So here we go again. The men and women of 'Inception' have officially taken over my brain.
I'm really going to make an effort to respond to all reviewers, so all comments/suggestions are most welcome.
This 1903's-Prohibition-Speakeasy-Gangster AU just made sense to me. I hope you enjoy it!
Chapter 1: The last
The line on the page still wasn't quite right. Ariadne's brows furrowed, unconsciously biting her tongue as she erased the line, trying again to make it fit. She wasn't sure how many hours had passed, but this was going to be worth it. The bank across from her apartment had always caught her eye, and with the rainy Sunday afternoon, it seemed the perfect time to try her hand at sketching.
She frowned at the paper, pulling back with a sigh, still not satisfied. Trying not to get discouraged, she turned to the window, glancing out at the gray, water soaked city. Even after three years, Chicago was still fascinating. Such a far cry from her simple midwest Missouri roots. And somehow she and Jillian had managed to secure a low-rent little apartment, and maintain somewhat steady jobs. Sure, money was tight and they didn't live an extravagant life, but having a roof over her head and some food in her stomach were just enough.
Her eyes landed on the sleek black car that pulled up to the curb beneath the glittering sign on the street corner, admitting a man in a sharp pinstripe suit. But it was the woman that struck Ariadne the most. Her hair was in tight blonde curls under a fashionable feathery headband, and her dress was a sparkly ruby red to match her lips. Jealousy welled as she continued to watch the couple gaily stroll into the bank, happy in their life of obvious luxury.
She guessed it must have been quite the life. Wearing such fine clothes, eating such excellent food, always staying warm and cozy at night. Her eyes darted across the room, landing on the radiator, listening to the telltale moan of the dying, heated pipe. She sighed disappointedly, knowing that she and Jillian were in for a chilly night. Ariadne suspected the landlord was lying when he admitted to forgetting to light the furnace flame, but luckily his wife made knitted blankets that were available for a hefty $3 apiece.
Abandoning her sketch for a closer inspection, she rose from the table, hoping to be proven wrong. The hissing radiator was too hot to the touch at the moment, and she kneeled on the floor, listening for the steady wail of steam in the supply pipe. Her sprits fell as the ensuing silence was quickly drowned out by approaching footsteps.
"Ariadne?" Jillian's familiar voice rang out as the front door hinges squeaked.
"Welcome back, Jillian." Ariadne didn't move from her position on the floor, still trying to discern if heat was flowing.
"Did Peter 'forget' to light the furnace again?" Jillian's tone was suddenly just as dejected as Ariadne's mood with no sound now issuing from the burning radiator.
"I think so," Ariadne pulled back to sit up on her knees, "best wrap up nice and warm."
"Not tonight, Aria," Jillian's blue eyes were alight with fun and mischief under her limp blonde waves, "I met the most interesting man at the diner today. His name is Eames. He's from England—if you can believe it—and oh, he's so handsome."
"Oh please, not this again," Ariadne pleaded, meeting Jillian's excited face as she rose, "the last man you met who made you this happy turned out to be married, remember?"
"Of course I remember. This one is different." Ariadne fought to hold back a disproving sigh.
"We were warned about this when we started working at the diner—any man who shows particular interest will probably just stiff you on the tip, or expect a discount on his meal."
"Well this man didn't do either," Jillian retorted smartly, "if anything, he gave me the biggest tip of all!" Ariadne's face scrunched in disbelieving confusion, arms crossing, watching the smile on Jillian's face grow.
"Do I even want to know? Please don't tell me it's a date…you don't even know the man, Jilly."
"It's an invitation for the both of us—"
"No."
"—to the Backroom of the Penrose!" Ariadne froze, watching Jillian's smile curve impossibly higher. Jillian knew Ariadne had a weakness for the Penrose Hotel.
The hotel was so far removed from their price range, and the lobby bespoke such wealthy elegance that the famous Backroom had been a point of fantasy. Was it just as luxurious and intimate as the exterior suggested? Or would it contrast, and be a dingy den of scary criminals and thieves? Of course, anyone who consumed alcohol these days was technically a criminal, breaking federal law, but what class of criminal did the Penrose Backroom attract?
