What exactly does he do all day?

Ariadne ponders this as she chews on the end of her pencil, pretending to observe the page of her sketchbook like there's actually something on it. Her feet are resting on the corner of her desk and her knees are pulled up to her chest to support the sketchbook like some sort of makeshift easel as she sits back in her chair to get a better look at him. She's supposed to be drawing a picture of a building that's somewhere in the city for a school project, but she can't bring her mind to focus on anything besides the back of his immaculately-pressed suit jacket. The architect narrows her eyes as she watches him push a pencil behind his ear and begin to type some information on his laptop, occasionally glancing down at the notepad in his lap.

Is it possible that all Arthur does is work? Ariadne's expression sours and she shakes her head, dismissing the thought as completely impossible. There's no way he only does research. Surely he must have some secret Minesweeper addiction that keeps him so "busy" all the time.

Actually, scratch Minesweeper. He seems more like the die-hard solitaire type, perfectly content with staring at animated playing cards for hours on end. It seems more like him.

Hell, maybe he even takes a quick peek at porn every once and a while. She doubts this, but it's plausible. He is a man, after all. From what she knows about men (not a whole lot), she's pretty sure all men have needs. Arthur shouldn't be an exception.

Ariadne sneaks a glance and Eames and Cobb, who are over in the far corner of the warehouse in two lawn chairs with needles and tubes in their wrists. Yusuf is monitoring their progress under the new sedative he created, his back completely turned away from Ariadne and Arthur. She returns her gaze to the back of the point man's head, a small idea forming. As quietly as she possibly can, Ariadne trades her pencil out for a pen and her sketchbook out for a yellow legal pad. She begins to scribble at the top of the page, eyebrows furrowed deeply.

OPERATION SCARF VS. SUIT

Subject name: Arthur (What is his last name, anyway? I'm leaving the space blank in case I ever figure it out.)

Agent: Ariadne Page (Hereby known as agent 0029.649, because that number is just fantastic and isn't anywhere near 007.)

Object: Find out what the subject does all day and write down what makes him so goddamn interesting. If he can be so attentive to details down to what kind of soap agent 0027 uses, anyone can. (I hope, at least.)

Ariadne glances up from her notepad and peeks over the top of it to stare at Arthur once more, scrutinizing every little move he makes. She silently notes the way his eyebrows furrow every time he glances from his notepad to the screen and the way the he taps the left heel of his polished dress shoe when he writes something down. The architect looks back down at her notepad and continues to write.

TIME: 12:04 PM

First observation:

The subject is very focused on what he's doing at the current time. I can't see what he's typing out from this distance, but I will try to get a peek later. Maybe he's typing out his social security number or something useful like that, but I somehow doubt it. And even if he was, I wouldn't know what to do with it.

Ariadne looks up again and watches in curiosity as Arthur minimizes the document he was typing and opens up another page. She spots the Google logo almost immediately and quickly jots down, "The subject uses Google. This is indicative of his sensible nature, for all people who use Bing are usually quite silly." She looks back up just in time to see Arthur click on a link that merely looks like a bunch of random squiggly symbols from this distance. She squints, but to no avail. She can't figure out what he's looking at. Huffing irritably, she scratches onto the notepad, "I can't tell what he's looking at. All I know is that it's not porn, thus not very useful to getting insight on the subject. I'll look for other leads."

Ariadne sighs and leans back in her chair, wincing at the slight jolts of pain that occur in her neck and shoulders. She's been sitting in this cramped position for way too long, she realizes. Stiffly, she reaches up and places her left hand on her right shoulder, massaging it lightly and wincing at the soreness.

"You've been sitting there for way too long. Next time you're out, you might want to get a new chair."

Ariadne blinks and looks at the point man sitting across the room from her, still in his respective desk chair, wondering how he managed to know she felt sore without even turning around. Her eyebrows come together and she opens her mouth to ask him, but he interrupts her with a low and even, "I heard you wince. And there is no possible way that the position you've been in for the past four hours can be comfortable."

He sets his pencil down and turns slightly to look at her with a quirked eyebrow that Ariadne unfortunately finds adorable.

Holy Jesus Christ, she thinks. I have never in my life seen a man turn around that sexy before. Or seen such a sexy smile, for that matter. How is he so unfairly gorgeous without intending to be? I think it's the suits and vests that make him so damn attractive. Yeah, that must be it.

Swallowing thickly, Ariadne manages to nod in agreement with what he just said. The corner of his mouth—his cruelly-perfect mouth—tilts up faintly before he turns back to his laptop and begins typing rapidly as if nothing happened.

Exhaling as quietly as she can, Ariadne pushes the pen's point against her notepad again and begins to write with shaky hands.

TIME: 12:13 PM

Second observation:

The subject has extraordinary hearing. At least when it comes to Agent 0027.649, he does. Last week Eames was practically screaming in the subject's face about a sandwich or something to that effect, but the subject barely seemed to catch anything he was saying. (Of course, with all that British-ness Eames has, its' hard to understand anything he's saying. Especially when drunk. Then it's pretty much a lost cause.) But last week, the very second I sniffed a little bit because of my allergies, the subject appeared at my side with a brand-new tissue box.

No conclusive evidence as of right now.

"What the bloody hell are you writing?" a familiar voice whispers from just behind Ariadne's left shoulder, causing her to yelp and flail her arms about spastically in surprise. Her pen goes flying and skitters across the floor toward Yusuf, who raises a curious eyebrow and picks it up before bringing it back to her. She thanks him quietly with a bright red face and takes a deep breath to collect herself as he walks back to his station. Once out of earshot, she glares over her shoulder at Eames, who is grinning in a knowing fashion.

