden nugget, the manor's drawing room.

She sees five figures crowded around a coffee table playing some sort of games. Four men and a young woman drinking some kind of whiskey.

 The one farthest right is, of course, Robert Fischer. On the opposite side, an elderly man who she assumes is the owner of the grandiose house. The woman curled up next to Fischer fits the photo Peter Browning had given her of Ariadne Eames.

The last two men warrant a phone call.

Arthur and Eames. Dreamsharers. Infamous in their line of work. She doesn’t interact with them enough for them to know too much about her, but she most definitely knew enough about them to know that Fischer intentionally or unintentionally fell into a crowd Mr. Browning was not going to approve of.

Then it dawned on her. Ariadne Eames. Eames Manor. Fuck, this was big.

Kelly pulls out her phone, looking around once more in paranoia. "Mr. Browning," She watches Fischer rolls a pair of dice onto the coffee table. "You're going to wanna hear this."

Chapter Text

December 26

The first thing Ariadne notices when she wakes up is that she is completely stark naked.

Ok, that's a lie. The first thing she notices is that she needs to remember to close that stupid window before she goes to bed because the sun has the oh so wonderful habit of shining right in her face when it rises, then she realized that she's naked. It gets worse when she moves her hand across the bed on to come in contract with Robert Fischer's body also wearing his birthday suit.

Like a very anxious spring, she jumps from the bed. The sudden movement wakes up Robert, who stares at her in disbelief before shooting out of the bed himself. He pulls the sheet off to cover his waist.

"I...um...I?" Robert turns red all over. He barely gives her a second look as he slams the bathroom door shut, taking her sheet with him.

"I'm gonna go,” She shouts. Ariadne grabs her nightgown from where it hangs in her closet unused from last night. She pushed yesterday's clothes, both hers and Robert, from where they had placed them so carefully all around the room to a spot near the bed. "If that's all right with you?" She adds as an afterthought.

"Fine." Robert squeaks out. Part of the bedsheet is stuck in the door but not enough to show too much of the room.

"Great." She answers back in the same sort of fashion. She makes a quick exit.

The door hits the frame loudly on her way out but at this point in time, it isn’t really her most pressing concern.

-:-

Arthur and Eames are asleep.

That is if anyone comes to try and wake them. Eames isn't a morning person. Arthur knew this not only because he studies each and every single person he works with, but after having spent years convincing Eames that nine o'clock is a reasonable time to start the day, well, it's hard to persuade yourself otherwise.

Arthur is a morning person. Although he is not, by any means, a "waking up to sister-in-law hungover, pacing, and freaking the fuck out in the middle of your husband's childhood bedroom at seven in the morning" kind of person. He doubts anyone is.

"Ariadne?" Eames rubs his eyes. His hair is all over the place this morning and Arthur is thoroughly distracted for just a moment.

"Rupert, I fucked up." Ari whispers, a pained look on her face. Her hair wild and sticking to every part of her forehead. Ariadne's eyes move like tiny red dice in a casino, quick and filled with doubt.

"What happened?" Eames sits up all the way, patting the side of the bed. Ariadne seems to contemplate her choices, then curls into Eames' shoulder.

She starts sobbing. Eames rubs her back, murmuring and hushing her every few seconds.

Arthur raises an eyebrow. His husband shakes his head, so Arthur decides the best course of action is take out and begin reading one of the novels he packed and pretend to not listen to what was happening on the other side of the room.

"Ru...Rupert?"

"Yeah, Ari?"

"I think Robert and I slept together last night." It comes out harsh and quiet like a secret she's forced to tell. Her eyes are puffing beyond belief. She sniffs into her nightgown sleeve.

"You started making out during Monopoly and Dad told you to go upstairs. It makes sense that you would." Eames tries and in Arthur's opinion, fails, to make his little sister feel any better. "He didn't hurt you, did he?" The last part added in typical overprotective older brother fashion.

Ariadne pauses. "No, no I didn't so."

Beat.

"I think something else happened through because he looked at me in a weird way and ran off to the bathroom."

"Oh." Great help you are, Eames. Arthur rolls his eyes.

He puts down his book; crouching down to her eye level, Arthur meets her gaze.

"You need to take a step back, Ariadne. Let's take a walk." Arthur offers her his hand. She takes it.

They walk around the town for an hour or so without Eames. Arthur loves his husband more than life itself, but the older man really sucked that trying to comfort his crying sister.

Ariadne then opts to stay in the town's small park under the guise that she "needed a little time to herself" and "the manor isn't extremely far away plus it's a lovely day for walking."

He can tell her smile is very much faked. Arthur doesn't push; instead, he makes his way back without her.

-:-

"Robert?" The young man had pulled his phone into the bathroom with him once he was completely sure that Ariadne had left.

"Hey, Peter. I think I'm going to come back a few days early." Robert glances at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His eyes are red, although he's not sure if they are from the lack of restful sleep or the stress.

He pulls at his tongue and ears. His face reminds him of a Tim Burton character and not in a fun way. His eyes are sunken in with bags upon bags carrying the weight of them. There are streaks of red, bloodshot, in his eyes probably from his growing hangover migraine. He rubs the temple that is not pushed up against the phone.

"Is something wrong?" There's something off about the way that Peter is talking. Robert gives it a moment's thought.

He shakes his head. It's probably just his imagination running wild again. "No. I just remembered I forgot to do something for a client." The words feel weird in his mouth.

"And your girlfriend?"

"She said it's ok and we can meet back up in California in a few days." He lies. The figure in the mirror is watching him, disapproving. Guilt dripping from his painted frown.

"Ok, see you then."

"Mhm," Robert runs his fingers through his hair. "Goodbye."

Fuck.

Robert leaves the bathroom, flipping around clothes in his suitcase, searching for a notepad and a pen. He quickly scribbles a note, packs up his suitcase and calls a cab to pick him up near the manor.

