Ariadne wasn't the only person in the warehouse at the late hour that night.

The point man decided to stay later and do extra research, he had said. Ariadne found it admirable and a little ridiculous, because after all, he was the most meticulous and well prepared of all of them. Regardless, she was most pleased with him being the one to put in a little overtime. She'd never tell anyone that, though.

She had to stop thinking about him. He was three years her senior, but he exuded an aura that made him seem much older. He was professional. Unattainable. Why would he want to be seen with someone like her, anyway?

Nonetheless, he fascinated her.

With that thought still in mind, she began tossing her tools haphazardly into her bag to finally finish up. The newest extractor had told her when they began the job that she could stay all night if she wished, but she felt more comfortable going home and being in her own bed despite the fact that the trip there could be a bit scary, especially given that it was three in the morning.

Ariadne then made her way to the open area in the warehouse, expecting to find Arthur mulling over folders filled with papers or staring at his computer screen to find the most information about the mark as possible.

She did not, however, expect to find him asleep at his desk. It was so very unlike Arthur, and Ariadne suddenly found herself grinning at how absurd—and incredibly endearing—it was. His upper body was sprawled across the small metal desk at an awkward angle, his arms laid out straight in front of him. A pang of sympathy ran through her as she thought about how terribly uncomfortable the position had to be.

The next thing Ariadne knew, she was making tentative strides across the space to reach his impromptu resting spot. Standing right behind him, she lightly nudged his shoulder. "Arthur?"

The point man, with his impeccable reflexes, was up in half a second. His brown eyes were momentarily wide with alarm, and he turned his head widely to scan the room. At last, they landed on her.

"Ariadne?" he asked, knitting his brows in confusion. Ariadne bit back a laugh at his bewilderment. His hair was slightly disheveled; his tie was askew. How could someone be that attractive just after waking up?

"You fell asleep. It's three."

"Oh. Why are you still here?"

"I had work to finish," she replied simply, shifting from one foot to the other awkwardly in front of him.

Arthur rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and then proceeded to run his hands down his face. He threaded his fingers through his hair, eliminating any last trace of his gelled hairstyle. With a sigh, he muttered, "Guess I'll stay here for the night."

The words left Ariadne's mouth before she could stop them. "Then I'll stay here with you." She looked at her feet, suddenly self-conscious.

The notion clearly surprised Arthur. He quickly opened and shut his mouth, looking for the words to say. Ariadne didn't know how to interpret the action.

"Why?" he finally settled on asking.

"Well, I think someone should keep you company." Beyond that, she was still afraid of being on her own. Nightmares from the inception disturbed her sleep every now and then.

Arthur frowned slightly, and the implication of it hurt Ariadne more than it should have. "Okay. I'll go get another chair." Thank goodness for the lounge chairs they had lying around.

Ariadne awoke with a yelp of terror, edging closer and closer to hyperventilation as her mind went through the events of the nightmare all over again. She had been drowning or falling or something, though she could not remember particularly what. She didn't realize how much she had been shaking until a warm, calloused hand touched her arm and calmed her.

Disoriented, she looked to her left to find the source of the comfort, and dark brown eyes met hers in the shadows of the warehouse.

"You're okay. You're safe," Arthur whispered firmly.

Ariadne's body relaxed, but silent tears continued to fall. She could feel them soaking into her thin blouse. In the darkness, she could make out Arthur's lithe figure standing between the two chairs, and suddenly he was kneeling next to hers.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly, placing his hand on her knee. Despite how disconcerting Ariadne was supposed to find the unusual amount of contact from Arthur to be—he wasn't exactly the type, after all—she was comforted by it.

She simply shrugged her shoulders in response. Her shaking hands and breathy, ragged sobs seemed to say otherwise, but she wasn't willing to tell him that.

As it turned out, she didn't have to. He gracefully climbed into her chair, careful not to lie on her. Ariadne couldn't find it in herself to protest and instead accepted by inching away to give him room—not that it made much of a difference. He then pulled her closer and wrapped his arms around her. She laid her head on his cotton-shirt clad chest and closed her eyes, wondering how any of it could possibly be real.

"Sleep," he commanded.

She happily obliged.