Author's Note: Hey there! Once more, if you know who I am, you know what this is about. Another one-shot to cure my boredom! Oh, and that pesky writer's block I've actually got going for my longer story Shadows. But, my brain's pain in that category is the pleasure for all of you lovely readers out there.
Friendly warning now, guys: This story is AU. As in, Alternate Universe. So, please don't tell me how "that would never happen!", etc. I know. That's the fun in AU. ;-)
Also, I debated with myself on which rating to give this. I settled with M just to be safe. After the internal debate/several reviews I had over Burn, I just decided to play it safe this time.
So, please enjoy and don't forget to leave a review!
Disclaimer: I own only my own plots, nothing else. Alas, Christopher Nolan does.
They wined and dined.
Shared a chocolatey dessert and laughed for hours over the remains of the candle on their table, only leaving when the maître d politely shooed them out. They held hands, walking along the edge of the park, silence settling over them comfortably. And when he takes her back to her hotel, she invites him up shyly.
He takes up her offer after seeing the determination in her eyes, battling out her insecurity.
Still holding hands, she leans on him slightly during the ride up in the elevator, smiling small at him. He can barely keep himself in his gentlemanly role, the excitement nearly rolling off him in waves. He still can't believe his luck.
Before the doors can open, before the lift can get to her floor, their lips are smashed together, hands tangled in hair. They maneuver their way to her door and she tries to dig out her key without looking, but has to break from him to find the thing. He chuckles as she takes three turns to get it work properly.
She tugs him into the spacious suite by his tie, grinning coyly at the goofy smile on his face. She gives him a few pecks on the lips and takes him to the bed and walks away.
"I need to freshen up. Help yourself to what's in the fridge for us. Don't be afraid to start without me." She winks and ducks inside the bathroom.
He waits a moment, listening to the sound of the sink running and looks around the room curiously. Cherry woods and tasteful art, expensive sheets. And the mini bar filled to the brim with more than he thought possible. He selected the blush champagne, popping off the cork easily and pouring them both a glass.
He took a sip and slipped off his shoes, loosened his tie, cufflinks. Finished his glass and poured himself a bit more, wondered what exactly she was doing. His attention was starting to waiver, his mind cloud. It tangled and weaved with a haze.
–
A shaft of light, pale milky moonlight, peaked through the curtains. It tickled his senses awake, willing him to look where it shined like a spotlight, to the woman next to him in bed. Her bare back looked perfect in the nocturnal light and he grinned in satisfaction. A night well spent.
As if sensing him, she opened her eyes and raised a delicate brow. "Care to share what's so amusing?" She stared up at him sleepily.
He shook his head and pulled her closer. "Let's just go back to sleep."
"I'm not sleepy anymore," she pouted, her lips pursing together. He kissed them gently.
"What do you want to do?"
The woman closed her eyes and for a moment, he thought she'd fallen back asleep. But slowly, she opened them back up, brown eyes searching for his. "Tell me your deepest, darkest secrets?" she whispered.
He watched her sleepy face, wondering if she was even truly awake. Maybe she sleep-talked? He was quite boring. What kind of secret would he be able to tell her and make himself sound interesting? "A secret...from the deepest, darkest parts of me, eh? Like what did you have in mind? I'm not a murderer," he chuckled, watching her cheeks flush just a shade. "I'm really boring."
"I don't know. What's something that no one else on earth knows? What's something you would never tell your mother? We can trade, if you want? Secret for secret," she added.
He watched her as she spoke, barely glancing at the digital clock behind her on the nightstand. It was flashing 12:00, 12:01, 12:02 as she spoke.
"Well," he began, searching for her hand, taking his time, trailing his fingers along her skin like a ghost. "I tell people I like getting clothes for Christmas. But, I will usually end up taking all those things down to the homeless shelter for them to have. I'm still not sure if anyone's bothered to notice," he chuckled again, kissing her knuckles. "Your turn."
He thought he saw her brow furrow in frustration, but wrote it off as a shadow from the moonlight.