"You can't deny that you are not considering the offer, Aria." Jillian's knowing tone broke through Ariadne's thoughts.
"Do you really believe him, Jilly? He just walked in and offered to take you to the Penrose Backroom? He sounds like a cop just looking to get you in trouble, or some sleaze who knew you would jump at the chance."
"This man is the real McCoy—he actually works there. He asked me to join him tonight, and I said only if my roommate could come. His eyes lit up, and he said he has just the friend for you."
"No, no," Ariadne quickly countered, "I refuse to get mixed up in this. Going to a speakeasy is one thing, but consorting with the men who work there is something else. What if there's a raid tonight? Or your man Eames turns out to be a cop? And…," her eyes fell to her simple, woolen drab gray dress, "and if the décor of the Penrose lobby is any indication of the Backroom, we have nothing to wear."
"I told him that," Jillian's voice held a proud note, "to which he gave an incredible answer that probably shouldn't have swayed me, but it did." Ariadne leveled Jillian with an incredulous stare.
"Well, let's hear it." She said, knowing she would probably come to regret it.
"Without hint of charm in his voice—his eyes were honest as the day is long, I swear—he said 'with a face like yours, darling, no one will care what you are wearing.'" A guffaw of a laugh left Ariadne, watching Jillian's face contort to an indignant look.
"And after that you agreed to accept his invitation?" Ariadne had to ask, but didn't need to wait for Jillian's answer, catching the flash of embarrassment on her roommate's face. "Oh, I bet he thinks he's one smooth customer. Well I'm glad your dress is covered for tonight, but this Eames has no idea what I look like."
"I told him you were equally as pretty, if not prettier."
"You know that's a lie."
"No, it's not Ariadne. And with the right little touches of makeup, you would be irresistible to any man. Who knows, maybe you and Eames' friend will just hit it off!"
"But how could I ever tell anyone—my parents, for instance—how I met him? 'Drinking illegal alcohol in the speakeasy' just won't fit into dinner conversation." Jillian sighed defeated, her blue eyes taking on a pleading tone.
"Please Ariadne, just come tonight. I won't go alone, and he's telling his friend that we're coming. I don't want to stand him up when he was so generous to offer. And really, how often does an opportunity like this come around? You can't just waltz into speakeasies—and this is not just any joint—this is the Penrose! You can't pretend that doesn't hold appeal in of itself."
True, Ariadne couldn't resist the Penrose Hotel. The angles of the masonry façade alone were enough to pique her interest, let alone the arching frames of the lobby. She sighed reluctantly, her eyes settling to Jillian's with cautious acceptance.
"Alright, I'll go," she didn't miss the explosion of excitement on Jillian's face, "but we have to be careful."
"Agreed. I don't want to get arrested my first time drinking!"
xxx
"Stop tugging on your dress, Aria. It won't get any longer." Ariadne's hands didn't still, attempting to pull the dress down to cover more of her legs. Never before had she worn something so short, but Jillian insisted.
Once upon a time, Jillian had taken two of her mother's fancier dresses (which were still very plain by most standards) and cut off the long sleeves while shortening the hem to just above the knee. Despite the boring quality of the fabric, the cut was right in keeping with the latest trends for women. It exuded freedom, confidence and looseness from the confines of previous generations. But did Ariadne want to project all that to a room full of intoxicated men?
"Stop being so nervous. You look great." Jillian reassured, clasping her coat tighter over her navy dress.
"I feel half-naked." Ariadne hissed, catching a man on the street staring at her legs.
"That's the point," Jillian laughed as they rounded the corner, the familiar lights of the diner coming into view. "Don't worry so much." Ariadne huffed quietly, resisting the urge to reach down and tug on her dress once more.
"At least meeting him at the diner was smart." Ariadne said absently.
"Of course," Jillian shot Ariadne an incredulous look, "I'm not so dense as to invite him to our place. Keeps it strictly neutral. And once we have an in at the Backroom, we can come and go as we please." The idea was beyond thrilling.