It was simply better this way. It would hurt them all a lot less. Maybe if he keeps repeating this, it will come into fruition. Probably wishful thinking on his part…

-:-

Eames decides to spend his afternoon in his studio, painting. The large canvas in front of him displays a half-finished piece by Monet. He hasn't yet made a decision on whether or not to give it to Arthur as an anniversary present. On one hand, Arthur would gush about it for weeks on end and when Arthur is in a good mood, well...

On the other hand, it would be bloody fucking difficult, damn near impossible to sneak it in his suitcase without the Point Man, customs, or even airport security noticing. The former was nosey.

He dips his brush into one of the many blues on his palette he mixed, dapping a bit into the corner of the image.

It looks beautiful. He's always liked Monet especially pieces with water flowers or lily pads. Sometimes, and he would rather cut off his own tongue than admit this to Yusuf or Cobb, he likes to spend time in Paris after visiting his sister, walking through gardens or the Louvre.

He has yet to be banned so always a plus.

He took Arthur there on a date once long before Inception, long before the city became tainted with memories of Cobb and his shade. He’s thinking of going back in the next month or so, mostly to deal with another forger and spend a week as a guest on his little sister’s Parian flat’s couch. Arthur has a job lined up in late January somewhere in Poland.

The light in the studio isn’t perfect, didn't fit his high expectations so Eames walks over to pull the curtain of a window. Down below in the circle parked behind the car that had picked them up from the airport is an unmarked black car. The windows are rolled down and the figure within is holding a camera up to the house.

The figure and Eames make eye contact. The car window slams close, and the vehicle speeds off.

Eames throws the door open. He rushes down the step and outside, hopping to the other car.

He is maybe thirty feet away. A hand reaches out of the other car holding a handgun.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Eames tries to duck away as the bullets poke little holes in the windshield glass.

"Damn it." He kicks the gas petal.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The figure shoots through their own back window for a better angle.

Eames ducks again.

Checking his speed, 95, he pressed down harder on the petal, ramming into the back of the other car.

Bang. Bang. Ba-

One of bullet slices his shoulder. He hisses and pummels the car once more.

He manages to send it careening into a roadside ditch, hood slighting smoking.

The car flies open, and a figure falls flat on their face in the grass. They try to pull themselves up without much luck.

Eames parks and approaches carefully. He ignores the figure for a moment in favor of grabbing their gun of the driver's seat. He then kicks them over to reveal Kelly Franklin.

Kelly Franklin, who as far as Eames knew, had been killed in Moscow four months ago by some local gang. She wasn't the best Point Woman but when people couldn't get a hold of Arthur, they called her.

Nothing to write home about in his opinion. Then again, he might be a little bias.

"Mr. Eames." She purrs, perhaps in an attempt to persuade him of something. Rather difficult seeing that she is bleeding from more than a dozen places and also shot him in the shoulder just a minute ago.

"Franklin. I didn't peg you as the stalker type."

Her laugh is fake, and sounds broken like she's gasping for air. "Just thought I would see why Arthur thinks so highly of you, like you hung the fucking stars." She tilts her head the best she can. "I still don't see the appeal. Sorry."

"Who hired you?"

Eames moves his arm to point the gun closer only to hiss in pain. The right sleeve of his button up is developing a lovely patch of scarlet.

"Really? Cutting straight to the chase? Not even going to ask me how I'm alive. Rude."

Eames rolls his eyes; he puts his finger on the trigger of the gun, bringing it oh so carefully to the space between her brows.

"Who hired you?"

"Go to hell." She makes a move, grabbing the end of the gun.

He fires.

Her body slumps back onto the ground, a round entry point in her forehead as blood pools around her head like a halo. Even in death, she looks defiantly up at him.

Eames takes a deep breath. The pain of his own wound is starting to catch up with him. The forger pulls out his phone and scrolls through his important contacts. He moves it up to his ear, letting out a small moan as a wave of pain sweeps through him.

"Arthur, darling, we have a problem. Well, a few of them actually, but I managed to take care of one already." Eames pauses for his husband's response. "Hey, this time I didn't start anything! Oh please, you know you love me."

He glances around. The road is dead empty, save for a crow watching from the treetops above.

 "I'm about three or so miles from the estate. Get here as soon as possible. Uh huh. Oh definitely. Love you too, darling!" He hangs up.

Turning back to the body, he grimaces. "I have a feeling you're going to be a pain to get rid of."

Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t respond.

Chapter Text

December 26

Ariadne-

I'm sorry about what happened last night. This holiday and your family, your brother and your dad, have been part of the best moments of my life. I am so glad you invited me even if we were just pretending.

I'm so sorry that I ruined it. I'm sorry I used you. You don't have to forgive me; you're not required to. Just know that I'm leaving this letter as an apology as I am too much a coward to tell you myself.

Merry Christmas,

Robert

-:-

"Darling, how do you feel about Machu Picchu?" The brit hands his husband the shovel. They are in the middle of the woods in a small place between a group of trees. Arthur, in his classic suit, has his sleeves rolled up to the elbow and a duffel bag thrown by his feet.

"Eames, for the love of Christ, we are burying a dead body! Now is not the time to discuss future vacation plans!"

Eames glances down at Kelly Franklin. "Are you hearing this shit? My husband, my dearest husband, doesn't want to go on another honeymoon with me." He puts his hand mockingly on his chest.

The dead body doesn't respond.

Arthur does by rolling his eyes and starting to dig a large enough hole. "I must say Mr. Eames, I wasn't expecting Ms. Kelly Franklin to be offed like that. It's a shame really." He shakes his head.

"Aww...don't sound so disappointed."

"Did you ever find out who she is working for?" Arthur shovels another pile of dirt onto their ever-growing mound beside them.