"Once upon a time, I lived in Paris," she whispered.
"That's not a secret."
"My family doesn't know this, though. They think I was in Boston for those three years," she said, sticking out her tongue. "I didn't say no one had to know, silly."
"Duly noted," he said, smirking. He paused to think of something else. He had many things that people didn't know about, but were they technically considered secrets or just things no one bothered to learn? His workers rarely tried to interact with him outside work and he had no close family... "I've been working on refurbishing old cars in my spare time. Only two people on my staff know this. Mainly because they've helped me with some of it, haha."
She looked up at him from her cocoon of blankets, watching his face. "You were right. You're dullllll," she dragged out for emphasis. "The tattoo you saw earlier, you are the only person who knows about it... But then again, its barely a year old, so that's not saying much," she laughed to herself at that last part.
He chuckled at the last part, but he frowned, remembering she'd called him dull. "Hey, I'm not dull. I just...live cautiously."
"I'll say," she rolled her eyes teasingly. "No demons in the closet? No passionate acquisitions or conquests?"
He smiled, running a hand through his hair once and looked down at her. The woman who's name he didn't even know.
He didn't know her name, yet he felt like he knew every inch of her body just from the last few hours.
"You really want to know, don't you?"
She tensed a minute, suddenly alert. Seemingly waiting for something, but relaxed when the minutes ticked by uneventful. She laughed hollowly, which made him frown.
"You...you just seem so perfect. Secrets are kind of a way I like to make people seem more...human. Does that make sense?" She drew patterns on his bare chest, avoiding his eyes.
"It does," he acquiesced. "Let me think then, yeah? Something good, something to make your pretty little mouth go 'oh' all over again..."
She smacked him playfully at his innuendo, which made him smirk.
He sighed. "I'm the owner of a big company. Like, huge. I kind of...inherited it from my grandfather a few years ago, I guess. I've been doing well with it and everything. But I'm worried about some white-collar crime that I noticed a few months ago. I've been secretly gathering evidence against these people and I'm getting ready to push them into the spotlight and have them arrested.
"They seem to think that they can try to do some insider trading, which would break up certain parts of the business. Which would benefit them more because that would mean more stock options for them to buy and eventually force my family out. And once we're out, they can put the components back together and form some inflated version of what we'd once been."
Her eyes were wide, her pink lips very much how he predicted they'd form. "That is...wow."
He gave an empty laugh. "Yeah. Crazy stuff. What's worse, they're trying to pin it on me. But I'm gathering the evidence too quick for them to cover it up. They're digging their own graves by trying to make me look like the bad guy."
"All in a days work, then?" she joked quietly.
He smiled gently at her. "Yeah, something like that. Now, I believe you owe me a secret." He kissed her neck as she thought one out.
"I know you said no names tonight, but I know your name," she whispered. "It's hard not to," she added, looking at him sadly.
"What's my name?"
"Arthur Everett, vacationing here in Sydney. You're a long way from home, Mr. Everett."
He leaned back in the bed, looking at her face. It didn't seem to change with her admission of his identity. If anything, she seemed shyer, afraid.
"Are you afraid?" he asked. When she didn't answer, he said, "What are you afraid of?"
The petite woman licked her lips, not meeting his eyes. "You're not going to like me when you wake up," she said, half to him, half to the pillow.
"Wake up?" he said, confused.
Behind her, the clock blinked 4:33, 4:34, 4:35.
"Maybe, if the 'ifs and buts' work in our favor..." she whispered, facing him again. She kissed him softly, molding her body to his swiftly. "If, you forget all about me, this half-remembered dream. And we meet again, differently..."
"What are you talking about?" he asked against her lips. But he quickly forgot his question, caught up in her taste, her scent.
She ran her hands along his skin, as if trying to memorize every inch. Her lips slid past his and made a trail down his jaw to his neck, a kiss on his Adam's apple, his collar bones, shoulders.
Fingers tangled in her hair and his other hand made a blazing trail. Caressing her breasts, tracing patterns on her belly, teasing.
