A/N: Hi everyone! I've finally finished the second chapter. Upping the edge-of-your-seat factor, so happy reading. (P.S. I really like reviews so please leave 'em)
"Did you get it?" Carmen asks, spotting her employee.
"No."
"What?" she says icily.
"I didn't get it... yet. I know this guy from outside New York. I'm going in again tomorrow night. He has value. He's worked in a lot of companies, he knows their secrets. I can get more than just one night's info out of this one!"
Carmen looks skeptical but she just shrugs. "Whatever. Your job and your life on the line."
Ariadne turns on her heel and walks a few blocks. As she hails a taxi she hopes that Arthur knows a truckload of important business secrets.
"Julianne," Arthur calls her from a secluded section of the bar. Ariadne is impressed that he remembered her alias, and she won't let him beat her.
"Matt, it's nice to see you again. Not too tired from paperwork, are you?" She smirks slightly at him, knowing that he can't top her.
"Oh," he says, "it's certainly dull, but it pays the bills." Ariadne huffs angrily to herself. Then she realizes that she's getting sidetracked. Now is the time to get to work, not get upset over personal feelings.
"So I was working and I realized that I need an assistant," he says genially, before her lips even form the first question. "Would you be interested?"
She freezes as his meaning settles into her mind. He wants her as an architect. Designing for dream share!
The rational part of her brain lists a whole host of reasons why she should turn it down. But the larger part of her that was hurt when they left and that was so captivated by the dream world of creation takes control. The idea has taken hold of her now, its insidious tendrils clinging to the part of her mind that still harbors hope. She tells herself that it's just to get the information and ignores how the lie sticks in her throat.
"I'd be interested," she says blithely, "When do you need me to start?"
"If you can, let's start tomorrow. Say, two o'clock? At 594 68th?"
Ariadne debates it. That's when she usually does restaurant stings. But everyone can do those, even the newcomers. Carmen will be too busy training new recruits and handing out assignments to notice if Ariadne doesn't come in.
"It's a date," she says with a coy smile and bids him goodbye.
Carmen is waiting outside as usual, but Ariadne still has nothing for her.
"When are you going to get this?" Carmen asks with a threat behind her words.
"I don't know," Ariadne replies, not intimidated. "But I will get it. He's a tough one."
"I thought you were supposed to be the best of the best."
"I am, but so is he. You don't have to come with me; I'll give you the information at HQ when I get it." Carmen angrily stalks away, the sharp click of her heeled boots accompanying every step.
Ariadne has never made too big of a deal out of what she looks like. So now, as she spills the contents of her closet out in her room, she wonders what is wrong with her. All of her clothes seem too dark, speaking of nightclubs, alcohol and sex. She needs something for daytime. Something from her old life that she's about to re-enter.
She casts a tentative glance at the seemingly innocent box sitting on the high shelf of her closet, the only reminders she brought from Paris. Ariadne lifts it down and sifts through the contents, trying to ignore the pangs she's feeling. Pictures of her with her friends seem to be watching as she places them to the side. With a gut-wrenching twist she pulls out the glass protractor that her roommate Antoinette had given her as a gift. Finally she finds clothes near the bottom. Ariadne's new dressing habits die hard and she avoids the light khakis, instead choosing dark denim and a contrasting white shirt. Her fingers brush silk and she lifts out her scarves. She slides the fabric between her fingertips, realizing just how much she's missed these.
Ariadne notices something in her pocket as she dresses. Her hand brushes cool metal and she stiffens. Carefully, she draws out the golden chess piece she made so long ago. The metal shines coldly up at her, mocking her with reminders. Ariadne replaces it in her pocket with care that suggests it might explode.
The subway faithfully takes her within two blocks of her destination and she takes the time to collect her thoughts. She needs to be on the top of her game, she needs to be cool and disconnected. Arriving at 564 on 68th Street she steels herself and enters.
Inside, Ariadne finds a semi-deserted warehouse, not unlike the one in Paris. Arthur is sitting at a spartan-like desk surrounded by a mountain of paper. His laptop is marooned in an island of cleanliness. Arthur is hunched over the desk, frowning at something. Every detail of it, from the desk to the creases in his forehead is so painfully familiar; the image hits her as hard as if she'd been punched. Then he looks up, shattering her flash back. So much for cool and collected.
"Hello. Come over here so I can tell you about this job."
She ventures over cautiously, reprimanding herself for letting so much emotion through.
"I'm afraid this isn't as interesting as Inception, but it's not as dangerous either. Banks and Gates' is a rival law firm to Croydon Jones. Currently, Croydon Jones is prosecuting one of Banks and Gates' clients. They've hired me to break into the mind of the main lawyer on the case and steal information to turn the case in their favor." Arthur shifts and opens one of his clearly labeled files. Glancing at it, he continues.
"So far I've dug up the basic information on him. I'm fairly certain that he isn't trained, but I'll have to double check that."
"So it sounds like you've got this rolling," Ariadne muses, "What do you need me to do?"
Arthur smiles his wry half-smile. "I'm putting you in charge of the layout. Completely. Use your imagination."
Ariadne places a hand on her hip and matches his cynical grin with a smirk of her own. He knows as well as she that her imagination has no limits when it comes to dream share. As she walks away, the smile slides off her face. She's not here to build dreamscapes; she's here to get information. She sighs, as she realizes that she can't see this one through.