Eames crouches down, closing Kelly's eyes as he is starting to get really creeped out by her constant staring. And as most people will know, the dead don't usually listen to the living. If he were a superstitious man, he would insist on burying the woman a specific way. He isn't.

"No. She refused to talk. She didn't seem to particularly like you."

The point man chuckles. "Oh, believe me, Mr. Eames, the feeling is very much mutual. I would have killed Franklin years ago if it weren't for Cobb run from justice."

"Of course," Eames grumbles. "How could I possibly forget?"

The forger stands up and takes a deep breath of, and he is being very relative here as the dead body smell tends to linger, fresh air. He brushes his hair out of his face. "How would you have killed her...if you were given the chance?"

"Is now really the time to ask this?"

“Now’s a better time than ever.” Lies.

“Is it?” Arthur sticks the shovel into the pile of dirt. He crosses his arms across his chest, facing his husband.

Eames just rolled his eyes, gesturing for the other man to continue. Arthur explains the very thorough way he would kill her and dump the body where Eames assumed no one would dare to ever look for at least a hundred years. So definitely more tidy than this.

Probably not the kind of conversation that normal regular fucking adult have on a daily basis. Then again, normal adults don’t stand over graves talking about murder, nor do they bury the body themselves while doing it. Honeymoon plans are also almost never discussed next to open graves or dead coworkers that you hate just enough to kill but for once didn’t.

Once they dragged and positioned Kelly in her final resting place, Arthur poses a question. "Do you think we could go to visit Niagara Falls too?"

"What?"

"With the honeymoon trip to Machu Picchu? Can we go to Niagara Falls as well?"

Eames raises his eyebrows. "You've never been? Didn't you live in New York for four years? It's not too far away."

"I never had the time." Arthur murmurs, waving his hand haphazardly. Eames, having known the man for years, knows that the younger man is clearly embarrassed.

"Sure, why not? Do you have any other places you want to go, darling?"

"Tons, Mr. Eames. However, it is probably in our best interest to continue this conversation elsewhere."

-:-

Robert groans, forehead pressed up against his office desk, papers upon papers surrounding him.

"Mr. Fischer?" Avery leans on the frame of his open door. They offer his large pile of manilla folders and various other legal papers. "Mr. Browning insists on speaking with you. He wants to meet you at the restaurant across the street; there is no need to call a car."

Robert opens his mouth to refuse, but a small voice in the back of his head tells him that he should at least talk to his godfather even he is actively trying to break up the company the older man had built. That little voice is starting to sound a lot like his father and Robert doesn't know exactly how to feel about that.

Robert slams his forehead back on the desk a few times.

"Umm...sir?"

"I'm fine." He waves his right hand wildly, still face down. "The restaurant across the street? That's what he said?"

"Yes, Mr. Fischer." Avery tries to bend their head down to the level of the desk to even get a peek at the CEO’s face. It doesn’t work.

"Ok, I'll be there soon."

Avery chuckles just a little. He isn't evil so he obviously wasn't going to make a big deal out of it. Robert knows he looks like shit right now.

"Take all the time you need, sir."

Robert picks his head up just to watch Avery close his office door before slamming it down again. He is going to have one of the worst migraines tomorrow, guaranteed. Even his father, when he was still alive, was less of a headache than all of the shit Robert has been through than the last few days.

Fucking hell.

Robert just needs to go back to bed for once in his life.

-:-

"Hello?" He instantly regrets answering his personal phone to anyone.

"Yusuf, happy Christmas!"

"Hello to you too, Eames." The chemist huffs, replacing the bags of drip from the people sleeping in a meticulous sort of way. The basement room is damp and dark; the sound of water droplets finding their way into the several buckets Yusuf spread around the beds after months of these chemical experiments (to put it plainly).

"What do you know about Kelly Franklin?"

Yusuf pushes the phone in between his clavicle and his cheek, leaning more towards his right to speak into the bottom half of the phone. "Really? Straight to the point? No small talk?"

"If you want, Yusuf, I could always put Arthur on the phone?" Eames dares Yusuf to let him.

"How is, as you once put it, 'that stick in the mud?'"

"A little bit annoyed at the moment since he can hear you." He can’t see the smile on Eames’ face, but he knows it’s there. Yusuf isn’t exactly sure if the smile is because Eames is a thief and trickster above all else or because whenever he sees the forger and point man together, they look at each other like there is no one more perfect in the entire world.

Yusuf freezes what he's doing as if Arthur were standing right behind him. He glances over his shoulder just in case. Good. Nothing. He can hear the pearly laughter coming from Eames' side of the call.

"I'll get back to you with information as fast as I can." This is going to set his business back a few days or maybe even a whole week, but since Eames asked so nicely and Arthur had not so nicely, Yusuf will look into it.

He probably could talk to a few of his contacts, testing the water just enough to make a drop in the pool but not a splash.

"You do that." Arthur's voice choppy and sharp as a lightning filled sky.

-:-

The restaurant to far too quiet than Robert would have liked. He feels like everyone's eyes are on him, watching and dissecting his every move towards his and Peter's usual table. A waiter dressed in a bright red bowtie smiles and gestures to the chair across from the older man.

Music, the kind that you would hear at a nine year old prodigy’s piano concert (which for the record is terribly boring and he would definitely not recommend, 1 out of 5) or maybe like some old rich man that like to hold fancy unnecessary parties. Robert hates those too.

So, the music doesn't have the best memories. The worst part of this lunch isn't going to be that he's very of it. The worst is going to be whatever Peter has decided to complain to him about this time. It could be all the companies that he is dropping or the fact that Robert is think of talking to the CEO of Prometheus. Mr. Saito had requested meeting up with the young heir a month or so ago and Robert like the great businessman he is...was pushing it off until later.

