A/N: I don't own Arthur or Ariadne. They belong to Christopher Nolan. I hope to update this with another chapter later today, but we'll see how my inspiration is. Thanks in advance for reading. (:

xo

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The plane that carried The Team and Fischer across the Atlantic Ocean had landed safely in Los Angeles, California. Their mission of inception was successful. Everyone would go their separate ways, and try to get back to some semblance of normalcy. Dominic would go back to his kids, Philippa and James, Eames would go gamble away his pay in Las Vegas somewhere before heading home to Mombasa, and Ariadne would go back to Paris. Arthur didn't know what he would do. He joined Cobb because dream sharing fascinated him. As time went on, Arthur grew to love the job. He wouldn't want to dedicate his organizational skills to anything but the job.

They passed through customs, Arthur making small chat with Ariadne, and they each disappeared as their luggage rolled around the carousel. Arthur had stuck close to Ariadne ever since Dom had brought her to The Team as their new Architect. He trained her and watched as she drew labyrinths and mazes with frustration. He taught her about paradoxes and was impressed when she came up with a chess piece as her totem. Arthur knew that, as the Architect, her totem fit her perfectly. She designed the dreams and mazes, and moved around the levels, much like a game of chess. She wasn't like their last Architect, though. Ariadne was more outspoken, unafraid to voice her concerns about how she thought what they were doing – invading Fischer's mind – was wrong. She'd say she'd want no part of it; she'd leave only to come back after a few hours due to her intellectual curiosity.

"It's just…pure creation."
"There's nothing quite like it."

She had a penchant for silk scarves, each one as unique as Ariadne herself. Each day they saw each other, she had a different scarf, embellished with intricate needlework on the delicate material. She was a klutz, always dropping pencils and paper all over the warehouse, but she was a perfectionist. Her labyrinths were detailed and intricately designed, yet inescapable to the untrained. And yet, it was her complexities and quirks that drew Arthur to Ariadne.

Arthur had never felt this way, ever. He'd always been too involved in his job that he'd never felt any sort of feelings for anyone, besides Dom and Eames. Past his stony façade of a cleanly shaven face and a crisp suit, he cared for Ariadne. He couldn't explain it. Maybe it was the late nights spent working on the Fischer job at the warehouse, the time they spent discussing what had happened to Dom's wife, Mal. Or maybe it was the fact that Ariadne had been the only person to make Arthur laugh since they'd started the Fischer job.

Any way he looked at it, Arthur had dreaded this moment since he got on the plane with her. Saying goodbye. They stood awkwardly outside the airport, luggage beside them, or slung over a shoulder. Arthur stole glances at Ariadne as he adjusted his black tie.

"So I guess this is goodbye?" She asked, looking up at him. He liked the way the breeze picked up the ends of her chocolate brown hair and tossed them around in the air.

"I guess." Arthur frowned slightly.

A sigh and a nod emitted from The Architect. "Goodbye, Arthur." He watched as she left, trailing a small piece of luggage behind her. She'd be back in Paris before the week's end.

"Ariadne?" He called after her, only slightly hoping she didn't hear him. When she turned around, a quizzical look on her face, Arthur froze. He wanted to ask her to get a bite to eat, maybe a couple drinks. He'd ask her to stay because he wanted her to. Because he needed her to. "Keep in touch, alright? The next few days might be rough especially after what we got ourselves into. Don't be afraid to call me." Ariadne nodded and Arthur waited until she disappeared before he caught a cab to an apartment that he'd rented before The Team had gone off on various jobs.

The Point Man ran a hand through his slick hair as he pushed open the door to his apartment. It looked vaguely familiar, but he hadn't seen the interior for what must have been months by now. He tossed his bags by the door and collapsed on the couch. Arthur didn't dream anymore. He'd been doing the job for a few years now, and he couldn't dream unless a needle was stuck in his arm. Every night, he told himself he'd have a dream without the PASIV, and every night, it never happened. He was angry and confused, convinced that there was something wrong with him. Until Dom told him he hadn't had dreams after Mal passed away.

So, when Arthur closed his eyes, the only thing that ran through his mind was memories of moments he shared with Ariadne. Caring about someone was an odd feeling for him. He'd never let anyone see past his suits and clean cut look, until she showed up. Before her, he was all business, never showing a glimpse of any emotion. But when Dom brought her around for her first training workshop, something changed.

"Hey, hey look at me. You're okay. You're okay."

His thin lips curled into the ghost of a smile as he thought about her. He liked everything about her. He liked her silly scarves and the red sweater she always wore. Her indecisive and compassionate nature. The way he made her feel when they kissed, even though it was only a dream. Her soft smile and uncanny ability to grasp the concept of creating a dream world. The way she grew increasingly frustrated as she drew labyrinths at all hours of the night, throwing crunched up balls of paper and pencils around the warehouse. The way she never noticed he stole glances at her.

"Quick, give me a kiss."
"They're still looking at us."
"Yeah, it was worth a shot."

He knew Ariadne would have a hard time adjusting to normalcy after her first dreamscape mission was an inception and not just a simple extraction. She'd want more of the dream world and less of reality, and eventually, things would become increasingly worse. Eventually, Arthur grimaced slightly, she'd become like Mal. She'd become convinced that the dream world was real, and that reality wasn't. She'd want the dream world over reality, and Arthur didn't want that to happen. He didn't want to be like Dom.

Arthur's phone rang and buzzed incessantly in his pants pocket. He snapped his eyes open and glanced at the clock across the room. Hours had flown by and the sun had been down for a long time. He pulled out his phone with a slender hand and glanced at the display. A smile crept onto his face.

"Ariadne?"