Shut your eyes
There are bluer skies
for your embrace to my heart

He's not quite like Cobb yet – he can still dream on his own. But his dreams are only hollow shells of what dreams are supposed to be, and for that, he is grateful. In the past (the past he would rather not think about), he has woken up one too many times with his heart racing and his cheeks wet with unconscious tears. Now, he wakes with only a faint sense of bittersweet wistfulness that rarely lingers.

He doesn't miss the dreams, hazy and indistinct as they are. He locks them away carefully and tries to forget about them.

But even he slips up, now and then. He's a trained professional and mistakes are not really supposed to be in his vocabulary, but behind the sharp suits and the calm eyes he is still very much human. Like everyone else, he has memories that he would rather forget, and despite the carefully constructed walls he has erected around those recollections, his subconscious manages to worm through the cracks.

It happens infrequently enough that only a handful of people have ever seen her, and even fewer have actually noticed her. Right now, the latter group numbers three – he counts Mal even though he'll never see her again – and none of them knows the truth. The whole truth, anyway.

That group unintentionally gains a fourth member during the Fischer job. While Cobb goes globetrotting to assemble the rest of their team, he's left with a wide-eyed university student to train. Arthur doesn't resent the job – far from it, actually. Ariadne is every teacher's dream – inquisitive, intelligent, and eager to learn. She absorbs every piece of information he gives her at a rate that is almost alarming, presents astounding results to him, then demands more.

The fact that she is quite pretty doesn't hurt either.

Even though he should be used to her prolific abilities by now, Arthur still finds himself surprised. By her vision, her creativity, and – even more than everything else about her – her perception.

The last trait is one that works well in dream architecture (the level of detail that she provides continues to amaze him) but it's not something that he enjoys when it is turned on him. He notes that she is a lot like Cobb in that respect, but unlike Cobb, who tempers his perception with a certain level of tact and professionalism, Ariadne is constantly pushing the envelope. She asks probing questions that he doesn't want to answer, goes places where he doesn't want her to go – and it's not because she's nosy, per say (though the sarcastic part of his mind calls her that, among other uncharitable things, sometimes). It's because she's incurably curious.

Arthur has to give her credit. She notices after only three shared dreams – one where he is the dreamer, two where she is – and calls him out on it.

"Who's that?" she queries casually. They're walking down a busy sidewalk with enormous buildings looming all around them – influenced by NYC, he notes absently, and wonders what the city means to her – and he is more interested in the architecture than in the projections of his subconscious that pass them.

"Pardon?" Arthur replies, bringing his gaze back down to look at her. Ariadne raises one dark brow at his inattention.

"Who's that?" she repeats, this time accompanying the question with a jerk of the head. Arthur follows her gaze to a figure across the street…and has to fight to stay calm. Even so, a few projections look abruptly at him and Ariadne. He doesn't slow his stride, keeping his face carefully blank – it wouldn't do to draw their attention. His projections have always been more touchy than most.

"Nobody," he says smoothly, his voice even. Ariadne hurries to keep pace with his longer strides.

"Don't give me that," she says, frowning. "She was in the last dream where you were in the subject, and she wouldn't stop following us then. She's following us now too."

Arthur doesn't have to look to know that across the street, the girl is tailing them, the chill wind lifting her soft blonde hair and rustling through the folds of her long skirt. More projections are taking notice of them now; one of them deliberately slams his shoulder into Ariadne's, sending her stumbling into Arthur. He steadies her, leaning closer to whisper in her ear.

"She's nobody. She is only following us because you have drawn my subconscious's attention, and by pointing her out, you've alerted the other projections. Keep it up and you'll be attacked in no time."

To his chagrin, Ariadne doesn't give the subject up. She rubs her shoulder and furrows her brow. "But she's been following us since the dream began," she says. "And she's not looking at me the way everyone else is. She's looking at you."

A passing projection grabs her arm in a vice-like grip; Arthur pushes him off with a warning scowl. "Stop," he says forcefully to Ariadne, then freezes as he hears the voice from across the street.