"Robert?" Peter asks as soon as he sits down, impatient as ever. The older man folds his napkin, placing in his lap with an unnecessary flourish. Robert, in turn, sets it in his lap in a way that he think reflects the aura of "normal fucking person." Or at least, he tries.

"Yes, Peter?"

"There is something we need to talk about." There is this expression of faked sympathy Peter wears.

This is almost as bad as Mrs. Eames when Ariadne and him where next to each at the dining room table.

Oh...Ariadne. Fuck. He should have stayed at least a little while longer. Maybe just enough to tell her that he had to go.

Fuck.

-:-

She makes it back to her old childhood bedroom by the afternoon. Eames and Arthur texted her earlier that they were going out to eat in one of the various small businesses or restaurants in the village. When Eames and her were younger, before he went off and joined the army, they used to spend too much time in Lily's Fudge Shop. The outside of the cute bookstore slash candy store looks like a house that you would find in London, similar to apartments.

Lily is an old woman who gave us free turkey sandwiches whenever they managed to find their way into her shop. Most of the time was when the siblings needed a few hours away from the empty house or a party their mother was throwing that day.

Eames worked for Lily for a few months for one summer when Ariadne was nine or so. Unfortunately, Mother made him stop as "they have money! There is no need for him to bother working!" While it lasted, Eames managed to sneak fudge home to bring to her. Lily might have known about it but hasn't mentioned as of yet. Ariadne doubts she ever will.

Ariadne doubts a lot of things at the moment. She doubts her mother will ever cease to get annoying. She doubts Eames and Arthur will take a vacation unless Arthur decides to take a break in his goddamn life. And Ariadne doubts Robert won't hate her by now. Especially since she kinda abandoned him in her bathroom this morning.

The bathroom door is open and the blanket he had dragged in there with him is now draped over the vanity on the opposite end of the bedroom from her bed.

Also, his suitcase is now missing...

In its place, a letter addressed to her.

Carefully as if picking up a bomb with her index finger and thumb, she raises the letter to her face. Which, as she has learned in dreams, is a terrible fucking way to die and not the best plan if it is a gun either. Being shot with a gun in the foot with the safety off isn’t fun.

She reads over it a few times, folds it once then twice, and dropping herself on the bed with a huff. Ariadne throws the letter, not looking to where it would end up.

Chapter Text

December 27

On a scale from one to ten, Eames has got to say this year Christmas was about a six. His mother wasn't as annoying, and he managed to spend a lot of time away from her party and more time with his husband. The reason it is only a six and no higher probably has something to do with one Robert Fischer or maybe the dead Point Woman him and Arthur buried. Yeah...that might be it.

Despite the fact that Eames lives his life in various bars and casinos, he rarely finds himself in ones somewhere in the states. His little sister is currently renting an apartment about ten blocks away from the nearest bar.

Ariadne decided, after standing in front of a gay bar and then a really loud bar, they should probably just go down to the dive bar they passed a few blocks ago. Eames concedes as he isn't in the mood to deal with his sad sister's puppy eyes.

Also...he just really wants to get drunk.

The dive bar actually isn't the worst place he's been in, bar-wise. Arthur once took them to meet an extractor in an empty diner filled with graffiti and small rodents off of route 66. Now that was a nightmare of a week. But no, the bar seems fine. A couple of customers situated in groups of twos and threes, a few at the bar itself, and a pair playing pool.

Ariadne walks up to the bartender, a nice-looking man with a Dali kind of mustache, and orders a Zombie cocktail. Said man gives her the strangest look then proceeds to glance at Eames for confirmation.

"Why are you looking at me? She can do whatever she wants." He is for sure not going to order that himself. There is a reason that they sometimes limit people to only two of those and it's most likely the fact it's half rum.

"Exactly, Rupert!" She smiles for the first time in two days. "What do you want?"

"Depends, are you buying?"

Ariadne takes a moment to think about it, probably weighting the pros and cons. "Sure."

"Just a beer is fine." Once they both had their drinks, Ariadne decides that sitting at the bar instead of one of the tables is better and now Eames will have to deal with a drunk Aria and a confused bartender for the rest of the night.

Just peachy.

He hopes Arthur is at least doing something fun.

-:-

Arthur is bored out of his fucking mind. He has been sitting on the roof of a nearby building to Fischer and Morrow for three hours and nothing interesting has happened. He's starting to think that even breaking in the office building himself and fist fighting Fischer or Browning would be better than all this fucking waiting.

He is not by any means a very impatient man, but he hates wasting time.

Usually when he's working, he'll have projects with things to research and loose ends to pull or tie up. And when he doesn’t, he just starts a new project, a new job, travels to a new city, finds a new person.

He can't with the problems surrounding Robert M. Fischer. Yeah...this is gonna break him.

-:-

Nothing like too much drinking to fuck up everything. The world is starting to spin around him, the bartender is giving him even stranger looks as the evening passes, and Ari can't stop giggling beside him.

It would be a great victory, getting her to smile more...you know, if it wasn't the alcohol that caused it.

"Rupert, Rupert, Rupert!" She shakes him violently.

"Yes, Ari?" He groans, his head already much too dizzy for her drunk shenanigans.

"Go Fish, you know, the game, right?"

"Yeah?" He takes a sip of his second beer.

"It's like...really weird, you know." Her English accent is definitely more prominent now. "Like why are you trading fish? Some guy or girl, 'cause you know, being inclusive an' all even though fishing is fuckin' boring as hell, tells the other person fishing, 'hey, I got this big fish, do you like have the same exact fish?' And then you like trade the fish. I don't want your stupid fish! If I'm gonna go fishing, I want to brag about the fish I caught, not ones I stolen from some guy! Bragging is like the only reason to go catch stupid fish in the first place, right?" She turns to bartender but turns right back around to Eames, not even bothering to let the poor man acknowledge the rhetorical question.

