Fanfiction: "Helping Hand" (1/2)
Aug. 15th, 2010 05:36 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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inthewildwoodTitle: Helping Hand
Fandom: Inception
Summary: Mal is forbidden from extracting while pregnant. Fortunately for her team, she's not too impressed with the doctor's orders.
Rating: PG-13 (Violence)
Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
inception_kink . Prompt: Pregnant!Mal is pregnant and totally badass.
It didn't seem to matter how many times she protested that dreamspace was perfectly safe for both her and the baby- after all, if she was killed, she would just wake up- Dom was still fixated on the idea that extracting was simply too dangerous for her in her current condition. She knew he was doing it out of concern of course, but that made it no less aggravating. Heavy and cumbersome, she was confined to her bed for the duration of her pregnancy, and the mind-numbing tedium of it was driving her mad. And now she couldn't even escape into dreams. At the very least, she insisted, they could run the extraction missions out of their living room, so she could monitor them from the sofa bed and have some input on the job. Since it wasn't a role that required any strenuous activity on her part, Dom reluctantly agreed.
But watching dreamers, she discovered, was little more interesting than doing nothing. The rest of her team- Dom, Eames, and the new point man (their last had parted company with them after they discovered that he wasn't above taking bribes from rivals) were sprawled across her floor, eyelids twitching in sleep. Having grown bored with watching them slumber, she tried flicking through the television, only to give up in disgust when she couldn't find anything other than game shows and soap operas. She glanced over at the timer- half an hour until the kick, and nothing to distract her until then.
A sudden noise made her jump, and look around for the source. The heart monitor was beeping loudly and urgently, with three bleats at once. All of their heart rates had speed up, without warning or apparent reason. She frowned. Nothing in their mission would cause an increased heartrate. They were in there to extract a memory someone wanted back, not stealing anything. The subconscious should be friendly, and it certainly shouldn't be on the attack. What was going on?
Whatever the cause of the increased heartrate, it was also causing their eyes to twitch beneath their eyelids, and their limbs to spasm almost imperceptibly. She looked at the monitor, then back to her sleeping team. Whatever was happening, it wasn't on schedule, and they had no plan to deal with it. They needed help, and she wasn't about to wait until she could call in reinforcements. She glanced down at her belly for a moment, then reached over to the spare tubing. "Deep breath, ma petite." she muttered, ripping a piece of tape off with her teeth. "We're going in."
* * * *
Her eyes flew open in the dream, taking in a skyline filled with square buildings mae of sun-dried clay. It looked Biblical. She took a step, and nearly lost her balance, unprepared for her repositioned centre of gravity. With no heavy belly to slow her down, sh felt lighter than she had in months. It almost made her feel like skipping. Or dancing. God, she'd missed dancing.
But there was no time for that now. Her team was nowhere in sight, and she had to find them before whatever had caused their distress did. She took a few more steps- it grew easier, like relearning to ride a bike- then broke into a jog, then a run. The streets around her were swarming with projections, but they weren't orderly like most peoples- they ran in circles, bumping into each other and tripping over their own feet. Dom had said that the client was mentally ill, but she hadn't imagined how they would extend to the subconscious. A little girl fell to her knees in front of her, tears on her cheeks, and Mal wanted to reach out and pick up her up, dry her eyes and tell her it would be alright-
-but she couldn't. No matter how distressed the projections were, she couldn't risk engaging with them and alerting the subconscious to her presence, especially if it had turned against the team. Was that the cause for the chaos around her? Had the client's troubled mind turned against what it saw as a threat? And if so, where were they?
She heard a shout to her left, and veered in the direction of the noise. Two of the projections- or so they must be, for she didn't recognize them- were wrestling, one sporting a bloody nose. The sight made her gut twist. What must this feel like for the client? His own mind bending in on itself, bits of his subconscious doing battle for supremacy? She was surprised he'd been lucid enough to hire anyone.
There was another yell, and she spun towards it in time to catch the slicked-down hair of their new point man ducking down behind a wall. She bolted towards him, trying to dodge the projections as she went. Her attempts were less than successful, and she ended up having to push a few out of the way and hope that it wouldn't make the client's mental state any worse. Reaching her destination, she vaulted over the wall- even with the fears occupying her mind, she felt a thrill from the free movement- and crouched down next to the others. Eames had his back against the wall, a gun clutched in both hands. The new point man, Arthur, was clutching the wall with both hands, as though he hoped it would anchor him. There was no sign of Dom.
"Where is he?" She had to shout to be heard over the cries of the projections. Eames and Arthur both jumped, and Eames looked ready to leap out of his own skin. "I thought Dom told you not to come!"
"You were in trouble." she said curtly, and he didn't press the issue. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair. "Mal-"
"Where is he?"
"We lost him." Arthur said in a rush. "There was this man- this projection- and he grabbed him before we could do anything."
"Did he kill him?" No, he couldn't have; if he had, Dom would have woken in their living room. Eames shook his head. "Dragged him off somewhere. We lost track."
"You're his team! You were supposed to stick together!" Eames just shrugged helplessly.
"Duck!" Arthur shouted suddenly, and Mal flattened herself against the ground as a burst of gunfire sounded over their heads. Arthur looked pale and drawn, and she felt a sudden wave of pity for him. He probably hadn't expected his first extraction to end in a gun battle.
"Right." she said, pushing her hair out of her face. "We are going to find my husband, and we are going to get out of here. And then," she said, with a pointed look at Eames, "we are going to find out how this happened."