Several hours later silence reigns in the warehouse. Despite herself, Ariadne is in a zone; lines flowing quickly from her pencil. She's in the middle of sketching the facade of a courthouse when Arthur's voice cuts through the haze in her mind.
"I wanted to say sorry actually. For Paris..."
"Whatever," says too quickly. "It's all part of the game, right?" she shrugs it off, avoiding his gaze. Then she mentally shakes herself. This is the part where she is supposed to start getting information. She grits her teeth and wonders what the hell her problem is today.
"What are you doing right now?" she asks after a pregnant pause.
"I've hacked into his schedule and am trying to find out when the best time to put him under would be."
"What's this case about?" she asks, pushing to make up for lost time.
"Someone 'misplaced' a rather large check to check to our client and so he's suing."
Focused, Ariadne pumps him for as much information as she dares to take. If he notices her curiosity then he doesn't show it. Ariadne reasons that her endless questions during the Inception have given her a screen to hide behind. She learns a great deal-and jealousy twinges within her as he tells about the many dream share jobs he's had since they left her in Paris.
She leaves the warehouse that evening, her heart heavy and full of sad anger that she can't seem to let go of. Ariadne wonders why she is so caught up about something that happened over a year ago, something that she had been expecting. She shakes herself and returns her thinking to the present, feeling a little concerned that she's had to do that so often lately. She now has something to tell Carmen, she might get the post and finally get into the fast lane of life. Once you're in with the Hub, there's nothing to stop you from living the high life. Though what they do is illegal, it is almost impossible for the police to track their movements, or to prove anyone is guilty. Ariadne thinks to herself that she probably couldn't have set herself up in a better situation than this.
Ariadne calls Carmen and tells her what she's learned, with a twinge of guilt. She doesn't like to betray Arthur's trust in her, but she reasons to herself that it's only what he deserves. In a world like this, you don't trust anyone with anything. That's the lesson Ariadne has learned over the past year and is how she justifies to herself the things she does.
"I'm glad you finally got on top of it, Howe," Carmen says waspishly over the phone.
"Well, it's good information, right? So it was worth the wait. Do I have a job for tonight?"
"No. Just take the night off." Ariadne pauses in suspicion. She's never been offered a night off before. She comes to a conclusion that they handed the job to her replacement, since she's about to move up.
"Alright. Do you need me to come in tomorrow?"
"Come in." A beep signals that Carmen has rudely hung up. Ariadne sighs at the woman's idiocy and she traipses back to her apartment, not knowing what to do with herself. She doesn't remember the last time she had a night off. As she sits on the couch, she thinks to herself a little pityingly that she really hasn't made any friends in New York. She has due reason though. If Cobb taught her anything in the brief time that she was under his tutelage it was that nothing is permanent and you can't make ties to any person or place. Ariadne guesses that was why she felt like such an idiot after that day in the warehouse.
She glances at the clock, it's only seven. All of the people from the Hub are out working and Ariadne certainly doesn't feel like going out on a bar crawl alone. She flips through the contacts on her phone, looking for somebody to do something with. She scrolls to the newest name: Matt Smith. Arthur. Her finger flutters over the name, as she sits filled with indecision. Does she really want to risk a bond with him? At last she decides that she damn well doesn't care and hits the call button.
They ended up in a club somehow, even though it was the last place Ariadne wanted to go. She doesn't really care now, she's too drunk to. Even so, she feels ill at ease, like she's out working. Another gulp of whiskey and they're out on the dance floor, packed by sweaty bodies and deafened by the senseless club music. They're dancing close, but everyone is. It's impossible not to be dangerously close to anyone and everyone. Colored lights and sounds whip around them, making Ariadne feel like she's losing her mind, and she's not sure that's such a bad thing. Arthur in front of her is drunk, dizzying and irresistibly inviting. The rational part of her brain is still holding her back from moving forward, but it's sure as hell not going to stop her from enjoying what she's doing right here and now.
They're back at the bar. Ariadne wants to silence that one annoying little voice that's warning her that this is a bad, bad idea. She looks around the bar, feeling wild and free and her sight crosses a familiar face. She struggles to place it in her mind that feels like it's buzzing. Corey, that's his name. He meets her gaze around the head of the woman he's talking to. Bad, bad, very bad, the voice screams at her. Why is that bad, she wonders. The realization hits her like a bucket of ice water. He's an IA, one who helps Carmen to handle targets for the jockeys. More specifically the jockeys in her department. He can see Arthur standing next to her, Arthur whose picture he's seen in the file titled Matt Smith, target. Mind suddenly sharp, she pulls Arthur away and out of the dangerous club. Stupid, she thinks to herself, she should have known better than to go to a club, should have known better than to get drunk.
"I'll see you tomorrow, when I can get in," she says abruptly to him in the chilly city nighttime.
"The night's still young," he says with a charming- if very inebriated- grin.
"I have something tomorrow morning, so I have to get going," Ariadne says, more harshly than she intended. Before she can cause any more damage she calls a cab over and slinks into her apartment, disgusted with her own foolishness. As she lies down in her bed she is gripped by fear of what will happen when she goes to HQ tomorrow. She manages to fall asleep, but it is uneasy, filled with restless dreams of the fact that she may have just destroyed her own life.