Jillian longed to run in moneyed, classier circles than she currently did. And Ariadne couldn't deny she wanted the same. Tonight was a chance to glimpse a different life, maybe even masquerade as such. It would depend on this man Eames, she supposed. Would he try to pass them off as more than they were or simply just the night's easy catch?
"Oh, there he is!" Jillian's words were soft with an air of rushed excitement, her face brightening to a smile as her eyes saw only him. Ariadne fixed her gaze in the direction of Jillian's, and couldn't believe that for once, the woman was right.
The man in question was leaning his solid frame casually against a lamppost with a cigarette resting between the lushest set of lips she'd ever seen. A cloud of smoke enveloped his face for the briefest of seconds, dissipating to revel stylishly coiffed sandy brown hair, and two mischievously glittering gray-green eyes above a line of short stubble. His shirt, a dark burgundy color, appeared well cut along with the dark suit trousers and jacket we wore.
"Why Jillian, darling," his words were purred on the thick accent, lips curling to a welcoming smile, "I was almost starting to think you wouldn't come."
"I'm not a liar, Mr. Eames," Jillian returned with a wide smile, "we just had to make sure we looked the part." Eames' eyes shifted from Jillian to Ariadne with an appreciative air.
"Well I would say you both pass inspection, though the night is still young," he extended a hand towards Ariadne, "you must be the roommate. Would you happen to have a name that Jillian refused to earlier supply?"
"Ariadne." She responded stiffly, not willing to trust that glint in his eyes as she reached a hand forward. He caught it gently, and brought it to his lips for a smooth kiss.
"Lovely to meet you, Ariadne. As Jillian may have told you, my name is Eames. No need for the mister in front. And you are much prettier than your roommate gives you credit. I have a wonderful friend for you to meet."
"Thank you...Eames," she stumbled over the informal name for someone she barely knew, "but that's not really necessary."
"Nonsense. Tonight is about having fun," his eyes landed back on Jillian's, "but let us come along, my lovelies. It wouldn't do to waste anymore time." He flicked the stub of his cigarette away, extending an arm out for Jillian, who eagerly slipped her arm around his, unable to tear herself from his engaging eyes. Turning to Ariadne, he held out his other arm, taking note of her weary, hesitant look as she looped her arm through his.
"So Ariadne," Eames started conversationally as they walked down the street, "darling Jilly here works in this quaint little diner, and I wonder if you do the same?"
"For now, yes," she answered, her tone still none too friendly, earning an irritated glare from Jillian across Eames' chest, "and what of you, Mr. Eames?"
"The mister really isn't necessary," a sneer of disgust flitted quickly across his features, "and didn't she tell you? I work for the owner of the Backroom."
"Yes, but doing what?" Ariadne persisted.
"Ask me again later."
"It must be illegal then." Ariadne continued, ignoring Jillian's surprised gasp.
"I'm sorry Eames, really," Jillian quickly spoke up, "she's usually not so quick to judge."
"Well she's entirely right, love," Eames' eyes settled to Jillian's with a placating air, instantly drawing the earlier smile back to her face, "if it weren't, I'd come right out and say so. And don't worry about her attitude—this friend of mine is quite uptight and sharp-tongued himself." They shared a small laugh. "I have no doubt they'll get along swimmingly, and I can get to know you better." She melted closer into Eames' side, unable to stop herself, wanting to fall away in his stormy eyes.
"How long have you been over from England? Your accent is still quite thick." He smirked on Jillian's words as the bright lights of the Penrose Hotel awning lit his face.
"Longer than I care to say." He dropped their arms, letting a hand fall to the small of Jillian's back as the doorman opened the brass lined glass doors. Ariadne caught the excited smile on Jillian's face at the contact before letting her eyes scan the beautiful lobby.
The architecture of the building lent itself to such a classy establishment that it seemed impossible to fathom such a speakeasy could exist in its confines. The light played off the arches and supports, bringing out the rich texture of the mahogany wood and finely cut marble. Oh, to be an architect and create such masterpieces! Ariadne longed for the ability. But she had been scolded and sent straight back out of the college admissions office when she tried to apply.
