Out, Out Damned Spot | Inception | PG | Ariadne/Arthur
Title: Out, Out Damned Spot
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Ariadne/Arthur
Rating: PG
Spoilers: For the movie.
Summary: Written for a prompt from
inception_kink: if you kill someone in a dream, does that make you a murderer?
A/N: This is a mini-fic that I wrote to procrastinate from writing my bigbang xD Fluff + hurt/comfort. Enjoy!!
"Don't make me do this," she whispers in a haggard voice. There's a gun in her hand pointed at Arthur's head that shakes violently with every quiver of her arm. Somehow, the job has gone wrong, yet again. This time around it was just Arthur and Ariadne on a two-person heist, and the mark had gone a little psycho-killer with his projections.
Arthur coughs up blood, splattering the floor a horrifying crimson.
"It's a dream, Ariadne," Arthur chokes out. "The quicker you do it, the less pain I'm in..." He winces. A projection had shot him in the gut, and the wound was draining him rapidly of most faculties.
"I can't kill you," is what she replies.
"You're saving me," he tells her. She shakes her head back and forth, tears welling in her eyes.
"No," she says, put even as she says the word, she brings a second hand to join the first, as if her body has already decided upon the most logical course of action and is merely waiting for her brain to catch up.
Arthur sees her second hand and lets out a small sigh of relief. "Just pull the trigger, and I'll get you the kick from above."
Ariadne presses her eyes closed before any tears can escape.
"You know, you have to open your eyes to aim," Arthur tells her, a near-chuckle in his voice. Ariadne glares at him and he stops smiling.
"What you don't seem to understand is that I can't do this, so I'm glad you think it's real funny," she tells him viciously, channeling her fear into a pure white rage that vanishes as quickly as it comes. There's a sudden banging at the door: the projections have gotten inside the abandoned restaurant Arthur had maneuvered into. Right now, the two of them were in a meat locker. Ariadne could see her breath as she tried to calm herself: breath in, breath out.
"Do it," Arthur commands with a wheeze. "Do it before they come in here and rip us to shreds."
"I love you," she whispers.
"I love you," he responds. "Now go."
She pulls the trigger, a sob punctuating the bang moments later. Dropping the gun, Ariadne falls to her feet, clawing at a lifeless Arthur. Even though logically she knew that he wasn't really dead, holding his corpse in her small embrace was more than enough to rattle the young architect. Ariadne draws her hands away from his wounds, and they come away red.
She hears the kick, and everything goes black.
—
When she awakens, Arthur is standing above her, a hand on her shoulder. She promptly pukes up the majority of her dinner on his patent leather shoes. Thankfully, he does not comment, and merely attempts to hold her hair back while she empties her stomach.
When she finishes, she finds that she's crying.
"Shh," he tells her. "I'm right here. You're okay. We're okay."
Ariadne looks down at her palms and sees red. She tries to rub it away.
"My hands—after you... left, I tried to cover them... your wounds. My hands won't get clean," she finally finishes. "Where's the sink?"
Arthur is looking at her incredulously. "There's nothing on your hands, Ariadne. Focus. We're in the warehouse right now. No one is injured."
"I really need a sink," Ariadne tells him, trying to wipe the blood from her hands on her pants, which only ends up making her even messier. She walks away from him toward the bathroom, and he shadows her cautiously.
"Ariadne," he attempts, but she doesn't respond. She turns on the sink and runs her hands under it. The blood doesn't wash away. She douses her hands in soap: still, nothing.
"Arthur, it won't go away," she tells him. "Why won't they get clean?"
"Your hands are clean," he murmurs, turning off the sink. "Look." He takes her wrists in his hands and turns her palms face up. All Ariadne can see is his blood staining her skin.
"It won't go away," she murmurs. Arthur sighs and waits a moment.
"The first kill never does," he admits at last. He tugs her into his embrace, keeping her hands out of sight. "But the shock... it fades. Eventually it becomes routine. Someday, you'll be killing in the dream world as if it means nothing at all."
"Does it? Mean nothing?" she asks him, face buried in his chest.
"The way you killed me tonight... of course it means something," he tells her, a note of adoration in his voice. "The mercy kill you performed tonight was done out of love. The sacrifice you made... it took strength. It's part of why I love you."
She sniffles. "I would never hurt you," she tells him with an intensity that surprises even herself.
"I know," he tells her. "This profession... it gets to everyone. Even to the best. Even to us." He rests his forehead against hers.
"My hands are clean?" she asks him. In response, he takes her hands and lifts them to his mouth, kissing each finger in turn.