Their lips met once more, fighting for dominance. Harder, more desperate. Their bodies could feel the ticking time left before they would be separated, only her mind knew as well.
She held on to him tightly, fingers sinking in his skin.
He gripped her waist, furious in his movements.
Neither cared that he could break her; they both relished in the exquisite pain caused and received.
They both watched each other come, wrapped up in one another.
He fell asleep quickly, which made it easy for her to disappear. It wouldn't cause the dream to fall apart and their plans wouldn't go to hell in a hand basket.
Her kick came soon after she did, luckily.
She woke up on the bed next to him. To Arthur. She checked his pulse and unhooked the PASIV from him. The sedative in the champagne still running through his veins. Winding the cords, she packed the machinery away and cleaned up the evidence of the drugged drink, replacing it with untampered bubbly.
"How did it go?"
Ariadne looked up to her partner, Eames, and smiled. "Got it. He knows about their plans. We gotta tell them, add that they need to cool it..."
"And collect our reward," he added, winking. He bent over their mark and stripped him, throwing Everett's clothes haphazardly around the room.
"Yes, that too," she said, rolling her eyes. "That's your job. You know, to not let them fuck us over. Where's Gregory? And why did you throw his clothes around?"
Eames finished, throwing the covers around the nude businessman. "You two had a tryst of passion. Just making it look believable. The point man's downstairs, waiting."
"Let's get out of here, then," Ariadne said, heading for the door.
"Why are you so eager to leave? You always love 'em and leave 'em, Ari?"
She ignored him and left, heading for the elevators. When he finally caught up to her, she glanced at him, frowning. "Why would I linger around him, Eames? I just had dream sex with him, extracted information that may or may not land him in jail for others' crimes, and drugged him. I think that calls for hightailing it out of there, don't you?"
The rode the elevator to the lobby in silence. When they left through the front doors, the late evening sunlight blinded her temporarily.
"Why do I keep forgetting you're crabby when you first wake up?" Eames groused, holding open the passenger door to a waiting town car for her.
"Please do remember it. You'd think after knowing me five years, you'd get the picture." She sunk into the leather seats and glances in the back seat. "Hello, Greg."
The pale, blond man nodded to her. "Ariadne. It all went well?" She nodded back. "Good. We're due to meet with our employers in three hours. Let's get out of this traffic and meet with them."
Ariadne half-listened to Greg and Eames exchange information, watching the hotel as they pulled away, feeling like she'd left something behind.
–
When Arthur woke up, he was alone. Which left him more disappointed than he should have been.
It had only been a one night stand, really.
With a woman who'd kept him entertained with just conversation for hours, who was an amazing lover. Who seemed to be able to interpret his soul with a single glance of her warm brown eyes. He found it extremely cold, being without her.
Which was a bit ridiculous, Arthur told himself. He woke up alone most nights. And even the nights he had company, it felt different.
His eyes darted to the clock, which stared back with a firm 12:02. Nothing else on the dark wood. Not even a speck of dust.
Grabbing his hair in frustration, he tugged at it a moment, then stood and headed for the bathroom. He ignored the mirror and went straight to his morning ritual. Toilet, shower, then face the mirror and the day.
He went to wipe off the condensation from the surface of the glass and started. Taped in the center was a small, white card. Empty. Until he turned it over.
Most of the surface was as blank as the front. But hastily scribbled was,
I'm sorry.
-Ariadne
Later, when he goes back home that week, he tries looking for a girl named Ariadne using all the resources available to him. He comes up with a few hits.
Including one that connects her to the men against him.
And it's like a kick in the teeth.
And like a half-remembered dream, he remembers something.
Her voice, soft, full of regret, whispering.
If, you forget all about me... And we meet again, differently...
A/N: And, as always, reviews make unicorns be born and give homeless dogs and cats loving families (in a perfect world). Thanks for reading, everyone. :)
Also, if you happen to want music to go along with this, I suggest Attraction by Neon Trees.