Her eyes continued to wander, drinking in the rich colors of the furniture and carpets as they moved through the lobby. Jillian's eyes saw only Eames as she continued to relish the feel of Eames' hand on her lower back. They rounded the large central staircase, paralleling a wall of ornate mahogany doors. Even if someone tried to find the Backroom, there was little chance one would just stumble across it. Ariadne's eyes focused curiously on an older man with white hair and tiny glasses who sat on an elegant settee between two doors, perusing the tiny columns of the day's newspaper.
"'Hello, Miles." Eames called out quietly as they approached, the older man looked up with a smile.
"Ah, welcome back Mr. Eames. And who might your friends this evening be?"
"The beauty to my left is Miss Jillian, and we have Miss Ariadne on my right." His smile drifted lazily between them.
"You know Dom said—"
"We're going to find Arthur." Eames cut him off with a short smile as the old man shook his head, amused, yet disappointed.
"Very well. You girls watch yourself." Miles tapped a finger knowingly against the side of his nose, before reaching a hand behind him for a gentle tap on the door. It swung open admitting the faint smell of smoke, the sounds of music and soft voices. The hulk of a man standing on the landing in a dark suit cast them an impassive glance and a nod as they passed through. They stopped atop the stairs, looking down the dark red velvet lined staircase, both girls wide-eyed and star struck.
"Don't walk around with those looks, loves," Eames' wise voice sounded in their ears as he moved to stand between them, "there are plenty of blokes in here who would take advantage of it." Ariadne shook from her fascination, putting up a mask of composure as she handed over her coat, Jillian following suit. Once again, her hand twitched to reach for the bottom of her skirt and cover her knees. Never had she felt more like a fish out of water.
The lazy sound of a woman's voice drifted up the staircase at they worked their way down, allowing more of the speakeasy to come into view. Dim candles shone from each table, the rest of the dark maroon and mahogany walls sparsely accented with sconces of light. The stage however was fully ablaze and currently occupied by a tall, slender woman with short, bobbed curls whose sultry voice was slightly accented.
Most of the tables were occupied, clouds of smoke hovering above each one as a waiter or two buzzed around. Women, some dripping in diamonds, others dressed plainly, hung off their men as leisurely, fanciful conversation floated around the gay, intimate atmosphere. It was such a far cry from Ariadne and Jillian's everyday world. What would it take to forever remain in such a world?
Eames guided them through the tables and people, steadily approaching the solid, intricate bar. An innocent pair of ice blue eyes stared out from under a head of full, rich brown hair as he wiped down the smooth, polished surface.
"Good evening, Mr. Eames." The bartender flashed a warm smile.
"Evening, Gregory. These women are guests of myself and Arthur. Treat them well."
"Yes sir," Gregory turned his smile to Jillian and Ariadne, who both couldn't stop from just looking around, "what'll it be, ladies?"
"Oh…I don't know." Jillian's words ended in an embarrassed laugh as she looked to Eames who smiled right back.
"Let's start them off mixed with Coca-cola, something sweet."
"I adore Coca-Cola." Jillian chimed in, looking to Gregory excitedly.
"What do you say to that, miss?" Ariadne looked unsure at the bartender's words, but nodded.
"Sounds fine." She couldn't stop from looking around. This place was everything she had ever thought it would be, but doubted she would ever see. The woman on stage was now crooning a slow song in French, sounding deliciously exotic and jazzy. Her eyes were closed as the song poured forth, couples moving to the rhythm on the dance floor.
All in that moment, Ariadne wanted to be the woman on stage freely singing. She exuded such a relaxed, carefree vibe as if the world held no troubles. Why couldn't life just let Ariadne pursue architecture? The money would be good, and she'd finally be doing just what she wanted.
"Here, miss." She jolted from her thoughts, turning back to the bar in time to see Gregory set a highball of dark liquid before her.
"Mmm, Eames, this is fabulous." Jillian declared, resting a hand on his arm as she tasted the beverage. Swallowing nervously, Ariadne reached for the glass, watching Gregory's expectant smile as she took a drink. The sweet taste of cola filled her mouth, accented with an unfamiliar spicy burn.
