Proud Flesh

Print Friendly, PDF & Email

Proud Flesh
by templemarker

Notes: Art by min_taiwan” for [info]i_reversebang. Thank you so much, Min! Your art is just lovely and this was a great challenge to do. Cobb/Saito, PG-13, Western AU. Apologies for anachronisms and indistinct historicism. Beta by E & J.

***

In the dark curl of the summer night, Saito waits.

He is a patient man; it was not always so, but patience was a hard-won trait he chooses not to squander. And Dominic Cobb is worth waiting for. Of that he is certain, from a glimpse of desperation in a far-away city.

Saito curls a lick of flame into the hollow of his hands, pulling the smoke of American tobacco deep into his lungs. Dominic had agreed to meet him here, in Liberty City, California, and only time would tell if he kept to his bargain. Saito believed he might not; men on the run do foolish things, after all, such as running from the debts that kept them alive. And their bargain was one made out of need, not want; Dominic does not yet understand the type of man Saito is, but he has placed his future in Saito’s hands. That uncertainty can keep a man from his honor.

He rests the toe of his boot against the sloping plank of a sidewalk; he has dressed to blend in, hat and boots and riding gear, different from his usual suit of clothes. He believes it might make Dominic more comfortable, at first, less inclined to spook and run.

Dominic has children, kept with family in the security of European discretion. He will likely not see them again. Saito could fix many things, but even his reach does not extend that far. And so Dominic is alone, but free from the heavy sentence that might otherwise follow him.

Will he show?

Saito worries the thought, turning it over and over. It is so rare that he finds someone interesting. He snatches them up like jewels when he does, finding the key to their desire or need and turning it to his favor.

The crashing beat of the stagecoach breaks his reverie, and he looks up to see Dominic Cobb’s eyes meet him from the window.

So he did show, after all. Saito breathes deeply of his smoke once again and rubs the thumb of his hand along the buckle at his waist. Perhaps Saito will be entertained for awhile yet.

“I need–” Dominic said, breaking on the rough edges of his plea. “My wife. They said I murdered her.”

“But you didn’t,” Saito said, immense in his reserve. He sat at the head of a long table, hands steepled in front of him. Weak light filtered in from the window, casting a pall on Dominic’s sallow face.

Dominic looked up at him, red ringing his eyes and mouth turned down in an unhappy line. “No,” he said. “I didn’t. She–she–”

“Ah,” Saito said, recognition flaring. “I see. Well, Mr. Cobb, I believe there may be something I can do about your problem.”

“I don’t have much money,” Dominic said dully. “I’ve two children, and most of what I had went to provision them with their grandparents.”

Saito waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t want your money,” he said. “I have money. I am more interested in…you. It is said you have unique talents.” A pause, and Dominic nodded. It was as much the truth as anything else.

“I would like them in my service,” Saito said. “I would like you in my service, for a period of time. In exchange, I shall see to this matter.”

Dominic’s hands twitched, an abortive gesture, and landed on the brim of his hat. He twisted it between his hands for a moment and then met Saito’s eyes, a sure blue gaze. “I accept, Mr. Saito.”

“Very well,” Saito said. “Meet me in Liberty City in six weeks. All matters shall be concluded by then; I believe you’ll find my service a fair price for this bargain.”

Dominic nodded his head once, twice, and then left.

The start of the train jolts Saito from his rest. He opens his eyes and finds Dominic sitting across from him, staring out the window, hands resting on his knees and one scuffed boot resting atop the other.

“Did you sleep well,” Dominic asks softly, raising his eyes to meet Saito’s own.

“Well enough,” Saito answers. Outside, brown peaks dominate the landscape, cattle appearing in mottled clumps here and there. The sky is an expansive blue, white streaking across the horizon. It is nothing like home.

“And you?” he asks of Dominic.

“I don’t sleep much anymore,” Dominic says, turning to look outside the window again. “I can’t remember the last time I dreamed,” he adds, almost as an afterthought, perhaps something that did not mean to escape his lips but for the exhaustion he carries in every line of his body.

“Time may remedy that,” Saito says, knowing the words to be unlikely if not untrue.

A brief dust of a smile crosses Dominic’s face, muted laughter at something he lost faith in long ago. “Time waits for no man,” he says, and Saito is grasped by the urge to touch, to dig into these things that wrap Dominic Cobb up in old hurts and see what lies beneath.

“Tempus rerum imperator,” he replies, carefully accented words he learned from tutors bought by his father to give him the necessary tools for this Western world. Dominic blinks in surprise, but then nods in acceptance.

Silence reigns for a moment, and then Dominic says, “What do you require of me today, Mr. Saito?”

Saito takes his folio from the case by his feet and pulls a sheet of paper. “Fisher Morrow,” he says. “They seek to strike a deal that will give them majority control of the land on the western coast. I want you to change the son’s mind.”

Dominic takes the paper and reads through it, brow furrowing. “The father is dying?”