When he finishes, and she looks down at her palms, the blood is gone.
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Ariadne/Arthur
Rating: PG
Spoilers: For the movie.
Summary: Written for a prompt from
inception_kink: if you kill someone in a dream, does that make you a murderer?A/N: This is a mini-fic that I wrote to procrastinate from writing my bigbang xD Fluff + hurt/comfort. Enjoy!!
"Don't make me do this," she whispers in a haggard voice. There's a gun in her hand pointed at Arthur's head that shakes violently with every quiver of her arm. Somehow, the job has gone wrong, yet again. This time around it was just Arthur and Ariadne on a two-person heist, and the mark had gone a little psycho-killer with his projections.
Arthur coughs up blood, splattering the floor a horrifying crimson.
"It's a dream, Ariadne," Arthur chokes out. "The quicker you do it, the less pain I'm in..." He winces. A projection had shot him in the gut, and the wound was draining him rapidly of most faculties.
"I can't kill you," is what she replies.
"You're saving me," he tells her. She shakes her head back and forth, tears welling in her eyes.
"No," she says, put even as she says the word, she brings a second hand to join the first, as if her body has already decided upon the most logical course of action and is merely waiting for her brain to catch up.
Arthur sees her second hand and lets out a small sigh of relief. "Just pull the trigger, and I'll get you the kick from above."
Ariadne presses her eyes closed before any tears can escape.
"You know, you have to open your eyes to aim," Arthur tells her, a near-chuckle in his voice. Ariadne glares at him and he stops smiling.
"What you don't seem to understand is that I can't do this, so I'm glad you think it's real funny," she tells him viciously, channeling her fear into a pure white rage that vanishes as quickly as it comes. There's a sudden banging at the door: the projections have gotten inside the abandoned restaurant Arthur had maneuvered into. Right now, the two of them were in a meat locker. Ariadne could see her breath as she tried to calm herself: breath in, breath out.
"Do it," Arthur commands with a wheeze. "Do it before they come in here and rip us to shreds."
"I love you," she whispers.
"I love you," he responds. "Now go."
She pulls the trigger, a sob punctuating the bang moments later. Dropping the gun, Ariadne falls to her feet, clawing at a lifeless Arthur. Even though logically she knew that he wasn't really dead, holding his corpse in her small embrace was more than enough to rattle the young architect. Ariadne draws her hands away from his wounds, and they come away red.
She hears the kick, and everything goes black.
—
When she awakens, Arthur is standing above her, a hand on her shoulder. She promptly pukes up the majority of her dinner on his patent leather shoes. Thankfully, he does not comment, and merely attempts to hold her hair back while she empties her stomach.
When she finishes, she finds that she's crying.
"Shh," he tells her. "I'm right here. You're okay. We're okay."
Ariadne looks down at her palms and sees red. She tries to rub it away.
"My hands—after you... left, I tried to cover them... your wounds. My hands won't get clean," she finally finishes. "Where's the sink?"
Arthur is looking at her incredulously. "There's nothing on your hands, Ariadne. Focus. We're in the warehouse right now. No one is injured."
"I really need a sink," Ariadne tells him, trying to wipe the blood from her hands on her pants, which only ends up making her even messier. She walks away from him toward the bathroom, and he shadows her cautiously.
"Ariadne," he attempts, but she doesn't respond. She turns on the sink and runs her hands under it. The blood doesn't wash away. She douses her hands in soap: still, nothing.
"Arthur, it won't go away," she tells him. "Why won't they get clean?"
"Your hands are clean," he murmurs, turning off the sink. "Look." He takes her wrists in his hands and turns her palms face up. All Ariadne can see is his blood staining her skin.
"It won't go away," she murmurs. Arthur sighs and waits a moment.
"The first kill never does," he admits at last. He tugs her into his embrace, keeping her hands out of sight. "But the shock... it fades. Eventually it becomes routine. Someday, you'll be killing in the dream world as if it means nothing at all."
"Does it? Mean nothing?" she asks him, face buried in his chest.
"The way you killed me tonight... of course it means something," he tells her, a note of adoration in his voice. "The mercy kill you performed tonight was done out of love. The sacrifice you made... it took strength. It's part of why I love you."
She sniffles. "I would never hurt you," she tells him with an intensity that surprises even herself.
"I know," he tells her. "This profession... it gets to everyone. Even to the best. Even to us." He rests his forehead against hers.
"My hands are clean?" she asks him. In response, he takes her hands and lifts them to his mouth, kissing each finger in turn.
When he finishes, and she looks down at her palms, the blood is gone.