"Oh, that's tasty." Ariadne smiled in the aftermath, hoping she sounded convincing enough. Cola-Cola had never been her favorite, but she didn't know what else to ask for; or if Eames was going to insist upon paying for their drinks, she didn't want to waste one.
"Eames, Dom wanted to see you when you returned." Gregory tipped his head in the required direction as Eames nodded quietly, turning to his ladies with a smile.
"Forgive me, darlings, but I shall return soon. Gregory will look after you; won't you, Greg?"
"But of course. Have a seat, ladies." He answered, watching Ariadne pull out the nearest stool, sliding into the smooth leather, unable to keep his eyes from the skin of her leg revealed in the new position. Jillian leveled Eames with a flirty smile, taking another sip of her drink.
"Don't be gone too long." Her words took a playful, teasing edge.
"Wouldn't dream of it." He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before turning and moving through the crowd. Jillian's face exploded in a giddy smile as she slid onto the stool next to Ariadne.
"Isn't this place fabulous? It's everything I thought it would be. It fits in perfectly with everything upstairs." Jillian gushed.
"Truly, this place is the bee's knees." Ariadne agreed, meeting Jillian in an excited clink of their glasses before indulging in another sweet taste.
"So what's your opinion of Eames?" Jillian asked excitedly.
"You were right—he is devilishly handsome, but there's something in his eyes I don't trust. He knows he's got you though."
"Mmm, and that is perfectly ok because I want him to have me. He is absolutely dreamy." Jillian's eyes moved in the direction Eames had disappeared, eager for him to return.
"Just keep your head Jilly, no matter what head-turning things he says." Applause erupted around them, drawing their attention to the stage as the song drew to a close. Couples moved back off to their circular booths and square tables, happy in this little underground world.
"Well I'm anxious to meet Eames' friend," Jillian started, turning back to her drink, watching Gregory schmooze with another patron, "I hope you're nicer to him than you were to Eames."
"Don't expect too much." Ariadne laughed slightly, matched by Jillian as she reached for her drink, glancing around the bar. A man she hadn't noticed before (had he even been there before?) instantly caught her eye. He sat at the far edge of the bar, sipping from a highball.
His dark, sharp eyes scanned the room, as if expecting trouble, from underneath a head of slicked black hair. From what she could see, his suit looked quite expensive and very well tailored to his lean body. Ariadne wasn't sure she could say she had ever seen a more handsome man.
Those dark eyes suddenly fell to hers and she froze, wide-eyed. Quickly she turned away, feeling a flush rise to her cheeks, unable to believe she'd been caught staring at him. She took a big gulp of her drink to hide her embarrassment.
"Why hello Mr. Tall, Dark'n Handsome…," Jillian commented absently, her gaze fixed vaguely in the direction Ariadne had just been staring, "well, we don't know about the tall part yet, but it's probably a safe guess." Ariadne reluctantly cast a glance to the man in question, not surprised to find it was the same one she had just stared at. "Why look at you blush." Jillian smiled knowingly, excitedly as Ariadne turned back, an embarrassed smile on her face.
"Yes, he is certainly handsome." Ariadne admitted, quickly taking a drink to avoid saying anything further.
"Let's hope Eames' friend is half as handsome, or I'll ask Eames about that man at the end of bar."
"Jillian Stewart, don't you dare." Ariadne warned under her breath. "I'll leave right this minute if you so much as say a word."
"No, no, you can't!" Jillian protested, a genuine look of disappointment on her face. "Things are going so well, and we can't just run out on Eames."
"It looks to be a near full house tonight…I'm sure he'd have no trouble finding a replacement."
"No call to be so mean, Ariadne." Jillian brushed her off, taking a sip of her own drink, a silence briefly falling between the women.
"Your lover boy's back." Ariadne said absently, spotting Eames emerging from a nondescript door and weaving through the tables. Jillian's mouth dropped open in a surprised smile.
"And guess who he's stopping to chat with…!" Ariadne felt her cheeks burning already, not even wanting to look. Sure enough, Eames was stopped just behind the handsome, dark-eyed man, speaking in hushed tones, eyes darting about.