"And then you like win the game by collectin' all the fish an' like what, it's over?" She throws her hands up in disbelief. "You're happy 'cause you have pairs of fish? See! Go Fish doesn't make any sense!"

The three of them stare at each other. Ariadne breaks the silence by shaking Eames once more. "Hey! Hey Rupert?"

"Yeah?"

"You know what game I really want to play right now?"

"Go Fish?" He wants to slam his forehead against the bar repeatedly.

"No." Ariadne scoffs. "Poker. I really wanna play poker...with Robert. Strip poker." She's now nodding with a shit-eating grin.

"Ok! Time to stop!" Eames grabs the cocktail out of her hands. She pouts and makes 'grabby hands' towards it. She gives up after a few seconds.

-:-

He texts Eames that he's going to rent a room near here after setting up surveillance. He doubts that Fischer would hide out in his building past midnight, but he can't be too sure.

Arthur loops his tie around his shoulders and unzips the duffel bag of cameras next to him.

Time to get to work.

-:-

 December 28

"Nothing, Eames." His husband's voice sounds annoyed even through the terrible audio quality of the forger's cell phone. "I have absolutely nothing. How...do I have nothing? Getting information is in my fucking job description so why do I have nothing?" There's a deep sigh on the other side of the call.

Eames changes his cell from one hand to the other in order to open one of Ariadne's kitchen cabinets. He pulls out a box of pancake mix, setting it on the nearby granite countertop. "Well, has Yusuf called back yet?"

"No. I assume he hasn't called you then."

"Oh darling, of course not. I would never withhold information like that from you." He hums, voice sweet like honey. "Plus, I texted him yesterday to call you if he finds anything." He files through a few more cabinets looking for some kind of contraption to cook the pancakes once he finished with the batter. No dice. He decides to just use a simple pan.

"How is she?"

 Eames glances across the apartment towards the cracked door of his sister's bedroom. "Fine. Still asleep last time I checked."

"Good. That's...that's good. Keep an eye on her, would you?"

Eames salutes mockingly. "Of course."

"...you just saluted, didn't you?"

Eames laughs. He grabs two eggs from the fridge along with milk, butter, and maple syrup. "And you just rolled your eyes."

They talk a few minutes more about jobs they could take in the coming weeks, about Arthur's night in the hotel, and Eames' habit of making pancakes for breakfast more times than either of them could count. Eames freezes in the middle of talking about testing out a new type of forgery when he hears the creak on Ari's bedroom door.

"Rupert?" She groans, rubbing her eyes and then her temple. "What happened last night?"

"Arthur, darling, Aria just woke up. I'll call you back, yeah?"

"Right. Well, I should get back to work; we'll talk later. I love you." Arthur's smiling into the phone, he just knows it.

"Love you too, bye." Eames presses 'end call,' gently setting it face down on the counter in front of him. "Aria! Good morning! How are you?" He greets his baby sister with open arms and wide manic grin.

"Fucking terrible." She huffs then pauses, taking in the sight of her older brother whisking a bowl of pancake batter and wearing one of those ugly aprons Arthur and Eames had given to her for her birthday last year as a gag gift. The real gift was a trip to a beach house in the Caribbean which she thoroughly enjoyed. "Are you making pancakes right now in my kitchen?"

"I sure hope it's your kitchen. I try not to make a habit of breaking into people's empty apartments nowadays." Eames replies in a facetious tone. "Pancakes will be ready a little bit." He adds as an afterthought.

Aria sits down in one of the chairs across from Eames at her kitchen bar. She props her head up, avoiding the stream of light coming from one of her east facing windows. The architect squints her eyes at her older brother. "What happened last night?"

"Well, we went to some dive bar around here, got drunk, you scared the bartender a little bit with your rant about the card game Go Fish, tried to explain the concept of dreamsharing to the poor man, and then described Robert Fischer's face in detail for twenty minutes...I think. I dragged you home after you almost jumped off the bar's pool table to the horror of the surprisingly nice biker just trying to play his game."

"Fuuuucccckkk." She murmurs, hiding behind her hands.

Eames pulls out one of her glasses which he found while looking for pancake supplies; he fills it with tap water. She takes it and drinks half of it after the glass is placed in front of her.

"The reasons for bringing Fischer home for the holidays..."

"Yeah?" She prompts him to continue.

"Have they changed? Are you still using him to hurt Mother?"

She opens her mouth then hesitates. "...no. Fuck." She pulls at her hair. "Why didn't you try to stop me?"

He sends her back a pointed look that he hopes portrays 'I did, you just proceeded to ignore me!'

Beat. Eames lights the stove behind him.

"So...you want a pancake?" Eames offers a nervous sort of smile. Ari glares back.

-:-

A man dressed in a finely pressed suit enters the office. Avery slides the papers they are currently working on to the side of their desk. The man looks around, lost.

"Excuse me, do you have an appointment?"

The man freezes, still as stone. He then tilts his head, glancing about their desk as if looking for something specific. "Umm...an appointment?"

"Yes, well, if you had an appointment with Mr. Fischer today, he's not in right now. I can take a message for you, but unfortunately, he's not available for any kind of business until after New Year’s most likely." Avery gives their best customer service smile, the one that they use frequently on Mr. Browning.

"He's not here?" The man points at the office carpet, making a point.

"No, hasn't been here since the day before yesterday. What's your name?" Avery grabs the file off their desk, the one that had all of Mr. Fischer's appointments listed in it.

"...Arthur." The man seems extremely uncomfortable.

"I'm not seeing an Arthur on here." They mumble, flipping through page after page. When they look back up, the man seems even more out of place. "How do you know Mr. Fischer?"

There's a moment of very awkward silence.

"My sister-in-law...invited him to Christmas."

Oh.

"Oh! You must be related to one Ms. Ariadne Eames, yes?"