"Brendan!"

Ariadne turns. "Brendan?" she asks, seemingly unaware that now every single projection's eyes are on her. "Who's – "

She doesn't get to finish her sentence before three projections leap forward and wrestle her to the ground. This is all his subconscious needs – other projections rush to gather around, their yells almost drowning out Ariadne's cries. "Arthur, Arthur!" she screams. "Arthur, help me!"

A flash of a knife and the screaming stops. Arthur almost doesn't even notice. As the dream crumbles around him, he turns slowly – almost against his will – to look across the street, at the one projection that did not rush forward to attack Ariadne. She smiles at him, a sad little smile that does not quite reach her eyes.

Her mouth moves again, and she's too far away for him to hear, but he can still hear her voice in his memories, untainted by time's passage. "Brendan."

His lips part. "Emily."

Then the earth cracks beneath his feet and he falls gratefully into oblivion.

"What the hell was that?"

Arthur stares unseeingly at the cracks in the warehouse ceiling. He doesn't answer Ariadne right away, though he can hear the girl's anger in her voice. Slowly, he removes the IV from his arm and sits up, massaging his wrist.

There's a shriek of metal as Ariadne gets up from her own chair and marches over to his, footsteps loud in the silence. She wobbles a little bit, still suffering from the aftereffects of the dream, but her voice doesn't waver. "Arthur," she says, when he doesn't respond. "What was that?"

He doesn't meet her gaze and reaches one hand into his pocket. "You drew my subconscious's attention and the projections attacked," he answers matter-of-factly. His fingers close around the loaded die and he breathes a light sigh. Back to reality, then.

"You know that's not what I mean."

"The dream itself was quite good, though," he continues blandly, not addressing her outburst. "Did you base some of it off of New York City?"

"Arthur!" He looks at her now, and she looks almost as angry as she was the first time she encountered Mal in Cobb's mind. "What happened?" she demands. "I've been in your mind before, and your subconscious didn't attack me that time."

"That's because you didn't attract – "

"I know!" Her voice echoes alarmingly in the little room. "I know," she repeats, this time more quietly. "But this is the first time I've seen anyone's subconscious attack so fast."

"You haven't been in very many dreams," he observes drily, "so that's not much of an observation."

She frowns at him. "When I was in Cobb's mind," she says, "I flipped buildings and twisted physics, but the projections didn't actually attack until Cobb realized I had recreated a real place in his mind. Then they were on me so fast that Cobb couldn't fight them off. When we were in my mind, you showed me all sorts of impossible things, but the projections didn't attack until time was almost up."

"Your subconscious is not nearly as aggressive as mine," Arthur explains, hiding his disbelief at her perceptiveness, "because you have not been trained." He holds up a hand to stop her protest. "Don't try to use Cobb to refute that. Even though we have both been trained, we are still very different people, and that reflects in our subconscious."

"I've seen your subconscious before now, though," Ariadne says. "And the projections didn't leap on me nearly as fast then as they did today."

Arthur opens his mouth to voice some sort of excuse, but nothing comes out. She's eyeing him shrewdly, coming to some conclusion.

"Cobb's projections jumped me," she says slowly, "because I brought back some place that was important to him. When he noticed it, the emotional response brought the projections – brought Mal – running. You didn't respond to the place or anything, but when I pointed out the girl, your subconscious freaked out and s-stabbed me."

Her voice catches a little on the word, and Arthur glances at her face. He had expected this – Mal was the first projection that ever killed her in a dream, and she did it in the most brutal and visceral way possible: she stabbed Ariadne. Because he knows this, his subconscious knows it, and the projections applied that knowledge to their attack. They wanted to cause her as much pain and distress as possible, he observes clinically, but does not voice this to Ariadne. It wouldn't do for her to know how much the dream had affected him.

"So who is she?" Ariadne presses, still shaken but resolute nevertheless.

"It's not important," he says wearily.