Saito nods. “Nearly dead; the physicians give him a month or more. He won’t see autumn.”

Dominic lets out a breath. “It won’t be easy. I’ll need a team.”

Saito reaches into his folio once more and pulls out a bound set of notes. “Whatever you need, Mr. Cobb,” he says, handing the money over to him. Dominic pockets it and crosses his arms.

“However,” Saito says, “I wish to observe.”

Dominic takes the measure of him, and for a moment Saito believes he will protest; but instead, he merely nods his head tightly. Dominic seems to believe the vise is tighter than Saito has made it. It would not do to inform him otherwise.

“Thank you,” Dominic said, the words ground out of him like grain against stone. “They dropped the warrant. The Marshalls aren’t looking for me anymore.”

“It was as we agreed upon, Mr. Cobb,” Saito said with impassive grace. “You are free from the reach of law enforcement.”

“But not from you,” Dominic said, frankness implacable in his voice. “Tell me how I will honor this bargain.”

Saito, sitting opposite him with the bottle of fine whiskey he had purchased to the barkeep’s pleasure, poured for Dominic and sipped from his own glass. “Do you know the philosopher Proclus?” he asked.

Dominic shook his head.

“Proclus believed that, though there were divine principles guiding our lives, man makes his own choices,” Saito said. “Man makes his own fate. It is that free will we exercise in each choice we make, in the choices others devise.” He took another sip, keeping contact with Dominic’s own eyes. “My company, Proclus West, seems recently to be in the business of making great choices. And what I need from you, Mr. Cobb, is to be the agent of those choices.”

Dominic’s hand hovered over his glass, caught in the beginning of understanding. “You’re talking about con work,” he said, wary. “I only did that to care for my children, Mr. Saito. It wasn’t because I wanted for a vocation.”

“Nevertheless,” Saito said, resolute, “you developed a talent for it, a talent I would use to insure that the goals of Proclus West are met.”

“You mean your own goals, don’t you?” Dominic said, skirting close to insolence.

“Is there a difference?” Saito asked.

Dominic quieted, turning over the thought in his head. “And if I do this,” he said, bringing his glass to his lips, “we will be at quits with each other? The bargain finished?”

“You will do this,” Saito said, because of course Dominic would; he had little choice. “And we will be at quits.”

“Did your Proclus ever talk about choices made for man, without his assent?” Dominic said without heat in his voice.

“The gods are fickle creatures, Mr. Cobb,” Saito said with a hard smile, and held out his glass for Dominic to meet with his own.

In only a few short weeks, Dominic has put together a team of reasonable professionals. Saito has dossiers on them all; he is a very thorough man.

He observes, as he has asked to. Their location is a masquerade ball hosted by the Governor of California at the end of the month; Fisher will attend, as will his father’s man, Peter Browning. This band of cons for hire will slip in and out of the event with no record of attendance, and by the end Fisher will have shied away from his father’s grand dreams for the holding company he built.

At least, that is the plan. Saito watches Dominic closely. He seems to be settling into this, into a future without his children. It is possible that he might slip the infamy that will follow him, despite the officials Saito has paid off, the Marshals Saito has restrained through his influence. But it is unlikely that Dominic Cobb will be able to arrive unnoticed in Europe, where the scandal of his wife’s death splashed across the Continent, mourning the loss of a beloved society doyenne. And from what investigation Saito has undertaken, his wife’s parents are disinclined to welcome Dominic into their home.

His children are safe, and loved, and cared for. If that does not satisfy him, there is little that will.

But this plan he is concocting gives him some measure of himself back, something of the man Saito found so interesting in the desperate, broken fugitive Saito had come across some time ago. His people listen attentively, argue with him occasionally, but they follow.

Saito will attend also, to witness this slow dance of intrigue from a comfortable distance. But he will also be watching Dominic, to see the sort of man he is when he is working towards something greater than himself; to see if he forgets the things that cause him pain when he is, truly, a confidence man.

Saito has never bought a more interesting man.

“You are Dominic Cobb,” Saito said. “I have seen your image on many of the wanted posters. Your friend Nash had much to say of you.” He paused. “He sought a bargain from me in exchange for you. Shall I offer you satisfaction?”

A flash across Cobb’s face, and then shuttered calm. “That’s not how I do things,” he said. His partner, shadowed by the brim of his hat, scowled.

“What do you want from me?” Cobb asked.

“I should ask you to turn that question around,” Saito said. “Instead ask, what might you want from me.”

“You can’t fix that. Nobody could,” Cobb said, hostile and cautious. Saito raised an eyebrow.

“How complex is the goal?” Cobb asked, against his partner’s clear disapproval.

“Simple enough,” Saito answered.

“We should walk away from this,” his partner said furiously.

Cobb’s eyes ducked away and then returned to Saito’s own. Saito held his gaze.

“Not today, Mr. Saito,” he said finally, and Saito inclined his head.

