Disclaimer: Inception isn't mine. And I have nothing against the name Margaret.

Pairings: Ariadne/Cobb, some Arthur/Ariadne.

10/15/10 P.U.L.L. post, an anti-writer's block project founded by Bookaholic711.

Sun Glass

The sun is shy today. James and Phillipa are curled up by the TV, little feet tucked into socks as they both huddle beneath a blanket they dragged from his bedroom. The sound from the cartoons they love drones on the very outside of his awareness, but every so often a shriek or odd sound effect pierces through Dom's consciousness. Mostly, he ignores them. Mostly, he's focused on her.

She sits on a hard wooden chair with her skinny knees pulled close to her chest, like a small child. Her arms are wrapped around herself as if she's cold, but he knows it's not the chill of the overcast sky that makes her curl into herself, looking impossibly young and frail and breakable. The cool grey light falls over her like a veil. She's so still she looks like one of those women in the black-and-white photos, gazing off into the distance, an empty, absent look on her young face.

Timeless; that's the word he's looking for. And here he is, a man whose time is running out on him—had packed its bags and run out a long time ago—with strange emotions on his worn hands, jumbled up like Phillipa's set of Jenga blocks, toppled.

"Ariadne." He says her name quietly, as if speaking to a doe, easily frightened and chased away. She turns to him with eyes still far in the distance, flickering briefly, as if trying to come back to the present and failing. "What's wrong?" he asks.

Ariadne's lips curl into a mirthless smile. "I'm getting married, Cobb. And I don't know if I love him."

OOO

Dom suspected that Arthur and Ariadne would find themselves together, one way or another. He'd known that one would fall, whether it was him or her first, and that they would marry, have children, live and grow old together, as he and Mal had.

The day she tells him she's engaged, she nearly knocks the door in with her enthusiasm. He gets up to see who's trying to break in, his hand automatically going for the gun that he no longer carries with him (he's a father again, and fathers don't tote revolvers in their pockets). He didn't expect her visit for another couple of weeks, at the very least; they've just finished a big job, and he'd decided it was enough to warrant the team several weeks' rest.

But here she is, standing on the other side of the peephole in the door, cheeks pink and eyes bright.

"Cobb," she calls, lips twitching with suppressed laughter, "I know you're there. I saw the peephole go black."

Dom pulls the door open and frowns at her, brow creasing in worry. "Ariadne. I wasn't expecting you for a couple weeks. What's wrong? Did something happen?"

Ariadne rolls her eyes—those soft, gleaming eyes that seem to strip away the boundaries he painstakingly slams into place around his soul—and brushes past him without a word, inviting herself into his house. "No," she says. Her fingers play with the silk scarf around her swan-like neck. She looks awkward, standing in the middle of the hallway, and suddenly her smile falters. Ariadne appears uncertain and unsure of herself for the first time since he's met her.

"Arthur proposed," she blurts abruptly. "I said yes. We don't know when we want the wedding to be, but…it'll probably be before the year is finished."

Dimly, in the backyard, Dom hears his children squealing with laughter. Somewhere, a bird chirps squeakily in the trees. Ariadne stands doubtfully in front of him, all of her weight on one side, her fingers utterly still at her scarf. Dom realizes that she's waiting for something from him—an exclamation, a protest, a question.

"Congratulations," he says finally, roughly clearing his throat. "You must be very happy."

"Yeah," says Ariadne, but her eyes are dim.

OOO

The best place to think, Dom believes, is within the recesses of the subconscious.

He's training Ariadne again, taking her into the reaches of his mind for the first time in a long while. She has proven herself brilliant and meticulous with every inception, but even she admits (sometimes, when she's feeling down) that she doesn't have enough experience. So he promises to train her more.

This time, she's chosen a cliff side littered with smooth grey rocks, overlooking angry, choppy waves slamming against the stone. The sun is hidden behind clouds that loom and go nowhere, despite the raging wind that tears through their hair and whips his face until it stings.

Dom knows that the smallest details of a person's subconscious can determine what the dreamscape looks like. From the torrential sea to the bitter wind, he easily guesses (correctly, of course) that Ariadne is conflicted. Why, he doesn't know, but he is the extractor for a reason.

