Title: Les Chansons D’Amour
Author: hell_princessXXs (MeMy Mo)
Pairing: past Cobb/Mal/Ariadne, Cobb/Arthur, implied Ariadne/Eames
Rating: PG-15
Summary: Based on the movie Les Chansons D’Amour. AU
Disclaimer: All don’t belong to me, but to Christopher Nolan. And Les Chansons D’amour belong to Christophe Honore.
Warning: Un-beta. Sorry for any errors, English isn’t my native language.
Les Chansons D’Amour
1. The Departure
Things have been sore for awhile between them now. It’s not like Cobb doesn’t love Mal anymore; he still do, with all his heart, but it’s not like before. The passion, the love, everything they used to have, to share – they seem to fade away with time. Toying with his ring, Cobb guessed that came along with marriage. But he still loves her, and that’s count right?
He just felt tired. Weary, like an old man. Like he has seen too much, lived too long. Minutes felt like months, and days feel like years. It felt like fifty years has past, and it has been only five. Tired, that what he felt. Tired to the bone.
He doesn’t know what cause it, but lately, Mal seems different. Different from the woman he has met many years ago, the woman he has love and married. Different, yes, definitely. She distant herself from him, staying in the room most of the day, ignoring him. And the phone call. Every five minutes, she would call him, regardless whether he has a lecture or not, demanding to know where is he, who is with him, what is he doing, so on and so forth. She would cried or slam the phone down, angrily when he informed her he would be a little bit late. At first, Cobb doesn’t think much about this, but lately, it has come to a point of almost obsession.
And then, she proposed a menage a trois.
To say he was surprised is the understatement of the year.
He held her in his arm, made love to her all night, convincing her that no, no, he doesn’t anyone in their life, that everything is perfect the way they are (even if both of them secretly know it’s not), and that he just needs her. That morning, she woke up next to him, and told him she already choose someone. And looking into her eyes, fingers trace the face of the woman he has fell in love with so many years ago, he couldn’t help but say yes.
That’s how Ariadne came into their life.
Ariadne with her calming aura and soft smile and unbroken innocence. She is young, painfully young, a teacher assistant at his university. She reminds him of Mal in someway, but different, from the way her brown hair fall down on her back to the way her eyes sparkle when she smiles. She is like green grass field and early morning flowers and honey, calm and sweet.
Like a bridge between their banks, running from side to side. She wormed her way into their lives, easily. Easier than he has initially thought.
She told him, quietly, over the cup of coffee they shared one rainy afternoon, both stuck in the campus, that to her, Mal was more like a sister. It’s not about the sex, she insist, it’s really not. He almost believe her, if he didn’t see Mal and her kissing. But he didn’t tell her, and she just smile at him, a sad little smile that almost break his heart. They stay quiet until the last drop of rain fell.
Mal thought he loves Ariadne. He doesn’t. He doesn’t know who he loves anymore.
Let’s rejoice, Cobb, it’s over. She told him one night, when they all went out. It will no longer be three, just two. So choose – her or me.
He felt as if his heart was breaking into millions pieces. She should know, he only loves her.
You know I would choose you. He said, with as much conviction as he could muster. I love you. He said, again and again, as if to convince both her and him.
And then, the next thing he remembered was the flashlight of police care, the sound of people screaming and murmuring, the voice of doctor and the image of his wife being lifted into the ambulance. He sat there, with her coat in his arm, his face blank and void of emotion, and looked. Her favorite spin fell on the ground, and kept spinning, spinning like a mad ballerina until it came to a complete stop.
His wife is dead.
He ran blindly on the street. Mal, Mal, Mal – his subconscious kept calling. He passed by the street they used to walk together, the cafe they used to go, the restaurant where he proposed to her. It felt like walking backward. He kept seeing her, a shade maybe, or a figment of his imagination, or maybe it IS her, in her purple dress and a smile on her face and he ran like a mad man, calling her name only to realize later that it wasn’t her. That she is dead and he is alone.
Alone. Cobb is afraid of loneliness.
He picked up his phone and called Miles like any responsible human being would do, informed him that Mal is dead that no, he doesn’t know why and yes, it would be great if he could take care of the funeral and that no, he doesn’t really wanted to talk and yes, yes, he understood. Cobb hang up immediately. He supposed he should call Ariadne and tell her, but he really doesn’t have the energy, and he doesn’t wanted to repeat the same line that Mal is dead, because it made him feel helpless, that he can’t control everything even if he wanted to.
He clenched his fist, and the spin dug into his hand, sharp and painful. He put it on the table, and spin it. He just keep spinning it, wishing that it would stop falling down.
It kept falling down anyway.
2. The Absence
Paris is cold. He feels numb.