"It is. If she's appearing in your mind the way Mal appears in Cobb's – "

"Our situations," he interrupts, voice harsher than he intends it to be, "are nothing alike. Mal interferes whenever Cobb is in the dream, whether he is the dreamer, the subject, or just a bystander. The projection in my mind – " because he refuses to call her by name " – only appears when I am the subject. She's harmless."

"It didn't seem that way to me."

"Let me amend that." Arthur doesn't mean to snap, but the surprised look on Ariadne's face leads him to soften his tone somewhat. "She herself is harmless. She usually doesn't even speak. The only reason she did this time is because you acknowledged her, and that was what brought all the projections down on you."

Ariadne doesn't respond for a long moment. She's looking intently at his face, seemingly searching for something. Her gaze is more than a bit unsettling, but he doesn't break eye contact, staring back in calm silence. His heartrate is returning to normal, the dream fading from his mind. But he can see it in the tight line of her lips, the furrow in her brow – Ariadne's not going to let this one go so easily.

"Who is she?"

"A girl I once knew," he says shortly, and rises from his seat. His tone clearly says that this conversation is over, but Ariadne follows him anyway as he cleans up the PASIV. He can't say he's surprised.

"You must not have seen her in a long time," she observes. "She looked like she was still in high school."

"Eighteen," he says, shutting the silver case a little more forcefully than he means to. "We went to school together."

"She called you Brendan," she muses, and he feels his shoulders stiffen at the name. "Why?"

"You ask too many questions," he says, evading the question.

"You don't give very good answers," she shoots back, and he smiles a little in spite of himself. "Okay, fine, keep your secrets," she continues, "but tell me one thing. Why's this girl so important that she keeps showing up your subconscious?"

The smile disappears from his lips. "She's…someone I can't forget," he says after a silent moment, choosing his words carefully.

"Why not?"

He straightens, keeping his back to Ariadne. "You ask too many questions," he repeats, "and I don't feel like giving you the answers to them."

"I – "

"The next time you're in my mind, don't acknowledge her. Don't even look at her. She'll follow us, but she won't hurt you. But if you provoke her like you did today, that'll bring the projections down on you for sure. And unless you want to be stabbed again, I suggest that you avoid that."

He feels like a jerk for reminding her of how she died, but he suppresses the guilt and tells himself that the fewer people know, the better. He doesn't need others running around with the secrets of his subconscious.

"Go home," he says, turning to face her. "We're through for today."

She looks at him in surprise. "But – "

Arthur gives her a pointed look and she shuts her mouth. "Nice job on the architecture," he says, "but make it less obviously New York next time. Otherwise you'll make the subject suspicious."

"O-Okay. Are we still meeting tomorrow?"

"Yes. I'll find you after your classes are finished."

She doesn't ask how he'll do that – it's his job to know everything about everyone, after all. "Bye, then," she says hesitantly, and takes a few steps towards the door before stopping. "Arthur…"

"Yes?"

"Are you sure she won't interfere? I mean, we've already seen what kind of damage Mal can do – "

He takes a deep breath. "She won't," he says quietly, with conviction. "I promise."

Ariadne gives him one last, searching look, then leaves. He sinks down into a chair, suddenly feeling very drained, and cradles his head in his hands.

That's four, now, he thinks, and sighs. Shit.

A/N: Beginning lyrics are from "If You Can't Sleep" by She & Him. Story title is from "Stardust" by Hoagy Carmichael, performed by Nat King Cole.

A crossover of the movies "Brick" and "Inception." This happened mostly because I'm on a bit of a Joseph Gordon-Levitt streak right now. My favorite roles are the ones where he actually smiles - which is why I like "(500) Days of Summer" - but he plays the tortured soul so well, nevertheless. And Brendan Frye seems like he could grow up to be Arthur, given a push in the right direction.

An understanding of "Brick" is not necessarily required to understand this, but it may help - otherwise you'll be sort of lost. It will be explained in future chapters, so expect spoilers.

"Inception" belongs to Christopher Nolan, "Brick" to Rian Johnson. Check out both movies - they're awesome. And, as my friend says, you can never have too much Joseph Gordon-Levitt. :)