The man visibly becomes more relaxed. "Yes. She's asked about him a few times. She's dealing with an emergency at work, so I said I'd check to see if he was available. She wanted to invite him to a New Years' party."

"Oh. well, how about you leave your number and I'll let Mr. Fischer know as soon as I'm able to?" They smile again.

The suit-cladded man rattles off a number which they promptly scribble down on a sticky note. "Right, thank you so much." The man finally smiles back, but Avery is fairly sure it is also the customer service kind of smile.

The man's phone starts to ring, and he answers it while he's leaving. Avery manages to catch the first part of the conversation.

"Yes. What is it? Oh, are you sure your information is correct?" Pause. "Shit. This is not good."

Avery shakes their head, praying that whatever the man was talking about, it had nothing to do with his sister-in-law or poor Mr. Fischer. For once, they are going to agree with the phrase their mother used to say a lot, "Ignorance is bliss." 

Chapter Text

December 29

The file is sitting on the floor of his bedroom, unopen and staring at him. He rises from the edge of his bed. Maybe he could pick it up and open it once more. It's just a folder.

But Robert just can't.

Because he knows that if he looks at what Peter had given, he will change the way that he views Ariadne forever. He would have to give away his rose-tented glasses.

-:-

December 30

She stands next to a large store window of a company selling fancy dresses and suits. The store's name scrawled in beautiful script above her and her bright yellow umbrella.

Ariadne doesn't hate rain in the way that most people would expect. She doesn't hate the way it makes you soaked to the bone when you're without a jacket or umbrella. She doesn't hate it when the streets flood or the rain from a hurricane rips through a town. No, she hates rain because when she was younger, her mother would never let her play in it. The mud is much too dirty for someone as rich, prim, and proper as the Eames family. Charlotte Eames would rather die than let Ariadne step one toe into the mudbanks off the side of the estate.

Rupert had decided to play in those sorts of places many times as a child, but what their mother doesn't know, can't hurt her.

The rain falls like the stomping of military projections. The repeating pattern of thump, thump, thump. She grips her umbrella a little tighter.

She received a letter a few hours ago. There were a few strange things about this letter. For one, it couldn't have been delivered via mail because Ariadne is well enough off the grid that most of the world's population (excluding Arthur because he could find not only a needle in a haystack but a pin in a needle stack as well) couldn't find her. The address is in her name but only if you go looking for it and even then, the name Ariadne Eames refuses to yield much information.

The letter, addressed to her by name but never mailed, is slipped under her door this morning while she had been heating up leftover pizza from last night for breakfast. She placed both on the countertop, glancing between each one. Cheese pizza. Letter. Cheese pizza. Letter. Chee-

She gives in, tearing open the seal. The paper, blue and soft, folded into thirds, falls out.

Ariadne-

We need to talk.

Meet me at the diner at 5pm.

-Robert

The rest of the standard sized page is completely blank.

So here she stands across from the diner, in the pouring rain, waiting for a man she doubts will ever show. Why would she depend so much on someone she toyed with? With someone that she involved in her family problems. With someone who most definitely hates her.

The angel on her shoulder, the one that vaguely reminds her of Arthur, would tell her that she is indeed the hopeless romantic that she ignores or fails to acknowledge. The devil, on the other hand, would replay in her older brother's voice that "she should live her life without the worry of energy CEOs knowing she undoubtedly used them."

Which one is the one to believe? Who would she trust?

-:-

December 29

Avery looks incredibly surprised when Robert rushes into his office. He stops right in front of them, panting and out of breath. "What do you know about Ariadne Eames?"

"Mr. Fischer?" They approach him very carefully as if creeping toward a wild animal. "Are you okay?"

"...I'm fine." He doesn't look them in the eye, shaking his head back and forth a few times.

"So, Ariadne Eames? Your girlfriend? What do I know about her?" Avery seems to sound out every word.

"Yes." Robert hopes for a straight answer, a satisfactory answer, an answer that will hopefully differ from the one in the folder cradled in his arms at the moment.

He wants to forget. He wants to ignore the woman at the restaurant bar. He wants to refuse a trip to get diner milkshakes. He wants to stay in California and never ever go on vacation again. But Robert Michael Fischer is not only a downright coward sometimes but in this particular incident, he is a huge fucking liar. He would give up everything his father has ever worked for all because he met a woman at a bar.

"Well..." Avery trails off. "I had a man come in here yesterday named Arthur? He said he knew you and that Ariadne is his sister-in-law." They point down at the post-it note stuck to the rim of their computer. "He left his number."

-:-

December 30

The lights of each passing car flicker over the window behind her. She takes a deep breath and after the cars have mostly cleared away, Ariadne dares to cross the street. The cute little diner that became a second home for a few months stands proudly in front of her. Bright reds and whites give the sign above the door a nice and friendly glow, very welcoming.

As a customer steps out, the bell at the top of the door rings, ding, ding, ding. Like fairies and their little laughs.

She takes a deep breath and steps inside. The diner is hopping. People chatting at various booths and wait staff dance around with trays and notepads, weaving in and out of the tables in the center of the open restaurant. A waitress that Ariadne recognizes from a week and a half ago waves at her, smiling. She waves back and gestures to an empty table in the corner near the kitchen. The waitress nods.

Ariadne shakes off her umbrella, leaving in the stand next to the checkout register.

"Hello, how can I help you? Can I get you something to drink? Any appetizers?" She approaches the table once the architect sits and places her phone down on the tabletop faceup.

"Nothing yet...I'm waiting for someone to arrive."

"The person that you came in with you last week?"

Ariadne pauses before responding. "Yes." The words feel bitter in her mouth.

"Ok!" The waitress leaves with a chipper expression going to wait on another booth across the diner.

-:-

December 29

"Hello?" Robert leans against Avery's desk. Said receptionist is standing beside him, listening the best they could without asking him to put it on speaker. "Is this Arthur?" He reads the name off the post-it note in his hand.