"So," he says, scuffing his shoe along the rounded rocks as he walks, "why haven't I heard anything about the wedding?"

Ariadne pauses where she stands, her hands lifted in the air like a composer commanding an orchestra. The silver spires she's forming, buildings straight out of those science fiction books Arthur enjoys, halt in their progress toward the sky. Her gaze is sharp, dangerous when she turns to stare at him. For a moment, Dom almost regrets being so blunt with her, but he knows Ariadne hates being manipulated more than anything else.

She lowers her hands to her sides. "It's only been a month, Cobb. I don't even know where it's going to be held yet."

Dom watches as she turns back to her budding city, his mouth shut despite all the questions that push at his sealed lips. Why don't you sound happier? Isn't this supposed to be the happiest day of your life we're talking about? Do you love him as I loved—love—Mal? Why can't I leave this lie?

Because, if he's honest with himself, he can never just "let things lie." But neither can she.

"What's it like?" Ariadne suddenly asks. The streets of her city fill with people of all shapes and colors, trundling happily up and down the roads, blissfully unaware that they are mere figments of someone's imagination. "Being married, I mean. Do you remember?"

Of course he remembers. How could he not? Yet Dom humors her ill-tempered nature, because he knows that she probably hasn't completely forgiven him for putting the team in danger for his own selfish reasons. "It was everything I'd thought it would be," he answers slowly, slipping his hands into his pockets, "but then it wasn't. I don't know how to explain it. It's like you're no longer two people, but one."

Ariadne stands still in the wind, her back to him as she stares out into the city she created. "I guess I hadn't thought of it like that before," she murmurs, her voice so quiet he barely hears her over the wind's howl. "Arthur and I will get married, get real jobs, maybe, have a couple kids. Arthur likes nice names. Names like Elizabeth and Francis and…" She wrinkles her small nose. "Margaret."

Dom smirks. "What's wrong with Margaret?"

Ariadne glances over at him and shrugs. "Nothing. I just…I think it's too nice for me. He likes names like Elizabeth and Francis, and I like names like Abby and Jonathan and Noah. And he'll want a little white house in the middle of a boring neighborhood, and I want something more like…a house of wood and glass on the beach."

She lifts and twirls one elfin hand, and just like magic, the house she's described rises from the cliff side, glinting in the slate-grey light. A smile graces Ariadne's face, turning her entire image brighter. Then she hesitates, and shakes her head, and the house crumbles to nothing.

"Forget it," she says, and turns to walk in the opposite direction, her movements angry and jerky. "It was stupid."

Dom takes one long-legged stride and curls his fingers around hers. She whirls, wavy hair blazing around her pale face, her eyes burning bright with a question. He only smiles and concentrates, and the wood-and-glass house rises from the gravel again, gleaming.

"You're not stupid," he says firmly. "I hired you, remember?"

She laughs, light and free, and doesn't let go of his hand.

OOO

As the weeks pass on, sifting through his fingers like tendrils of smoke, Ariadne becomes a constant in his home. She is always there, looking after the children or doodling sketches of beautiful, gravity-defying buildings onto her drawing pad. Every two weeks she starts visiting, and then every week, and then every day.

"Ari," the kids call her, and look at her with a love he hasn't seen in their eyes since Mal leapt from the window.

Dom never asks her why she visits so much. She jokes around with him often, teasing him that she spends more time with the children than he does, though they both know it's not true; he's taken inception jobs sparingly ever since returning home. He's already lost his family once. It's not going to happen again.

One night, Ariadne stays later than usual, and by the way she plops herself comfortably onto his couch, he knows she intends to spend the night. He teases her, saying that if she's not careful people will think she's engaged to him instead of Arthur.

Ariadne whips around to stare at him, a strange look coming over her face. She opens her mouth, as if trying to say something but not knowing exactly which words are right. The angry tirade he expects never comes. Instead, Ariadne turns away to look toward something only she can see (this is happening more and more often, and it's starting to worry him), and it is then that he knows the wedding is a mistake.

OOO

"Such a beautiful couple," the wedding planner coos. "I can tell you're going to have a happy life together."

It's all Dom can do to quiet the snort that rises in his throat. Because he's Arthur's closest friend and the best man, he's been invited to oversee the wedding preparations with them. It's not exactly the first thing he wants to do, but he isn't blind to the thankful looks Ariadne sends him every now and then. Everything she does, every movement she makes, shrieks reluctance.

