The first thought she had in mind when she stepped out of the taxi:

It's cold.

That summed it up quite concisely. It was indeed cold. And wet. The cloudy sky was a milky grey, one giant storm that loomed above the scrambling Paris pedestrians. The sun peeked out from its haven behind the storm barely, as if teasing the water-logged streets and gutters. Come and get me.

The high rise buildings scraped the tip of the clouds, wonder-works of architecture. Cars honked impatiently at one another, the drivers straining to listen to the hardly audible radio over the rain. People without the luck of transportation scattered to the nearest shelter, thankful for the warmth inside, and birds were nowhere to be seen.

Ariadne swore as the Paris taxi mercilessly spattered street mud and gunk all over her new leather boots. They were the most expensive thing on her.

The pounding rain on back drenched her blue scarf and plastered her hair to her face. The just-shined boots had looked like they had been worn for years. Her back pack was completely soaked through and she gratefully thanked God that she had removed all of her textbooks and homework notes in the morning. She waved at the taxi that had oh-so-casually dumped her out in the pouring rain, intending to ask for directions, but the tobacco-chewing cabbie had already raced away.

Groaning, she realized that the cabbie had rushed off so quickly he hadn't even check whether she paid. The wadded ten was still in her fist, now soaked. It was the last bill she had on her, and thankfully shoved it back into her jeans pocket. She felt her body relax as her fingertips brushed up against cold metal. The totem.

Eames had contacted the team the other day, because of something for Cobb in America. She didn't know why in bloody Hell she was headed back to the group when she was supposed to be working on her architecture major, but it was so…

Addicting?

After the 10 hour flight to LA, everything changed for her. She felt her grades slipping, though just by a couple points, but it no longer had an effect on the over-achieving girl who used to hyperventilate when her grade point average went down 0.1 of a point. The architect major had lost all interest in architecture of the reality and was still in Dreamland, conjuring up monuments and mazes for a rag-tag team of criminals.

Was that what she was?

A criminal?

She shook the thought from her head and pushed the fears to the back of her head. The police would never connect a grad student to Fischer breaking up his empire. She had been warned by Cobb when they first met, that the job wasn't legal, that she had to have special skills and thinking back on it, why the heck did she accept? She mentally punched herself. Stupid. Stupid.

It was like she had been the richest person in the world, had everything that she could have ever wished for, and all of a sudden reduced to the state of a beggar. Ariadne searched for the bishop in her jeans pocket and took it out. She hadn't had a doubt that she was in reality, she would have known for an instant if she weren't, but it was the reassurance that she was looking for. The bishop tipped over in her palm.

It tipped over in her palm.

A hazy memory of buildings tipping over, disentegrating in front of her very eyes. A world of destruction, false hope, and yet-

Ariadne found it appealing. She had the ability to build cathedrals, beautiful buildings thousands of stories high, a city taller than ever strived possible, intricate designs, mazes... The world she was in was not real. But it felt real. It felt so right. Building skyscrapers that made herself gape and using rusty designs that she had kept locked away in her mind because they were to complicated... She looked around the desolate streets surrounding her. Her world was so much more creative, original, inspirational. This world of reality was nothing but a simply recreation of the other world. The World of Dreams.

She shook her head frantically. This was reality. It was her world. What the hell was she drifting off to Dream-mode again for? Was she really losing track of reality?

Ariadne desperately looked around the bland streets, taking in every detail, so that if, if, she ever lost track of reality, she would be able to find her way back. She concetrated on every trivial detail, as sighed when she realized it was nothing compared to-

She frowned when she caught her reflection in a café mirror. Great. I look like Hell. She groaned and rushed inside the warm, inviting, not-wet café.

Moments later, she hurried out of the tiny café, a small cappuccino in her hand. She realized that all she needed to feel awake again was just a healthy dose of caffeine. The pouring rain had reduced its self to a moderate drizzle.

Ariadne ran to her dorm, still refusing to get soaked again, and ran up the steps. She snatched her vibrating cell phone, answered it hurriedly when she saw the caller ID and frowned when she heard the voice.

"Hello, Ariadne. Long time no see."

Ariadne snorted as she walked into the grad school dorm. The drab grey slated walls matched the weather outside. "Eames. Hi."

She didn't even bother sounding upbeat. It was hard when you just had gallons of water poured on you and you were so cold your lips were turning blue.

"What's wrong? Cobb said to call you. He wants to meet in America. I figured you didn't have the tickets yet, so I mailed them to you. Fed Ex covers Paris, right?"

Ariadne wondered why the heck the stupid dorm managers kept AC on during the fall and winter. It definitely didn't cut down on living costs. She was shivering as she walked down the blasé hallways and quickly told Eames that Fed Ex did.

"Well, seeing as you're in such a chatty mood, I'll be quick. Check your mail. Keep the ticket, all of us will meet up in New York on the same day. Terminal 2, gate 43. 10:00 AM is when Yusuf's flight arrives, so we'll meet there at about 15 after. Cobb won't even tell me what's going on, so thought that would cheer you up. The tickets should be in your mailbox already. Fed Ex Express does 1-day deliveries."

She opened her mailbox and saw that Fed Ex, indeed, did 1-day deliveries. "Ok. Eames. I got the tickets."

She tore open the envelope. "First-Class! Eames! Oh my god! Thanks!"

Eames chuckled and then hung up.

Ariadne took off her boots, dried them off and put them in her suitcase. She dug out her tennis shoes and was thankful that they were worn enough that a little rain could make much of a difference. She took a quick warm shower and packed all of her belongings. The flight was tomorrow.

She had no damn idea why she was going back to the team. She had a bunch of reasons not to, and was still trying to find one to. The darn illegal, illegal, job had gotten her in so many close calls that she was thankful to be alive. She was still trying to convince herself that the job was dangerous, one that she should go immediately, but the team needed her. Right?

Sure, they could find another architect, the thought made Ariadne's stomach queasy, and she could get back to living the average college kid dream. Heh. Some "dream".

She was still thinking about the close calls that she had gotten into, getting mauled by a deceased wife, getting shot by a subconscious, getting run over by a train in the middle of traffic, etc, when the phone rang. She let it ring a few times before picking it up, to prevent losing her train of thought.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Ariadne, it's Arthur."

She wanted sleep. "Hey."

"So, you already got your tickets?" He didn't even wait for her to answer. "I'm in Paris right now, just checking on everyone in the team. Cobb said that Eames already told you"—

"Yeah, he already called."

"Oh."

"So, why'd you call?"

"I'll see you tomorrow morning. We're on the same flight. I'll come pick you up at 7:00."

The phone line went dead.

Oh-kay.

Ariadne shoved the last of her stuff into her tiny suitcase, she had been told to learn to pack so that her stuff could fit overhead, and fretted with the zipper. She put all of her books back into her backpack, which she had blow-dried with the rusty old hair drier in the bathroom. Her money was in her backpack as well. The only things in her pockets were her cell phone, a stick of gum, and her totem.

She took out the totem and admired her craftsmanship. The brass was scratch-less, a very surprising characteristic for her belongings, and glinted in the faint lighting of her room. She tipped it over, once, twice, then thrice, before picking it up. It felt so right in her palm. Allowing herself to revel in its beauty for a couple more seconds, she pushed it far into her pocket to prevent losing it in the crowded streets of Paris.