The other man returned a few short words, accented with a quick nod of his head, earning a chuckle from the Englishman. The sitting man raised his glass, suddenly jarred as Eames clapped an arm on his shoulder, speaking some more words, eyes drifting towards the girls with a playful smile. Jillian turned with an excited giggle to Ariadne at the look, noticing her friend unable to tear her eyes from the two men.
The younger man's eyes were now looking directly at them as Eames still spoke, his words seemingly lighter than before. Ariadne couldn't tear her eyes away, watching something of a smile curve about the stranger's face as he slid out of his stool, bringing his drink with him as Eames lead the way.
"Well, we were spot on about the tall part…taller than Eames even." Jillian said appreciatively in Ariadne's ear. "Oh, what a dreamy pair. Surely you can't deny him, Ariadne."
"I…I don't know." Ariadne raised her glass, taking another drink, a fuzzy warmth spreading through her limbs.
"Welcome back, Eames," Jillian turned in her seat, giving Eames a prime view of her legs, not missing his raking gaze as he approached, "do tell, is this your friend for Ariadne?"
"None other," Eames trailed his eyes lazily up Jillian's body, sending a wave of heat racing up her spine, "Jillian, this is my good friend, Arthur St. Clair." Ariadne didn't miss the brief annoyed furrow of Arthur's brow.
"Pleasure, Jillian." His voice was just as clipped and precise as his appearance suggested.
"And this lovely lady on your right is dear Ariadne." Eames continued, a hopeful gleam in his eyes. Arthur's smile was dazzling, if not completely genuine, leaving Ariadne momentarily speechless.
"Lovely to meet you, Ariadne. I'm Arthur."
"Nice to meet you." She found her voice, offering a polite nod of her head, unable to tear her eyes away.
"Splendid," Eames cut in excitedly, "now that you two are acquainted, I'm going to spirit my Jilly here off for a dance." Jillian's smile widened (if it was possible), abandoning her drink to slide off her stool, nearly into Eames' waiting arms. Ariadne looked on worriedly, debating whether to call out some kind of warning, but her attention settled back to Arthur and the thick silence between them.
"So," he started at length, looking almost uncomfortable, "how do you know Eames?"
"I…I don't," Ariadne answered, fighting for surety in her voice, "he met my roommate this afternoon at work, and extended the invite."
"Ah, I see." Arthur said, his face hardening as if hearing bad news.
"I'm sorry," she quickly backpedaled, "I don't mean to get him or anyone in trouble."
"He should know better," he answered, his tone serious, before lightening as he turned to her, "but that's not your fault." She smiled reassuringly, reaching for her drink, taking a small sip.
"What are you drinking?" His voice held such a controlled edge, it was damn near mesmerizing.
"Something mixed with Coca-cola." A brief sneer of disgust flitted across his handsome face as she laughed softly. "I agree, it's not my favorite."
"What is?"
"I don't know," she admitted, hating the sheepish note to her voice, "I haven't ever drunk alcohol before."
"Now that's a real crime. Here," he held out his glass, "give this a try. Not near as sweet." She studied the glass suspiciously.
"What it is?"
"Closest you can get to bourbon these days." He watched her eye the glass nervously, finding her timidity behind the confident front endearing. "It won't hurt you." Her brows narrowed indignantly, reaching for his glass, not backing down from his coddling gaze.
She raised the glass to her nose, surprised at a smoky scent, pressing the glass to her lips and taking a drink before she could change her mind. The smoke was a welcome change from the sweet, but the burn was the last thing she expected. She coughed in the aftermath, trying to ease the searing in her throat. A low, delicious throaty laugh reached her ears.
"And to think, that's fine grade," Arthur said absently, watching her cheeks flame in cute embarrassment, "try another sip. I guarantee it'll go down smoother." Looking uncertainly at the glass, she raised it for another tentative taste, finding the burn lessened, and more flavor filling her senses.
