Somewhere in the back of her mind, Ariadne thought wondered if this was how her namesake, the greek mythological princess, felt when Theseus was in the labyrinth. Waiting on this plane was torture, there was a limited number of places she could go to help her calm down. No place to pace, the PASIV was in the way, and there was no way in hell that she was going near the machine. She was afraid that she would accidently move it and cause him to stay in limbo, with no way out.
Eventually her need to do something overrode her need to stay away from the silver briefcase. She went back, giving the PASIV a wide berth, to the attendents cabin, and grabbed a water bottle, and drank deeply from it.
But Theseus abandoned Ariadne on Naxos. She glanced at Cobb. Would he abandon her? Stay there in Limbo, in the labyrinth, even after the Minotaur was defeated? Was the Minotaur defeated? Was Mal really gone? Was she there in Limbo with him? Was she stopping him from coming back? Was she causing Theseus to abandon Ariadne?
The architecht shook her head, and slowly crept her way back to her seat. But even sitting down, she still fidgeted. She set the water bottle down next to her, and reached in her bag for her sketchbook and pencils. She opened to a new page, pencil in hand, but inspiration wouldn't come to her. Only more worry.
She glance around the cabin, looking for something, something to occupy her, something to draw. But her eyes met Eames. In his eyes she saw pity. But not sympathy. Empathy. The pity, the empathy, that told her that he'd been there, in her position, waiting, waiting for someone, someone you loved, to wake up, even though the odds told you that it was impossible. That they weren't going to wake up, at all, ever again. He gave her a small smile. She smiled back weakly.
Don't loose hope.
He nodded, and looked to Arthur. She smiled softly again, before turning back to her paper. She started drawing. Drawing absent mindedly, just letting her hand move over the paper, as she let her thoughts wander. She couldn't stop it if she tried. Her wandering mind. She thought of Cobb, of Mal, of herself, of Theseus, of Ariadne, of the Minotaur, and of dreams. Always of dreams.
Some time later, it could have been, seconds, or minutes, or hours. She couldn't tell. Time moved like that, and she, she wasn't aware of any of it as she drew, and let her mind wander. But Cobb awoke. His eyes opened. Releaving the Mediterrian Sea. His eyes were that color, and always changing just like the sea. Sometimes stormy, sometimes calm, sometime sunny, sometimes dark. A relieved smile made it's way across her face. Tears almost welled up in her eyes, but she fought them back. She glanced to Eames, who smiled, a genuine smile, at her. She smiled back and nodded. They had been in the same boat, wearing the same shoes once, and they made it out okay. Not fine, Not excellent, but okay. Just walking, living, content.
The plane was landing, and she looked down to shut her sketchbook. Her drawing caught her eye.
It was a figure. A figure with wings. Flying to the sun, they appeared to be melting. Icarus. She looked closer. The figure was female. It was her. It was her with tears running down her face.
She had flown to close to the sun. And somehow, by the grace of gods, she fell and lived. But the real question was, would she try again. Would she try to fly again? Dream again?