Disclaimer: I have no claim on Inception, lovely thing that it is.

Arthur had proved Ariadne right in ordering a delicious series of dishes. The conversation over dinner had turned to more general topics, eventually becoming a thoroughly delightful discussion of poetry, of all things. She was still reeling a little from that one. They lingered over coffee, then began the trek back to her train compartment. Full darkness had descended, and Ariadne was moving slowly through the intervening cars, running her fingertips along the smooth, dark mahogany that paneled the passageways. She really did love this train.

"I can see that," came Arthur's voice from behind her, and she realized that she'd spoken her thought aloud. She jumped, then decided to go with it.

"Well, can you blame me?" she threw over her shoulder, grinning at him briefly.

There was a pause, inexplicably heavy. "No," came his voice finally, and it seemed to Ariadne that it was deeper than usual, "It's beautiful."

His simple words suddenly seemed fraught with meaning, and Ariadne was turning them over in her head when the door just ahead of her in the passageway swung open, catching her fingertips in a hinge.

Arthur wasn't prepared for her to stop, and caught her shoulders reflexively to try and keep from slamming into her at full speed. If he hadn't been standing so close, he probably wouldn't have heard her quick hiss of pain over the loud apologies coming from the gentleman behind the door. Ariadne's slight build made it easy to glance down over her head. Seeing that she was distracted by her hand, Arthur drew them both towards the inside wall and waved the still-apologizing older man on. With a flurry of desolés, he continued on towards the dining car. Arthur bent to take Ariadne's hand.

"Here, let me see it." His voice was quiet, and Ariadne realized suddenly just how close he was to her. She kept her head down, eyes focused on where her aching fingertips were gripped by her uninjured hand, but she couldn't escape him entirely. He was so tall, so warm, and his proximity reminded her forcefully just how much she'd missed him. His voice rumbled in his chest, and his breath still smelled faintly of the rich coffee they'd shared.

"It's fine, it's fine," she almost gasped, and spun out of his near-embrace to stumble down the length of the car. She reached her compartment just ahead of him and whipped open the door with her good hand. Her relief at returning to her safe haven was short-lived, however, as he reached the compartment in the next moment. His shoulders easily filled the narrow doorway, something she could somehow tell even facing away from it. Her mind searched desperately for a topic of conversation to distract herself from the sudden tension that pervaded the small compartment. Her eyes landed on the blanket where it still was spread across the red velvet seats. "It's getting late, you know. Do you have a place to spend the night? You got on at the last stop for the evening."

Her words came out so quickly; he had to struggle to distinguish one from the other. "It's early yet. Ariadne, let me see your hand." She started to protest again that it was fine, but he'd caught a glimpse of blood in the hallway. He ignored her, and used his greater strength to simply turn her towards him. "Just let me see it, Ari."

His use of the nickname startled her into looking up at him and gave him the opportunity to peel her hands apart. As soon as the pressure from her uninjured hand was removed the sharp pain returned, and she made the same hiss of pain. His earlier glance had been right; both the middle and ring fingers of her right hand were covered in blood. Pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket, he wrapped it tightly around the worst of the injury.

He noticed that her protestations that she was fine had fallen silent, and glanced at her face to discover that it was averted, and she was staring determinedly at a spot somewhere over his left shoulder. "Hey." Her gaze remained fixed. "Hey, Ari." When her name didn't work either, he reached up and gently touched her cheek, turning her face towards his until she met his gaze. "You okay?" She inhaled sharply, but nodded. "I know it hurts like a son of a bitch, but just hold that on there. I'm going to find a first aid kit. Okay?" He waited for her nod, held her gaze for a moment more, than nodded in response and turned to go.

He closed the door behind him, and Ariadne finally looked back down at the fingers wrapped tightly in white. He was right, it did hurt like a son of a bitch, but the only coherent thought in her head was The man carries a handkerchief. And then, Of course he does.