"Who is this?" A voice, Robert thinks it's actually Ariadne's brother, answers the phone after three rings. The sound of seagulls, if he has to guess, can be heard in the background.

He freezes up, stopping a moment to ponder lying to the man- the dreamsharer his mind corrects. He takes a deep breath; Avery motions him to continue speaking. "Robert Fischer."

"Oh." Robert falters at the tone.

"Yes...I need to talk to Ariadne. It's important!" He paces back and forth, wearing a hole in the freshly vacuumed carpet.

"Call back later; she's busy" Sounds like a lie.

"Please, I need to talk to her. I'm begging you...I'll do anything if I can just hear her voice for just a moment. Please Eames, I would owe you the biggest favor if I could just..." He squeezes his eyes shut, pleading the tears to hold off, to stay in his watery eyes. "Please." Barely a whisper.

"Fischer, do you love her?" Eames' voice seems to lose its abrasive edge. Avery on the other side of the call waits for him to say something.

He stops pacing.

Does he? Could he love someone who had messed with his mind a year ago? Could he love someone who never told him about herself?

...But she did. She told him of her architect business, and she never lied outright about anything. She always made comfortable even after they had slept together. He was the one that ran away. He had hurt her in return.

This company means a lot to him, he thinks at least. He's breaking it up because of the Eames siblings and the rest of them. But he's been the happiest in his life these last few months. The company never brought him any kind of positive emotion until their inception persuaded him to break it. Now, he could live.

Ariadne Eames offers him an out. There, in her world, he could have milkshakes, play hooky at fancy events with someone, go to the mall, have someone that cares about more than his opinion on stocks and the company's next move. He could finally live the way he's always wanted without the constraints of Peter and the board's structure.

Ariadne Eames with her smile and her laugh and the way her eyes light up when she's excited or extremely happy. The way she holds his hand and the way she kissed him that made him forget his name. The way she stands up for him and the way he could work up the courage to stand up for her. She is perfect. She is lovely. She is unforgettable. She is more than he could dream of.

Oh.

Oh.

He is. He does.

"Hey? Trust Fund Kid? You still there?"

"Yes." Robert steels his resolve. "I'm in love with her." He pauses. "And I know about the dreamsharing." He adds in.

"Browning told you." Not a question.

"Yes, he had a folder that someone he said named 'Kelly Franklin' had gathered for him. I think that was her name?"

The other side of the phone is quiet for a minute, and he worries that maybe Eames had hung up on him. Then said man replies, "Yep, Kelly Franklin was hired to spy on you for Browning. You know about inception, don't you?" Robert suspects the other man dreads the answer.

"I know all about the idea to make me split up my company." He nods then freezes when it hits him. "Peter was fucking spying on me?"

"Yes."

"He's the one who was angry about me missing meeting because of Ariadne. He's the one that is pissed about me splitting up the company. He hates my receptionist...no one in the entire office hates them except him." Robert begins pacing again, right, left, right, left, right, left, right. Avery watches him, concerned. "I need to talk to Ariadne! I need to tell her that I-"

But where could she possible be? He thinks back to the folder on her placed so innocently on Avery's desk. It had her address. Would she be there? Dreamsharers probably have tons of safehouses.

"We do." Shit, he probably said the last part aloud, didn't he...?

Eames rattles off an address exactly the same as the one in the folder. "That's where she is at the moment. She plans to leave for Paris after new year’s though. What's your plan?"

What was his plan? Well, it needed to be romantic for one. His mind goes completely blank, avoiding any kind of promising idea he could possibly have like the plague.

"I...uh...I don't have one?" It sounds more like a question than anything.

"Well then," Eames purrs. "You're in luck because Arthur here just might." His voice grows distant as the phone is brought away from Eames' mouth. "Darling, if you wouldn't mind?"

The phone changes hands and the man who left the number at his office is finally on the receiving end. "Fischer, good to hear you're still alive." Arthur sound facetious. "Here's an idea that might just work."

-:-

December 30

Ariadne glances at the diner clock, six. The waitress comes back to the table. "Would you like something to drink?" Ariadne starts to refuse then gives in.

"I'll take a milkshake, vanilla."

-:-

December 30

He has Avery burn the folder. He finds out what happened to Kelly Franklin through Arthur, and surprising to both parties involved, Robert lacks a whole lot of sympathy toward the now dead point woman.

Early the next morning, he manages to slip a quick scribbled note under the door of Ariadne's apartment and spends most of the day destroying various files and other stuff from this computer. He even makes a few calls with companies and sells off chucks of Fischer-Morrow with them as quickly as possible.

It's freeing.

-:-

Ariadne sighs. Seven o'clock. She has long finished her milkshake, the empty cup abandoned on the table. She walks up the cash register and pays with a ten before grabbing her umbrella to head out the door.

It's still raining outside. She glances across the street, pulling her umbrella up and over her head. On the other side is an unmarked black car that the dreamsharing business paranoia instilled in her is immediately wary of.

A man steps out, getting soaked to the bone as he crosses the street in a three-piece suit. He is directly in front of her before she can step back into the diner.

Robert smiles at her, hair and suit jacket sticking to him. "Hi."

"Hi." She tilts her head, swallowing thickly.

"I'm so sorry if I'm too late. I have an excuse, but it doesn't matter anymore." He touches both her arms, lightly enough that she could slip out of his grip if she so desires to.

She doesn't.

"I know about inception." Shit.

Ariadne draws back, her breath shaky. No, no, no. She whips around violently looking for the hired guns or any kind of threat.

"No! Wait, please." He steps toward her. "It's ok! I got rid of all the evidence Browning had gathered on you. You and your family are perfectly safe."

She lets out a hollow laugh. "We're never safe in our line of work."