"Mm, I do like that. Much better than my cola mix." She raised the glass for another sip, feeling the heat radiate through her chest, surprised at the liquor's quick effect on her. She glanced around the room quickly, noting the sluggish movement of her eyes and the light feeling in her head.
"Consider it yours," Arthur said kindly, scanning the bar for Gregory, "I'll get another."
"Oh no, no please," she protested, offering the glass back, "I really shouldn't drink all this. I'm…not used to it." He was surprised to find himself almost concerned for her, not wanting to see her intoxicated and fall in the wrong hands.
"Are you sure?" He had to ask, not wanting to leave the lady without a drink.
"Yes, quite. Thank you, Arthur." Her eyes met his and she offered up a smile, unable to stop herself.
"Well, what have we here?" An accented voice broke their shared look, turning to see the woman from the stage, looking between them excitedly.
"Nothing of interest, Mal." Arthur smoothly answered.
"Nothing of interest?" The woman, Mal, looked at him in disbelief, sidling closer to him. "You're willingly conversing with a patron. I must say it's certainly unlike you."
"You can thank Eames for it."
"I intend to," Mal turned to Ariadne with a warm smile, "and what's your name, Cherie?"
"Ariadne. You have a great voice. I've really enjoyed your singing."
"Oh, well thank you," Mal dismissed with a laugh, "it's passable for a dump like this." Ariadne couldn't hold back her laugh, finding something infectious in the woman's smile. "I'm sorry I must run, but it was lovely to meet you Ariadne, and I'll catch you later, Arthur." Mal cast him a playful wink before floating off through the room just as suddenly as she arrived.
"Do you…come here often? She does seem to know you pretty well." Ariadne ventured.
"I work here, so yes, you could say I come here often." She nodded, again finding her cheeks flushing. How many times in one night could she be embarrassed around this man? Soft chords from the band filled the room as Mal took her place by the microphone.
"Alright gentlemen, it's time to pull your special lady close for a special dance." Mal sought Arthur out of the crowd with a mischievous smile. "That means you, Arthur." His face remained impassive, though the slight tightening of his jaw muscles and the hints of amusement in his eyes give him away. Ariadne watched wide-eyed as he set his drink on the bar, looking to her expectantly.
"We're not really…?" She asked, stumbling over the words.
"Would you, please?"He extended a hand, watching her doe eyes fall to it nervously, seeing the debate in her brown depths. She forced a nervous sigh, taking a chance and reaching for his hand. Effortlessly he led her to the dance floor, not missing the nervous dart of her eyes around the room, no doubt searching for her friend. Ariadne just had to know where Jillian was, get her encouragement on this.
A steady hand fell to her hip, supported by the strength of a lean arm across her lower back as he pulled her in close. All thought stopped as her body fell into his, her eyes seeing only him, her search for Jillian instantly forgotten. Absently she reached for his other hand, drowning in the intensity of his eyes.
At last my love has come along
My lonely days are over
And life is like a song
Faint, intriguing whiffs of spice reached her nose in their close proximity, surprised at the strength in his slender frame. He moved them about the floor with such fluid, controlled movements, she couldn't be sure her feet were even touching the floor.
"So…um, is Mal just a friend? Or…your boss?" Ariadne somehow managed to choke the words out, and none too elegantly at that, watching a fleeting smile cross his face.
"Close enough. Boss' wife." Arthur distractedly answered, his eyes moving from hers to scan about the room, leaving her feeling awkward and idiotic for even asking the question.
He continued to turn her about the dance floor, seemingly unaware of the waves of heat that tingled through her as she brushed against him, still reeling from his close presence. Was it possible for one man to be so completely attractive? She couldn't believe the direction of her thoughts. What spell did this man have her under?
You smile, you smile
Oh and then the spell was cast
And here we are in heaven
For you are mine at last
She didn't even register how much closer into him she had moved as they danced. The fuzz of the alcohol only let her feel the softness of his suit jacket, the graceful movements of his body, the faint touches of his breath to her skin. Her heart raced in her chest, unknown heat pooling to ache deep within her core as she continued to move with him.
