A/N: Hey Everyone! So after an extremely long hiatus from the world of fanfiction writing, I've decided to make a return. I had seen Inception before and even purchased it on Blu Ray, but it wasn't until recently that I got bit by the Arthur/Ariadne bug. For some reason, I've just been hit with inspiration for these two, and I've been writing on and off for days. I tried so hard to wait and post this story, but an old friend recently inspired me to try and get something out soon, and considering I at least know where I'm heading with this story (i.e. it's all outlined), I feel safe posting the first chapter now. Hopefully, I should have one chapter up a week, but we'll see how epic my muse really wants to make this...
Disclaimer: Inception and all its incredible characters and ideas belong to Christopher Nolan. If I owned them... well, I wouldn't be sitting here writing fanfiction. The other crazy fools who will later join this story are mine.
Approximately two years after the events of Inception...
Clear skies, zero humidity, and temperatures just warm enough to dress down without a jacket—in other words, a perfect day in Paris, the city of love. Beautiful stone buildings stretched toward the sky, lining worn cobblestoned streets. The sinister gargoyles lurking the city formed a stark contrast to the modern asphalt paved roads packed with cars and buses filled with tourists. A stunning city, Paris was a hub for both lovers and dreamers. Unfortunately, in a gleaming penthouse overlooking the lazily flowing Seine, the beautiful atmosphere seemed to have little effect.
Ariadne could never remember feeling this helpless. She had always prided herself on her ability to think and function under pressure. As an architect and a member of the world's most skilled dream extraction team, it was part of her job description. Even when she had found herself staring down Cobb's projection of Mal hidden deep within his subconscious, she had somehow found the words to express her feelings, but this… This was new.
She stared bewildered at the silver briefcase sitting innocently by the front door. Several filled suit bags lay draped over a black leather armchair. To her chagrin, the architect could feel herself wringing her hands, but despite her best attempts to stop the motion, she found her fingers entangling themselves in the delicate fringe of her blue silk scarf instead. She perched uneasily on the back of the black leather sofa that matched the armchair and glanced out the panoramic window displaying the Seine River and the Parisian architecture beyond. With the afternoon sunlight reflecting off the water and building windows, it was a picture of inspiration. On any other day, Ariadne might have found herself struck with inspiration, sketching new, incredible designs for the dream world until long after the sun had set, but of course that was any other day.
She slowly moved her eyes from the window across the immaculate apartment. A large living room painted a stark white dominated the room, a contemporary glass coffee table placed amid the furniture and several tasteful architectural pictures grace the walls. Off to the side, Ariadne could see a glimpse of black granite, indicating the presence of a spotless kitchen.
Footsteps emerging from the master bedroom down the hallway prompted Ariadne to look up. An impeccably dressed young man in a dark grey three-piece suit with dark hair slicked back by gel appeared from the hall, a mid-sized rolling suitcase in his left hand. "Don't worry about the rest of my things," the man began. "I'll have someone come and pack it up."
"Are you really going to do this?" Ariadne asked. The man didn't answer. He only set his suitcase by the door next to the silver case and moved toward the closet. "Why?" she asked again. When he didn't answer again, Ariadne shot off the couch. "Arthur!"
At her call, the tall point man stopped his search for his shoes and looked at her. "You know why I have to leave," he finally answered.
"No, I don't," she shot back.
"It's too dangerous if I stay."
"Is this about what happened in Hong Kong last week? So I got shot at-"
"This isn't just about Hong Kong," he interrupted, eyes dark. "I should have never gotten you involved in all this business."
"You never got me involved in anything! I chose to be a part of this!" the architect exclaimed. To her horror, she felt the slow, burning sensation of tears forming behind her eyes. For a long moment, the architect and the point man stared at one another, a wordless conversation passing between them. Ariadne tightly shut her eyes, unable to maintain eye contact with the point man.
"I have to leave, Ari," he said softly. Ariadne felt one tear and then another slowly squeeze past her eyelids. "You'll be safer if I'm gone," he continued.
"You don't know that!" she insisted. "I could be killed next month or sent down to limbo next week. That's the way this life is!"
The point man crossed the room in a few long strides and tightly grasped her by the upper arms. "Ariadne," he ground out, "You need to promise me that you'll stop—stop designing for extraction."
"No, I can't promise that."
"Ariadne," he said again and shook her just slightly. She looked up at him, tears blurring her vision.
"No. You of all people know what it's like for me to design for reality."
"I know," he said quietly. "But you need to stop." He leaned forward to lean his forehead against hers. "Extraction is too dangerous."
"It's my job," she retorted. "My first job was a damn inception, Arthur!"
"I know that!" he burst out uncharacteristically. "But you can still get out of this business, find a job as a legitimate architect somewhere."