Phillipa has left like a hundred of messages on his phone, each of them is the same as the other. He doesn’t need to pick up, he just knows. He looked around his apartment – messed and dirty and empty, the fragrance of her perfume is still lingered here, the warmth. He picked up Madame Bovary. She hasn’t finished it yet. He touched her scarf – she was wearing it the other day. He touched her pillow – there are some strand of her hair. Her clothes, so carelessly she flung it on the floor sometimes, mixed with Ariadne’s.
He ran out of the apartment. He couldn’t stay there. It’s too much, everything – the memories, the smell, the little red mug she used, the knife. He pressed his hand inside his pocket, holding the spin tightly and let out a shaky breath. Determinedly, he walks to the university.
Unexpectedly, he bumped into Phillipa on the way.
“Hey, you OK?”
They exchange pleasantries, and kisses on the cheek.
He noticed the bag in her hand.
“Going to my place?”
“Of course.”
“Why didn’t you let me know?”
“I left a hundred messages.”
He knows, but he doesn’t really know it.
“I know but my phone is out of order. I’m going to the university.”
“I’ve taken half a day off work. Let’s do it now.”
“I can’t!”
He almost tell her that every time he opened the closet, he break down. That he can’t stand being there without Mal. But he didn’t
“Give me the key. I’ll do it.”
He gave it to her.
“Don’t snoop.”
“I won’t.”
He knows she will anyway.
…
…
They sat together, he and Ariadne, in the teacher lounge. It’s dark, and no one is here right now. The coffee is cold, but they pretend that it’s still okay.
“Hey, you’re not the materialistic type right?”
She took a sip from her cold coffee cup.
“Not really.”
“Clothes and shoes and make-up don’t mean much to you?”
“Hmm, it doesn’t matter.”
Silent.
“Are you trying to say I have bad taste?”
“No, I’m trying to say Mal’s sister is in my place taking some of her things. She probably takes them all anyway.”
He looked away. She didn’t question him, just touch his hand lightly. Sometimes, Ariadne understand him better than himself. She could read him so easily, and he hates her for that. She understood things that he is trying, struggling to figure out.
Silent. That’s all he needed right now.
…
…
Ariadne is seeing this man now, Eames. British guy. They met at a bar that she frequented. Right now, he is invading Eames’s couch and listening to the man endless ramble about the entertainment system in his house.
“Oh, the sleeping bag is my brother’s, so don’t worry, it’s really clean.”
Cobb smiles, and thanks him politely. It’s not like he will needed it anyway.
“Try to get some sleep.” Ariadne said to him. She knows he won’t.
…
…
Someone touched him on the shoulder.
“Hey. Is you then?”
Cobb startled. It was a young man, about sixteen, seventeen, maybe older. His black hair was a bit mused from sleeping, and even in his pajama he managed to look impeccable, not ridiculous. He looked a bit like Ariadne, with the same air of innocence and calmness. Just by looking, Cobb could tell his skin is smooth and soft, his brown hair silky and his lips look so tempting.
“Closed the window.”
The soft voice, thick with English accent snapped Cobb out of his thoughts. He closed the window quickly, mumble an apology.
“Don’t worry about it. But since we haven’t paid the gas bill, we slept with the window closed.”
He glanced at the sleeping bag.
“Didn’t use them?”
“I can’t sleep, so yeah.”
Silent.
“I was told about you.”
Cobb wanted to slap him. What does he know anyway.
“Whatever you were told, I assure you that I can be alone.”
The kid gave him a look.
“It’s six o’clock. I usually wake up at seven.” The part not because I care about you, moron hang in the air. Cobb sighed. Maybe he is relieved, or maybe disappointed. He doesn’t know. Flung himself on the sofa, he sits there.
“Why get up so early?”
“School. Want some coffee.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
Silent. Sometimes it’s too much to bear.
“My name is Arthur.”
The boy said, handed him a cup of hot coffee. It’s almost pleasant and peaceful.
“Cobb.”
His mouth curved upward, forming a smirk.
“I was told about you, remember.”
It feels almost okay.
…
…
When Arthur slipped out with his three piece suits (it’s my uniform, Cobb), flawless and somewhat beautiful (or maybe he was just imagining it), he told Cobb to stop watching the TV too early in the morning because it’s bad for Cobb’s mental health, and that his room is the last one on the right.
Cobb pretended he didn’t listen, but he slipped into the bed and fell asleep, breath in the smell of rain, of ocean and crepes with lemon.
Maybe a day off won’t hurt him.
…
…
The boy came back with blueberry muffin, a hint of sarcasm in his voice when he asked what were they for. “Oh dear, for the tea party of course darling.” It sounded tempting, but he declined. He has to go to the university to grab something, and that back to his apartment.
“Your choice. But you could always stay.”
He almost, but he didn’t.
…
…
…
He told Ariadne that Mal’s parent have the autopsy result, and she died because of a cardiac arrest when they packed their things in the teacher lounge. She didn’t say anything, except thank you, and continue packing. She was out of the door before he even finished.
…
…
Phillipa was still at the apartment when he came back. With Scarlett, the dog that Mal’s mom owned.
