loadedparadox

Pain is in the mind.

He knew. A moment before it came, Arthur knew. Then it all happened at once. The loud report of the gun, echoing in his inner ear even as something else entirely blotted it out all together. Pain. Sharp and tearing, ripping through ligament and bone, leaving the skin ripped open as blood splattered outward from entering and exit, tiny droplets tinged with tissue that hit the silk trousers of the men holding him on his feet, soaking in even as strong hands kept him on his feet.

Maybe he hollered out, maybe he didn't. Arthur wouldn't make himself stop, not wanting to, not wanting to give that satisfaction though his skin was suddenly clammy, paler than it had been a moment before, and there was more to come as the shooter circled him, speaking to the one watching, the one most hurt by Arthur's pain.

Pain is in the mind, and judging by the decorum we're in your mind, aren't we, Arthur?

The watcher moved, swift and sudden. Even as the mind took over, fighting to the numb the pain, blessed oblivion came in the form of a bullet to the brain. In those last moments before he died in the dream, dying to awake in the real world, Arthur felt just one thing. Relief.

Just as he had when Mal had tortured him in a dream and Cobb had been forced to kill Arthur to save him from the pain. Except it wasn't Cobb saving him this time. This time it was Dominic that held the pistol to Arthur's head, smug and arrogant, circling Arthur as he prepared for the next shot. Cobb that held Arthur at bay, kept him from moving away no matter how much he struggled.

Cobb who stared wide eyed at Ariadne as she fired that killing blow, saving Arthur from the pain, saving him from Cobb, saving him from himself.

What: Leaving for Vegas
Who: With dreamsofmazes and eamesofdreams
Warnings: None currently


( Visiting the past before changing the future )

((For dreamsofmazes))

He had thought about this for days as he made the plans for Vegas. So in between talking to old friends and older enemies, he had put things in place. Then he had left the box on Ariadne's bed.

Inside was a Canon Rebel digital camera, charged and loaded. Beneath it was a note.

For my love, Ariadne,

Soon we leave Paris. One day we'll come back but this is where we met, where it began. Today is for you and I. All the landmarks, the cafes, anything and everything. I want to commemorate it all. You're the first person in my life I've truly wanted to make memories with.

Love,

Arthur

Then, dressed in jeans and a yellow tee, he waited for her to find him in his room.

Eames had shot himself. It might have been in a dream but all that was going on between them had gotten so bad the man would rather shoot himself and end the dream rather than have it out with Arthur. That may have only led to a row to end all they might have shared except for one thing.

Mal.

Even if she was a shade of herself, an invention of his mind to deal with loss and pain and need, Arthur could not bring himself to defame her memory by not heeding her advice.

Right after he kicked Eames' ass for that little stunt.

The warehouse was empty, the lawn chair still warm. Arthur made his choice in a second and a short cab ride later he was banging on Ariadne's door. Angry, upset and determined, he didn't allow himself time to stop and think. If he did he might second guess what he was about to do.