His cologne was nicer than the Brit's, allowing her eyes to drift closed as she drew a deep breath. Lazily, unaware of the smile on her face, she opened her eyes only to meet his, feeling a blush instantly overtake her. She knew, if only for proprietary's sake, she shouldn't be enjoying this dance nearly as much as she was. But she couldn't deny the waves of attraction humming through her body.
At last... at last
The notes of the song drew to a close, Mal's voice fading under a dim round of applause as Arthur guided them to a gentle stop. Her mind was spinning, overcome by everything about him, not aided by the alcohol. Looking up at him, unable to do anything but smile, she knew she had to find Jillian and leave. Now. Before she lost herself completely to this man.
"Thank you for the dance," she said at length, registering her hand still clasped in his as he led her from the dance floor, "you're a good dancer." She thought a faint embarrassed tinge came to his cheeks in the low light.
"Thank you. So are you." A disbelieving laugh left her as they neared the bar, and he caught Gregory's eye with a nod, watching Gregory respond and reach for a bottle of amber liquid.
"Well I'm afraid I must find my friend and be off. We both work early." Ariadne forced herself to say, glancing around the room, missing the spark of disappointment in Arthur's eyes. He couldn't believe the pang of longing that shot through him at her words, watching her search the room. "You don't see Eames, do you? Jillian isn't always easy to spot in a crowd." Arthur scanned the room, taking in all the people he'd kept an eye on throughout the evening, not surprised to not find the Brit among them. He could only hope Eames wasn't out making a mess of trouble with the roommate.
"I don't see him, no," Arthur said, watching Ariadne turn back with a worried look, "I'm sure he put Jillian in a cab home. The boss did have some work he needed him to attend to tonight." He'd always been a smooth liar. It came with the job, and he had taken to it quite naturally. Her smile returned, taking comfort in his words, leaving him almost hating himself for lying to her. Why it mattered to him, he wasn't sure.
"I'm sure," Ariadne agreed, forcing herself not to worry, "she's a smart girl."
"Like you, I have no doubt." Arthur said softly, watching her turn to him with those doe eyes that were growing increasingly irresistible. "Well please, let me see you out and get you a cab home."
"Please, that's not necessary."
"It would make me feel better," he offered a placating smile, "the streets are quite unsafe this time of night."
"Roamed by men like you?" She ventured bravely, watching surprise flash in his eyes.
"Do you think I'm dangerous?" She didn't know if he intended to add the sultry note to his words, but he succeeded, a ripple of heat settling between her legs.
"I can't say for sure," she let a playful smile to her face, "so far you've been quite the gentleman."
"Then let me show you out before you reverse your opinion." Something about the confident-timid conflict within her was incredibly inviting, and Arthur surprised himself by actually wanting to see her again. She nodded, moving through the room with him close on her heels, taking the stairs up to the coat check.
"So will I see you around?" He asked at length, after a nod to Miles who still sat atop the stairs in the lobby as she shrugged into her coat.
"Probably not. I don't think I can afford to be a regular."
"Well maybe we'll have to work on just running into each other." She looked at him with something of a surprised smile. He didn't really want to see her again, did he? Surely he was just saying all this to be nice.
"Sure, that doesn't sound too difficult." She forced a nonchalant note to her words, trying not to give away how excited the prospect of seeing him again made her.
"Settled then." He followed her through the brass and glass doors into the cool, damp night air. She shivered against the breeze watching him walk unaffected to the curb, raising a hand to hail the nearest passing cab. She watched almost embarrassedly as he spoke to the cabbie, reaching to his pocket for what she could only assume was cab fare. He nodded, turning to the back door, and pulling it open for her. She looked up, her face a contorted look of reluctant guilt and flattery.
"Just give him the address and you'll be home in no time. No need to worry about the fare or tip." He said warmly as she walked towards him, resting a hand on the door.
"Thank you, Arthur…for everything tonight."
"You're entirely welcome. Maybe I'll get the chance to do it all again someday."
"Maybe." She answered, the hopeful note on her voice not going unmissed.
"Goodnight, Ariadne." He took her free hand in his, pressing a chaste kiss to the back of it, watching a smile overtake her face.
"Goodnight, Arthur."