She snorted. "I'd never last—too much practicality."
"I'd rather you'd be practical than dead," he answered.
"I didn't ask for you to protect me," she choked out.
"I'm sorry," he whispered and then pressed his lips to her forehead for a long moment before backing away. Ariadne wrenched her eyes open.
"Coward," she called, a welcome feeling of fury flowing through her veins. Anger, she could deal with. The point man had stopped once again in his trek toward the closet, but he remained still with this back toward her.
"You're running away again. You always run," she continued. Arthur moved forward toward the closet and withdrew out a pair of his usual leather shoes.
"We're partners," Ariadne said softly. "We don't leave each other behind." The point man remained silent as he pulled on his shoes and laced them.
"You're really going to throw all this away?" she demanded. "Throw us away?"
At that, he looked up at her. "It's for the best." He stood up straight. Normally he towered over the petite architect, a guardian in every sense of the word, but with the distance between the two of them, Ariadne's valiant protector seemed so much smaller. He nodded at her and moved to drape the suit carriers over one arm.
"I'll check up on you now and again to make sure everything's okay."
"Okay?" she echoed. "Nothing's okay!"
"Things will get better, Ari. You don't need me here."
"Liar."
He sighed and moved toward the door.
"Liar," she said again. "I need you, and you need me just as much."
He kept walking.
"Don't…" she pleaded. Ariadne realized with a sudden jolt that she was begging. It was an altogether unpleasant feeling. "If you have ever cared for me, if you have ever loved me, you'll stay."
Arthur paused for a moment but then answered, "I have to go, Ariadne. I have a flight to catch."
Ariadne felt that slow, burning fury suddenly erupt within her. This man knew her better than anyone, and he had to know how much it hurt her to beg him to stay. She had never debased herself for anyone or anything, but she was willing to do all that for him and more. Apparently though, he couldn't see that, or he just didn't care. Maybe he really was the perfect point man, complete with a heart made of stone.
"Arthur!" The point man stopped with his hand on the doorknob to turn and look at her. "If you leave… don't come back." His eyes widened slightly. "Don't come back here, don't call me, don't e-mail me, and don't you dare ask Eames or Cobb about me." She watched the point man's lips press together into a line. A long moment passed, his dark eyes boring into hers. And with a grim, slow nod to her, Arthur turned to the door and exited the apartment without another word.
The door shut softly behind the point man. Ariadne stood still for a few long moments, eyes tightly shut once more. She took a few, shuddering breaths before opening her eyes. Normally when she was upset, she would go and curl up in bed, but that wasn't an option. The architect couldn't bring herself to walk in there just yet. She had no doubt the sheets would still smell like his aftershave and expensive cologne, and she knew she couldn't seek comfort for heartbreak wrapped in the scent of the lover who had just walked out of her life and their home. Honestly, she didn't even know if she could sleep in the same bed anymore. Their large bed just held too many memories of long, passionate nights. Despite his departure, Arthur still permeated every corner of the apartment… except one.
Ariadne turned down the hallway and passed through a cracked door to enter chaos. Sketches of both real and impossible buildings covered the walls, a large pile of architecture texts teetered dangerously to the side. A drafting table in one corner was covered with more sketches and architecture pencils. Her studio—the one room in the apartment Arthur never entered. She had tried her best to keep the rest of the apartment neat, but more often than not, it was left up to Arthur to keep the flat immaculate. Ariadne had often teased the point man that he was obsessive compulsive, but they both knew that his attention to detail was what made him the best.
Ariadne walked into her studio, heedless of the sketches littering the floor. She walked over to the large window and drew the blinds, sending the room into darkness. She drew in another deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm herself.
Arthur was gone, and he wasn't coming back.
With a sudden, wrenching sob, Ariadne sank to the floor, burying her face in her arms. Tears slipped past her crossed arms to drip to the sketches on the floor, smearing ink and charcoal alike. Sobs wracked her small frame as she gave into sorrow. It had been years since she had last dreamt on her own. The last of her dreams, or nightmares rather, had disappeared in the embrace of the point man, the architect's unsworn protector in both dreams and reality. The maniacal face of Mal had long since evaporated from the architect's dreams, along with her taunts and easy threats.
"Do you know how it feels to be half of a whole?"
Oh yes, the architect knew what it was like to be half of a whole, and now she knew what it was like to lose the other half. With a shaking hand, Ariadne withdrew her bishop from her jeans pocket, placing it gently on the floor before tipping it to face reality. The totem landed lopsided on the floor with a soft "thunk." She stared at it almost in disbelief, as if she couldn't understand how this could be the real world.
The small architect had the sick feeling that despite her lack of dreams, her nightmares would return in the form of sleepless nights filled with a phantom lover's caress.
That's it for the prologue! Please click that little review button and tell me what you think!