Robert gives her back a wiry half smile, amused. "It sounds exciting." They are both stand underneath her umbrella out of the rain.

"It is." Why is she telling him this?

"I love you." He blurts out.

Ariadne shakes her head with a sad sort of look. "No, you don't."

"I do. I love you. Even with the dreamsharing. Even with inception. Even with meeting your mother." Robert reaches his hands up to cradle her face in his palms.

"You left."

"I'm sorry about that. I regret leaving the very moment I stepped out of that house. I never meant to use you like that."

"You didn't. You didn't, I swear." She puts her hands over his. "Robert Fischer, I love you."

"You do?" His eyes bright and overfilled with hope. This is the kind of look she is afraid of breaking.

"Yes." She nods again and again and again and again and again and again and-

Robert brings her closer until their foreheads are touching. "Ariadne Eames?" He whispers.

"Yes?" She whispers back.

"Can I kiss you?"

"Yes." She holds the umbrella tight. They stand in front of the neon-lit diner in the rain kissing until they are absolutely and utterly breathless, holding each other like there's no one else in the entire world.

Chapter Text

January 18

Robert squeezes his eyes closed. He takes a deep breath in, out, in, out. He opens them. His reflection stares back at him in the dressing room.

The lights surrounding each and every mirror lights up the corners of the room. Beside him, Eames pulls a silver pocket watch out of his waistcoat. The outfit the forger is currently sports looks nothing like the god-awful shirts he is usually sporting. He looked more like his husband at the moment with his fancy three-piece suit and sensible shoes.

"Maybe we should try something else...how do you feel about working with Arthur for a bit?"

"Yeah," Robert nods, not taking his eyes off the image in front of him. "Yeah, sure."

"At least you tried, huh, Trust Fund Kid?" Eames flips open the watch and checks the time. "We have a minute left in dream time; is there anything else you want me to show you?"

Robert brushes off imaginary lint off his leather jacket. "Aren't you also rich?" He never understood Eames need for nicknames especially when it also applies to him. "Fine," he holds his hands up in defeat after Eames glares at him. "Can you forge something humanoid-like? Something not really human?"

Eames tilts his head, grinning like the mad hatter. "I have no idea...wouldn't hurt to try!"

-:-

Eames groans as Fischer and him sit up. Arthur raises an eyebrow at Eames' pupils which avoid the light he is currently shining in them. "You're early, Mr. Eames."

His husband offers him a shrug then turns to Fischer. "Huh, turns out it does hurt to try."

"What does?" Arthur puts away the light and help the two up.

"Non-human forging." Arthur blinks once, twice. He hopes the annoyed expression he's sending Eames portrays 'you idiot' in multiple different languages. Eames is smart; he could figure it out.

A beat of silence then Arthur speaks.

"Ariadne texted me a few minutes ago, asked where we wanted to eat for lunch."

"Oh, and what were you thinking, darling?" Eames leers, curling up against the pointman.

"Well, there is the wonderful new restaurant a few blocks from her apartment that I've been wanting to try..."

His sister-in-law had invited them all to Paris for a trip since she wanted to fix up her apartment and, Eames had told her this in secret and Arthur had been told by the young architect, the forger was thinking of scoping out the Louvre again. Arthur hopes he wasn't going to steal anything again!

Well...at least not this evening. Tomorrow is fair game though. Arthur will let him get away with it if it’s not obvious or if it was a gift for the Pointman.

-:-

January 22

"We've tried Pointman and Forger, Chemist is a no-go, and you insisted that you didn't want to be architect. So that leaves only one thing..." Arthur sips on his glass of red wine while seated in Ariadne's kitchen.

The husbands sips on their drinks they managed to find somewhere in Ariadne’s cabinets when Robert wasn’t paying attention. Ariadne, on the other hand, is snacking on an apple from the bowl in the center of her coffee table.

Her Parian apartment is a mostly open floor plan excluding the bedrooms and bathrooms; her living room and kitchen are a big space with beautiful windows, a huge TV, and a painting of a Van Gogh that looked just like the real thing. Robert had a sneaking suspicion that Eames had something to do with it.

"What do you mean 'Chemist is a no-go?'" Ariadne sent Robert a confused glance.

"I don't know about you, Ari, but I don't usually trust chemists that almost spill half the chemicals on themselves." Eames teases. If you manage to catch the glint of seriousness in his eyes, you'd know that he was a least a little worried about the billionaire for a second there.

"Ah." Ariadne hums. "So, Robert?"

"Yes?" He waits to the worst to happen.

"How do you feel about training to be an extractor?"

-:-

January 26

"I don't know about you, Mr. Fischer, but I think you look so much happier now than you did a month ago." Avery grins from the other side of the video call. They, as far as Robert can tell, are at a beach house that he used to own that he gave to them two weeks ago.

Robert hasn't watched American news much as he left California and by extend the United States, so he doesn't know much about Peter's reaction to him and Avery leaving the company. He heard from Avery and their contacts that the business is going to be fucking.

If he is completely honest though, he couldn't give a fuck that his father gave him because he was the heir. With Arthur and the Eames siblings, he can make something for himself that will finally be something of his own creation. He will finally be from under Peter's demanding thumb.

Sure, he's a fugitive and a criminal now, but he is happy. And not just content.

"Just Robert is fine, Avery." He waves off the rigid address.

"Right." They laugh. They talk about traveling around the states and Europe to gain more research and material for eventually getting in contact with Mr. Saito.

Robert doesn't push on finding out their exact plan; he isn't concerned about business. They bicker back and forth on Robert's love confession to one Ariadne Eames and how, in Avery's opinion, was "super fucking cheesy."

They would hang up the call an hour later with Avery going back to their researching and Robert going back to curling up against Ariadne in her bed. She would bury her head in his chest, his arm looped around her waist. Both are more than content; both are happy.