Oh, God…

"Picked up a new hobby, have we?" Eames asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "I must say, I pegged you for a girl who knits sweaters or collects postage stamps. Certainly not stalking Ar—"

"Eames!" Ariadne hisses, cutting him off before he says the point man's name out loud. His grin grows even wider when she looks over her shoulder warily to see if Arthur noticed their fight. She nearly faints in relief when she sees that he's plugged in headphones and is watching something on his laptop screen with rapt attention. He can't hear anything they're saying.

Exhaling slowly, she turns back to Eames and says in a menacing voice, "I swear, you'd better not tell him what I'm doing."

"That'd be hard to do, Ariadne, since I have no idea what you're doing in the first place. Care to enlighten me?"

Ariadne runs a hand over her face and groans quietly. Of all the people who would notice what she was doing, it had to be Eames. The universe would never be nice enough to allow someone sensible like Yusuf to catch her in the act of stalking Arthur. Heck, she'd even take Cobb.

The architect turns in her seat and clutches the incriminating notepad to her chest as she glares at Eames viciously. "Listen, it's not as bad as it looks, all right? I finished the second level maze about two hours ago and couldn't stop watching him for some reason. I want to know what makes him so interesting."

Eames shoots her a disbelieving look and snorts. "Love, there are many words one could use to describe Arthur, but 'interesting' isn't one of them."

"That's what you think," she mutters, sneaking another glance over her shoulder at the aforementioned point man. "I find him intriguing."

Eames raises his eyebrows suggestively at this and hums. He bumps her with his elbow to bring her gaze back to him and says, "Intriguing, eh?"

Ariadne's eyes narrow and she shoves him back a half step in annoyance. She knows perfectly well what he's implying, but she doesn't want to admit that he actually might have a very small, miniscule, microscopic, molecular chance of being right about the whole thing. She fingers the golden edge of her red scarf and she turns back around in her seat, setting the notepad on her lap with the pen on top of it. Arthur is still across the warehouse behind his respective desk, searching for information on the mark with his laptop. She smiles softly as he runs a hand over his slicked-back hair in thought and tightens his tie. He's so…cute when he works.

Eames sees her smile and clicks his tongue, shaking his head knowingly. "Love, I can save you a whole lot of trouble right now by telling you why you find him so 'intriguing.'"

"Oh, really?" Ariadne questions, looking over her shoulder at him with a raised eyebrow. He's looking very smug. "Tell me, Eames. I'm dying to hear this one."

The glint in his eye worries her a bit. "Are you sure you want to know?"

Ariadne rolls her eyes at him and twists father around in her chair to see the forger. "Tell me."

"It's because you're positively smitten with him, that's why!"

"Who does Ariadne like?"

The architect jumps in her seat, shrieks, and drops her pen on the floor again in surprise. But before she can even locate it, Arthur picks it up with nimble fingers and holds it out to her.

Ariadne can't speak.

Eames doesn't move.

Yusuf looks confused about the whole matter.

How much had he heard? Does he know? The possibilities race through Ariadne's mind as she stares at Arthur's outstretched hand. She somehow manages to bring herself to take the pen from him, making sure she doesn't touch his hand in the process. He frowns slightly when she pulls back, straightens his shoulders, and clears his throat to break the silence. He repeats himself. "Who does Ariadne like?"

Ariadne fumbles for words, but ends up shrugging helplessly and jerking a thumb over her shoulder at Eames for an explanation. She then hugs the notepad to her chest and rubs her temples, not believing for a second that this is actually happening to her. This has got to be some sort of dream.

Eames, on the other hand, smirks and claps Arthur on the shoulder as good-naturedly as only Eames can be. Even with his lanky frame, Arthur doesn't budge under the force of the blow. He must have some decent muscle under that suit. Ariadne rolls her eyes for noticing such a stupid detail.

"You'll have to ask our darling architect over here," Eames says enigmatically before walking back to his desk on the other side of the room. Arthur and Ariadne follow him with their eyes until he sits back down and starts playing online poker on his laptop. Once they're sure he's officially gone, they turn back to each other and sit in awkward silence, simply staring at one another, waiting for the other to break the moment with a sound.

Ariadne decides that she hates whoever is controlling her life.

Arthur's gaze lingers on the back of the architect's open notebook, scrutinizing it. She unconsciously sinks deeper into her chair and curls her shoulders inward in a feeble attempt to hide it. The point man picks up on this and brings his gaze back to her face once more with a glimmer in his eye that makes Ariadne nervous for some reason.

Suddenly, his eyebrows furrow and he rummages around inside one of his pockets. He pulls out a fountain pen, a Swiss Army knife, a pair of unused takeout chopsticks, and finally a small slip of folded-up paper no bigger than the palm of his hand. Ariadne can clearly see writing on the inside, but she can't read it. Arthur deposits the knickknacks back in his pocket and gently sets the small square of paper on top of Ariadne's jean-clad knee. He then smiles faintly, turns on his heel, and goes back to his desk without another word.

She lunges for the paper and unfolds it like her life depends on it. (She realizes that she's acting like a high school student again, but she doesn't care. This note could be the solution to her problem!) She unfolds it, careful not to rip it apart by accident, and reads Arthur's beautiful cursive penmanship.

The note flutters to the ground.

I'm so glad you're not an extractor.

-Arthur

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