Fandom: Inception
Summary: Mal is forbidden from extracting while pregnant. Fortunately for her team, she's not too impressed with the doctor's orders.
Rating: PG-13 (Violence)
Notes: Written for
inception_kink . Prompt: Pregnant!Mal is pregnant and totally badass.It didn't seem to matter how many times she protested that dreamspace was perfectly safe for both her and the baby- after all, if she was killed, she would just wake up- Dom was still fixated on the idea that extracting was simply too dangerous for her in her current condition. She knew he was doing it out of concern of course, but that made it no less aggravating. Heavy and cumbersome, she was confined to her bed for the duration of her pregnancy, and the mind-numbing tedium of it was driving her mad. And now she couldn't even escape into dreams. At the very least, she insisted, they could run the extraction missions out of their living room, so she could monitor them from the sofa bed and have some input on the job. Since it wasn't a role that required any strenuous activity on her part, Dom reluctantly agreed.
But watching dreamers, she discovered, was little more interesting than doing nothing. The rest of her team- Dom, Eames, and the new point man (their last had parted company with them after they discovered that he wasn't above taking bribes from rivals) were sprawled across her floor, eyelids twitching in sleep. Having grown bored with watching them slumber, she tried flicking through the television, only to give up in disgust when she couldn't find anything other than game shows and soap operas. She glanced over at the timer- half an hour until the kick, and nothing to distract her until then.
A sudden noise made her jump, and look around for the source. The heart monitor was beeping loudly and urgently, with three bleats at once. All of their heart rates had speed up, without warning or apparent reason. She frowned. Nothing in their mission would cause an increased heartrate. They were in there to extract a memory someone wanted back, not stealing anything. The subconscious should be friendly, and it certainly shouldn't be on the attack. What was going on?
Whatever the cause of the increased heartrate, it was also causing their eyes to twitch beneath their eyelids, and their limbs to spasm almost imperceptibly. She looked at the monitor, then back to her sleeping team. Whatever was happening, it wasn't on schedule, and they had no plan to deal with it. They needed help, and she wasn't about to wait until she could call in reinforcements. She glanced down at her belly for a moment, then reached over to the spare tubing. "Deep breath, ma petite." she muttered, ripping a piece of tape off with her teeth. "We're going in."
* * * *
Her eyes flew open in the dream, taking in a skyline filled with square buildings mae of sun-dried clay. It looked Biblical. She took a step, and nearly lost her balance, unprepared for her repositioned centre of gravity. With no heavy belly to slow her down, sh felt lighter than she had in months. It almost made her feel like skipping. Or dancing. God, she'd missed dancing.
But there was no time for that now. Her team was nowhere in sight, and she had to find them before whatever had caused their distress did. She took a few more steps- it grew easier, like relearning to ride a bike- then broke into a jog, then a run. The streets around her were swarming with projections, but they weren't orderly like most peoples- they ran in circles, bumping into each other and tripping over their own feet. Dom had said that the client was mentally ill, but she hadn't imagined how they would extend to the subconscious. A little girl fell to her knees in front of her, tears on her cheeks, and Mal wanted to reach out and pick up her up, dry her eyes and tell her it would be alright-
-but she couldn't. No matter how distressed the projections were, she couldn't risk engaging with them and alerting the subconscious to her presence, especially if it had turned against the team. Was that the cause for the chaos around her? Had the client's troubled mind turned against what it saw as a threat? And if so, where were they?
She heard a shout to her left, and veered in the direction of the noise. Two of the projections- or so they must be, for she didn't recognize them- were wrestling, one sporting a bloody nose. The sight made her gut twist. What must this feel like for the client? His own mind bending in on itself, bits of his subconscious doing battle for supremacy? She was surprised he'd been lucid enough to hire anyone.
There was another yell, and she spun towards it in time to catch the slicked-down hair of their new point man ducking down behind a wall. She bolted towards him, trying to dodge the projections as she went. Her attempts were less than successful, and she ended up having to push a few out of the way and hope that it wouldn't make the client's mental state any worse. Reaching her destination, she vaulted over the wall- even with the fears occupying her mind, she felt a thrill from the free movement- and crouched down next to the others. Eames had his back against the wall, a gun clutched in both hands. The new point man, Arthur, was clutching the wall with both hands, as though he hoped it would anchor him. There was no sign of Dom.
"Where is he?" She had to shout to be heard over the cries of the projections. Eames and Arthur both jumped, and Eames looked ready to leap out of his own skin. "I thought Dom told you not to come!"
"You were in trouble." she said curtly, and he didn't press the issue. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair. "Mal-"
"Where is he?"
"We lost him." Arthur said in a rush. "There was this man- this projection- and he grabbed him before we could do anything."
"Did he kill him?" No, he couldn't have; if he had, Dom would have woken in their living room. Eames shook his head. "Dragged him off somewhere. We lost track."
"You're his team! You were supposed to stick together!" Eames just shrugged helplessly.
"Duck!" Arthur shouted suddenly, and Mal flattened herself against the ground as a burst of gunfire sounded over their heads. Arthur looked pale and drawn, and she felt a sudden wave of pity for him. He probably hadn't expected his first extraction to end in a gun battle.
"Right." she said, pushing her hair out of her face. "We are going to find my husband, and we are going to get out of here. And then," she said, with a pointed look at Eames, "we are going to find out how this happened."
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