“You didn’t come home last night. I was worry.”
“And the dog?”
“I was scared, so mom let me borrow it. Be grateful that at least I didn’t call James.”
He looked around the apartment. It seems different – cleaner, spacier, emptier, yet still as cold.
“I thought we could help each others you know. Talk.”
She continued on.
“Did dad tell you the autopsy result?”
She really need to learn how to shut her mouth once in a while.
“How is your class?”
He felt like falling apart.
“I’m sorry Phil, but I can’t. I can’t sit here and pretend everything is okay and go on. So, I will take my key, you take Mal’s. I’m sorry, but I’m out of here. I can’t stay.”
He wanted to escape.
“Where are you going?”
He didn’t answer. He just wanted to escape. From everything.
…
…
“Have anyone told you that it is incredibly rude to throw stone at someone window at 4am?”
“No question please. Just take me in.”
Arthur sighed.
“It’s 7A20”
…
He shed his clothes, and flung himself on Arthur’s bed.
“You work late.”
“Wasn’t working.”
The room look clean, perfect and flawless, just like its owner. The shelves are full of books, literature and science and the like. Some are architecture. He picked on up, randomly.
“This isn’t in the program, is it?” Cob asked, laughingly. Arthur frowned, and yanked the book out of his hand.
“Don’t messed it up.”
Arthur turned away, closed his laptop, and offered him a cigarette. He accepted. They light them in silent. Taking a drag, Arthur turned to him, brown eyes shone with innocence and trust that it hurts, because they are so warm.
“Have you ever love, for the sheer beauty of it?”
He silent.
“Yes, I have. But those immature passion, those indigestible lovers – it was hard. It made me tired. Love is something that will eat away your heart slowly, then your brain and the rest, and leave you dead.”
Arthur just smiled. A little, tiny smile, that as bright as summer sky.
“Often the test of time gets the better of us.”
Cobb doesn’t reply.
“Go to bed. It’s late.”
…
…
In darkness, he thought he heard Arthur whispered:
“Don’t be afraid to love. Kiss me and let me be your guide.”
He pretended he didn’t hear it.
…
…
3. The return
Ariadne broke up with Eames. He is a tad too touchy-feely to her liking (meaning: he touched her too many times to the point she considered it sexual harassment). She gave him the key and told him to give it to Arthur because the kid was basically stalking him anyway.
Cobb did. He gave it to Arthur when he saw him at the gate, but then one look, he put it back in his pocket, take the kid to his apartment and kissed him.
He wanted to forget, to erased all trace of Mal. The spin lie on the vanity table, forgotten, when Arthur grind down on him and kissed him. He lost himself somewhere between the warmth of Arthur and the kissed and the noises. He just wanted to forget.
He just wanted to love.
…
…
Phillipa found them in the morning. She just stared, and told Cobb that maybe she understood why her sister was unhappy. He let her leave, and didn’t say anything. Arthur rolled out of bed and starting to put on his suit or his uniform or whatever it is, while telling Cobb that probably he couldn’t offer Arthur breakfast.
The apartment is empty again when Arthur left.
…
…
…
He didn’t come to the university, instead wandering around. He visited her grave. It felt like he was late, and she was blaming him.
He doesn’t need this guilt. And he left the cemetery.
He wandered about, from Montparnasse to Chaateau d’Eau. He drank God knows how many glasses – Zubrowska, Riesling, Piper. Drunken, he felt more lonely than ever. He longed for someone warmth, someone hand. He almost wanted to run to Arthur, run into his arms just to get off the street. Instead, he waited for Ariadne outside the university. She always get a cab home after all.
“Are you OK?”
He isn’t.
“I’m melancholy.”
Maybe there is some truth in that.
…
…
Ariadne somehow managed to drop him off at Arthur’s without waking up Eames. Arthur told her not to worry, because nothing could wake Eames up, even Death.
The wind is cold. Of course, since it’s winter. He drowned himself in the sound of people and cars on the street.
“When you died because of hypothermia, don’t come back and haunt me, because I did warn you.”
“Why do you love me?”
“Does it matter?” Arthur is typing something now.
“I’m old and a widower. I’m a poor, idiotic vulgarian.”
“Mhmm, by the way, I’m young, handsome, and British. I’m smell of rain, ocean and crepes with lemon. So what?”
“You shouldn’t love me.”
“You aren’t my father.”
Silent. Arthur keeps typing
“I can’t forget about Mal.”
Brown eyes look at him.
“You want a body, okay. You need a pair of arms, why not? You could always stay in my bed.”
He looked at Arthur. So young and so innocence and those eyes shines with warmth and love and it hurts.
“I don’t deserve you.”
Arthur smile, and hold him tight.
“You really need to here that I love you.”
Tongue, dancing, the battle of desire and passion.
Warm body pressed against his.
Smell of rain and ocean and crepes surrounds him.
“Love me less, but love me long time.”
Captain Apollo 