...I don't even know what happened with this. Sent months after Inception (no idea when), Arthur/Eames and one-sided Arthur/Ariadne. Set to Mr Brightside by the Killers.

Muscle memory is an odd thing. Ariadne had heard that if you reacquaint yourself with a past lover, your body is able to remember every curve of their body, every sensitive spot. Not that she knew of the feeling. She'd had boyfriends, yes, but lovers? She does not know what it is to be a lover, half of a whole.

Arthur never calls her.

He calls sporadically, with no warning. Every time, he is perfectly happy to listen to her ramble on about, well, about whatever. Mazes. Paris. Classes. Everything from world domination to something about bananas. He is friendly, communicative, chatty… at times. She knows why he calls. She knows why he will lapse into long silences, drowning in his thoughts. She knows why he always sounds like he has a cold and why she is very careful not to press his berserk buttons… at least the ones she knows about. She knows why he will always end the conversation after a particularly long silence with, "Thank you, Ariadne," because he knows.

He knows what it is to be a lover; he knows what it is to be half of a while. He has that with Eames.

He calls, but never to talk to her. He calls to forget, to cool down after another of his raging arguments with Eames. She knows this because she once called the day after he did, and his voice was filled with contentment. They had made up (and out) again.

I'm coming out of my cage

And I've been doing just fine

Gotta, gotta be down

Because I want it all

She knows she should be happy for them. She is, modestly so. But she wants him so much.

Her photographic memory has its advantages and disadvantages. Memorizing wondrous buildings and statues, an advantage. Memorizing the way Eames and Arthur would share the rare glance? The rare sweet smile, the rare sharing of an intimate moment? …a disadvantage.

It started out with a kiss

How did it end up like this?

It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss

She has never been one for romantic clichés, but fireworks is the only way she could describe the way Arthur's lips felt on hers: soft, smooth, silky. It was only a kiss, but kisses were meant to lead to other things, lead to being together, to being lovers. To being in love like she is with Arthur, and Arthur with Eames.

She knows she won't have a huge problem working with them again, she's certain that the only difference will be Arthur not protesting against being called the winding list of pet names Eames has for him and a few more personal arguments, and a few more in number. They will never be a couple for PDA. She's thankful for that. She wouldn't stand it if they were all over each other in reality, never mind in her own head.

She's not inserted into an IV, nothing like that. That's Arthur's job, but how can that stop Arthur and the pretty blonde, Eames in the body of a supermodel far superior to hers, invading her dreams?

Now I'm falling asleep

And she's calling a cab

While he's having a smoke

And she's taking a drag

Where would they be? A crummy motel, courtesy of Eames? Arthur would despise it; look on it with complete disdain. He would never choose places to be with his love like that. But he would tolerate it, for Eames; let him see a smile as they share a cigarette, filmed with sweat.

Now they're going to bed

And my stomach is sick

And it's all in my head

They're only dreams. They're only dreams. They're only dreams.

She never knows which one's she's chanting for. Arthur and the gorgeous blonde, curled together, or them, curled together: fingertips running over each other's skin, sharing soft smiles, gentle kisses.

But she's touching his chest

Now, he takes off her dress

Now, letting me go

Does he ever think of her? Does he ever think and wonder?

I just can't look its killing me

And taking control

It feels wrong, fantasizing what Arthur would look like under those waistcoats of style and sex appeal – at least, to her and Eames – like she is having an affair with him, forcing him to cheat. She's only young. She's only young, inexperienced at love while being hopelessly in it… she can fantasize, right?

Jealousy, turning saints into the sea

Swimming through sick lullabies

Choking on your alibis

She's asked about his calling, of course. She lets it slip into the conversation, when he least expects. Arthur, being Arthur, always has an alibi.

"Do I need a reason?"

I've just stormed out and I need a distraction.

"It seems like we haven't talked in a while."

Eames' and I aren't talking.

"Why, are you busy or something?"

Please don't say yes. I really need someone to talk to.

"Cobb was worried about you; I wanted to make sure everything was okay."

I'm worried about Eames. His new job is dangerous and I can't stop worrying.

"Just wanted to catch up, ask about your classes, you know."

Eames' has just left me and I have too much pride to fix things with him.

But it's just the price I pay

Destiny is calling me

The next time Arthur flashes on her cell, Ariadne has had enough. Had enough of him calling to distract himself, feeling as if she's not good enough, not trustworthy enough to confide in. Not worthy of a call just to chat, and that's all. No undertones. No long silences.

"What is the reason you're calling this time, Arthur?" she snaps down the cell. "You've just left Eames'? Guess you don't need a reason then! Eames got a new job? Cobb must be worried about me, then, huh! How would he know, he hasn't called in months!"

"Ari –"

"But hey, at least I'm not being used by him as a distraction every time he argues with his partner, which is way too often! I mean, seriously, Arthur? You couldn't have made it more obvious that that's the reason you call."

"Ari –"

"I'm supposed to be your friend, Arthur, not –"

"ARIADNE."

"WHAT!" She winces as soon as the word escapes her lips, mortified at the rush of words that have flown from her. "Oh my God, Arthur, I'm –"

"Mr. Eames, I am going to punch you in a minute if you don't get that smug smile of your face," Arthur interrupts. She can almost hear his scowl and his bitch-glare through the cell, and Eames sitting back in his seat and putting his arms behind his head and feet on the nearest surface, smirking.

"Whatever rocks your boat, darling."

"Oh, Jesus, I really need to hear about your sex life," she mutters under her breath. She can hear Eames' chuckle before the sound of a slap.

"A slap? Really, Arthur?"

"Eames, I swear – God, you're insufferable. Sorry about that, Ariadne."

"Not as sorry as I am. I feel like such a, err, like such a, such a –"

"Numpty?"

Ariadne furrowed her eyebrows. "…yeah, one of those, whatever it is."

"Mr. Eames, your British is showing."

"Cor, blimey, was it? No, seriously, you all right there, Ariadne?"

"I'm… I'm fine, Eames, thank you. Just a bit…"

"Arthur is making strange gestures at me… I'm thinking something about throttling and… calm down, love, I've got the message! Talk to you later, Ariadne. Just don't hold up him for too long."

Ariadne rolls her eyes. Trust Eames to make almost everything he says dirty.

"We'll be done as soon as you can say 'antidisestablishmentarianism'," promises Arthur, taking the cell of speaker. "Ariadne –"

"Don't apologize, really. I know you just need a friend when you call, but maybe you could tell me about your problems with Eames. You two are… you two are good for each other, but all relationships need help at some point. Right?"

"Right," Arthur says quietly. "Thank you, Ariadne."

"No problem, Arthur."

Open up my eager eyes

Cause I'm Mr Brightside

Arthur/Eames ftw.

I may write a second chapter from Eames' point of view, just cause.