“I will be at the Brighton Inn at Bay City should you change your mind.” Cobb ducked his head in a nod, and they left, mounting their horses and riding off in a cloud of dust.

“Will you change your mind, Mr. Cobb,” he asked softly into the night air.

The swirl of colour on the floor below is like a dream beneath the yellow glow of the chandelier. Saito is approached many times in the course of the evening, but remains immovable from his position. From this perch on the balcony, he can see the entrance of each of Cobb’s team, mark their movements, and mind the arrival of Cobb himself.

He looks altogether unlike the man Saito had first met; a well-tailored suit of clothes and the resolve of a man who knows what he is after changed all things. Saito lays his eyes on Cobb and does not remove them for the rest of the night.

He watches as the girl draws Fisher away from Browning; as the fairer man pulls him into conversation; as the phial is slipped into his drink; as Cobb’s quiet partner carefully directs them all in and out, never noticed or memorable. And then, finally, Cobb; coming to sit by Fisher, now slumping at a quiet table, receptive and open to Cobb’s work.

It is a dance, this careful mechanism of a confidence. They will convince Fisher it is his own idea to undo what his father had built; they will cement the idea in his head and in his signature, a single piece of paper slipped into his plans that will push him to strike out on his own, to keep Fisher Morrow from seeking the great land acquisition that would topple Saito’s own plans.

The scheme is very clever, and Saito is still uncertain that it will work. But it almost doesn’t matter, watching Dominic play his part.

A half-hour passes, and Saito watches with baited breath as Fisher smiles, eyes wet, and bends over the table to take the pen that is offered.

He signs.

Saito lets out a relieved sigh and calls his secretary to him; he gives him a number of instructions and then dismisses him. With one final look to the floor, he catches Dominic staring up at him. Their eyes meet, and Saito does not know what Dominic reads in his expression. But in Dominic’s own, there is triumph, and no little challenge.

Saito slips into the shadows. He will have no regrets.

“I have honored our arrangement,” Dominic says, clear-eyed.

“So you have, Mr. Cobb,” Saito replies. He rises from his chair and comes to stand before Dominic; to his credit, Dominic does not move.

“We are at quits, you and I,” Saito says carefully, each word clipped and strong. “I will not hold you further to our bargain. Fisher has divested much of his holdings in this part of the country, and for that I am grateful for your talents.”

“You acquired them at a high price, Mr. Saito,” Dominic says, the words half-whispered between them.

“It was not so high a price as you may think, Mr. Cobb. Dominic. May I call you by your given name?”

Dominic blinks; it seems Saito caught him by surprise. “If you like.”

Saito starts walking forward, backing Dominic up into the sideboard against the wall. “I would like, Dominic, to revise the terms of our arrangement.”

“What do you mean?” Dominic asks, but his voice does not waver.

“Do you not know for yourself what I mean?” Saito asks, and places his hand, worn with bridle calluses from a lifetime of riding, against the soft skin of Dominic’s neck. “Do you not know?”

There is a moment of hesitation, and then, acquiescence. Dominic’s rigid posture loosens as if his strings are cut, and he topples slightly into Saito.

“I know,” he says brokenly. “It’s not a thing for a man to want.”

“We are not like other men,” Saito says, and pulls him down to take Dominic’s mouth for his own.

Dominic kisses as though he’s starving for it, and Saito thinks perhaps he is. He is of the mind that he would not let Dominic go, now that he has him. Saito was never anything but a selfish man.

They are on a steamer ship crossing the Atlantic. Dominic stays in their cabin, growing ever quieter as they approach his children who have not seen him in years, the family who abjured him with the death of his wife. Saito does not try to comfort him; there is little that could assuage such a situation.

Saito merely did what he could, which was to acquire new papers for Dominic, passage and board, and the companionship he gives freely. In the day, he walks the decks of the ship, admires the line of horizon, converses with other passengers.

At night, he draws Dominic close, and tells him the things he wishes to hear, ever hoping they are true. Saito may have bought this man, may have set his price and then let him go; but now that he has chosen to be kept, he will be well cared for.

Saito will journey with him to see his children, to watch well and repair what he can; and then, he thinks, they will go to Saito’s own home, and Saito shall show him the fall of sakura blossoms into the lake on Saito’s estate. They will watch the glory of the Imperial Army march the streets of Tokyo, and eat sweet eel on rice as his mother used to make.

They will journey together in all things, having found each other in such an unforeseen circumstance. And perhaps one day, the hurts in Dominic that cause him to cry out in the night will ebb and simple contentment shall be in its wake.

Saito does not hope for things in vain. He chooses his own destiny, like the philosopher his company is named for; he shapes his own world and the things in it. The water laps against the side of the ship that carries them to their future, and he opens the door to his cabin and slips inside. Dominic looks up as he enters, and if he does not smile, still he welcomes Saito to join him.

Leave a Reply