Why? He wonders, watching her as she stands with her hand painfully close to Arthur's. Close, yet never touching, not even the brush of a pinkie. Arthur gives her confused looks out of the corner of his eye when she's turned away, but doesn't move to touch her. Why, Dom wonders again.

He supposes it's the same reason he could not let go of Mal, even as she threatened to destroy the lives of the people closest to him. The thought of living without his other, of letting go even when their departure was long past due, was inconceivable. He has let go now, let go of Mal in limbo months ago, but the memory of his need for her is still fresh and painful.

Ariadne, he thinks, watching as her eyes glaze over even as the wedding coordinator addresses her, don't do what everyone expects you to do. Don't marry Arthur just because others say you will eventually.

Almost as if she hears him, Ariadne turns. Her eyes find his, and at the wave of warmth that strikes him in the chest, Dominic Cobb understands why he hates the idea of Arthur and Ariadne married. It's not because they're wrong for each other, more sister and brother than lovers. It's not because a quiet, boring married life isn't something that suits Ariadne.

It's because the only sight that soothes him nowadays is the image of himself, standing by her side at the altar, in the future the promise of a life in a house of wood and glass by the sea.

Damn. Some best man he is turning out to be.

OOO

"Daddy, is Ari coming over today?"

Phillipa's eyes are huge and hopeful as she leans her weight on his knees, her little face lighting up with the question. James looks over from where he's toying with the Jenga blocks.

"Ari?" he repeats eagerly.

Dom smiles and threads his fingers through his daughter's loose hair. "I don't know," he answers truthfully. Phillipa frowns in confusion.

"But she always comes! Why not today?"

"Sometimes," Dom says quietly, "Ariadne has other things to do. She'll be back another day, okay?"

But Phillipa frowns deeper, nods, and shuffles over to realign the Jenga blocks with a silent wisdom well beyond her years. Dom leans back in his chair. Ariadne is away trying on wedding dresses; she called him to let him know two hours beforehand. Almost as if she was giving him time to stop her, to rush over to her apartment like some hero and save her from going through with her plans. But that's stupid, he tells himself; Ariadne is more likely to do the saving than anyone else. She doesn't need him to figure out why she's so unhappy.

A rapid spout of knocking on the front door jerks Dom from his reverie. He rises and opens the door, and before he can so much as greet her, Ariadne bursts through the doorway into his home—their home, practically, since she's here almost as much as he is—plants her hands on her narrow hips and declares, "I did it, Cobb. I called it off. The wedding is off."

Dom leans back in shock. There is no doubt in his mind that she drove straight to his house from trying on wedding dresses; her chestnut hair is tousled and tangled from the wind, strewn around her shoulders like a shawl, her clothes look hastily put-on, and she is still wearing her veil. He removes it from her head, watching as she flushes with surprise.

"I didn't know I still had that on," she admits in a sheepish tone.

Dom lets his hand fall to his side, the veil trailing onto the floor. "How is Arthur?"

Ariadne licks her lips and looks down before meeting his eyes. "You know what? I think he knew it was coming. We were just kidding ourselves and we both knew it, but I don't think either of us wanted to be the bad guy who broke off the wedding." Her lips curl with a wry smile. "Guess it had to be me, huh?"

Dom says nothing, and in that moment, Ariadne studies him and finds the truth hidden in his gaze. "You knew, didn't you?" she asks. "You knew we wouldn't marry."

A breath hisses between his teeth, and before he can stop himself, he answers, "I hoped."

Ariadne blinks, stunned. Then her lips twitch with real mirth, her shoulders shake with laughter, and she takes the veil from him and sets it aside on the coffee desk.

"Ari," Phillipa and James call, "come play!"

Dom follows her as she goes to the children, as much hers as they are his, and kneels down on their level. His children's laughter fills the air as Ariadne intentionally pulls out the wrong piece and sends the tower of blocks toppling.

"Ari," the children groan, and she looks up from the floor and smiles at him, and her eyes shine like sunlight through glass.

A/N: Hope you all enjoyed the story, and if you did, please review! This is my first try for this pairing, and I'd love to hear how I did. :)

-Kimsa