Second chapter up! I hope you guys like it (:

As always I dont own Inception, Arthur or Ariadne. :/

This is too all the people who love the genius young Ariadne. (:

The pillows are suffocating her, the bed sheets are wrapping themselves around her legs and it feels as though her bed is turning into some mass murder machine.

With a loud frustrated sigh, she kicks off the remaining covers and pillows until the bed is completely clear of all else and then she lies back down, curling herself into a ball. Of course this would happen. Eames and Cobb warned her of this back before they'd even embarked on the job and she'd argued back that she'd be too tired to even dream. Eames and Cobb had just given her the we-know-better-than-you look, which pissed her off- she hated feeling young and inexperienced in this team even though that's what she was. But Arthur who'd been standing nearby had simply given her a small weary smile that suggested the truth of it and yet his eyes were gentle. As if saying, but when it does happen, it's okay. I'll be here.

But she'd blinked and the moment had passed even as Arthur drew Eames and Cobb away to discuss some last minute information he'd pulled up on Fischer. The next time Arthur had looked at her, his eyes were polite, asking the same question that his mouth was, "Have you seen my pen?"

She sat up then. That was it; she couldn't bear to be alone any more. It was freaking 4 am in the morning and she had classes at 8 am tomorrow. As she shoved herself off the bed, and started yanking books, papers, keys into the nearest bag she could find. Her hands were busy and her mind was racing but she couldn't keep a lid on the panic that was rising in her as quickly as floodwaters did. Nor could she block out the question in her head: What if it's always like this? What if this is my life from now on? She struggled not to cry, to keep a lid on it all and barely succeeded, her actions becoming jerkier and everything just becoming messier as she grabbed random items and shoved them into her bag.

She slung the bag over one shoulder, tugged on his overcoat- which was hers now, since she wore it practically everywhere she went and pulled on sneakers as she flew out of the apartment.

It didn't take her long to reach his place, a small room just two blocks off her apartment. By then, she was crying already, wordlessly and soundlessly, just letting the tears stream down her face. It felt good, it felt normal- perhaps it would be the last semblance of normality after this damned inception had screwed up her mind, her sleeping patterns and her life and so she didn't bother to brush them away.

She stood before his door, panting slightly from the walk (actually it was more of a run) and suddenly feeling a stab of trepidation. What if he was asleep? She shouldn't barge in now and disturb whatever precious sleep he managed to get. And it was 4am in the morning. Which sane, normal guy would let in a near-hysterics girl at 4am in the morning?

And yet Arthur wasn't normal. He would understand.

With that thought emboldening her, she knocked.

That knock on his door could only come from one person.

He pushes back the covers hastily, throwing down the book that he'd been reading and he pads in his bare feet across the room till he reaches the door to open it.

There she stands in his overcoat and sneakers and carrying her ratty messenger bag that hasn't been zipped up and has papers, books and a pen sticking out of it. Her hair is unbrushed, such that clumps of it stick out and her eyes are rimmed red and tear tracks shine on her cheeks. She looks tired, worn out- so much like a little girl- and even he can see, and sense the waves of panic and fear radiating off her and the unspoken questions that are flying around in her head.

"Morning," He hates himself even as he greets her formally-just something ingrained in him- and he longs to reach out and pull her into his arms and comfort her. Instead he just touches her shoulder lightly. "Why don't you come in?"

She has to give it to him, acting as if it is nothing out of the blue for weird girls to be showing up on his doorstep at 4am. Perhaps it isn't. She stays where she is, and swallows. "Will it always be like this?" Try as she might, her voice breaks on the last word. She cannot imagine a lifetime of not being able to rest- especially when she needs it so much.

He cannot stand the haunted look in her eyes, the way she looks especially small and fragile just standing in his doorway as if a gentle gust of wind will blow her to bits. For that brief insane minute, he hates Dom. Hates him for pulling this girl- his girl- into this freaking mess and leaving her like this to get back to the life he's dreamed of for so long. Yet his mind knows this is not the time to get angry.

He takes her hands then, which are cold, looks her in the eye. "No."

He pulls her in then, unbuttons her overcoat and lays it over the chair for her, as if she is a child. And she lets him. For once he doesn't see her as the young, capable, strong woman that he'd worked with on the Fischer case, but he sees her as someone he loves and needs desperately to protect. He kneels down by her to undo her laces and pull off her shoes and it's only when he looks up that he realizes she is looking at him with an unreadable expression. Before he can decipher what it is, she reaches forwards and wraps her arms so tightly around him.

She can feel the tears again, this time hot and steady, flowing down her cheeks, drenching his shirt. She cannot stop crying; she feels embarrassment, a heavy burden in her chest too at the way she is acting but it is as if a dam has broken and she cannot stop the fear and the panic that sweeps through her body. Yet she feels his arms close around her body too and she knows that it is alright. That he will be here to walk her through it. And that in this crazy world where she's not sure of what's reality, he's offering to be her totem to anchor her to the truth.

After which, they more or less move in together.

She is so tired of being alone at night- indeed night is the loneliest, quietest period and she doesn't want to be left alone with her thoughts. She knows her mother would object violently if she knew her daughter was moving in with some strange man. But this isn't any strange man. It's Arthur and she knows that he will protect her, compelled by the same gallantry that will keep anything else from happening between them both.

Slowly the sleek minimalist look that his apartment once had is blurring, taken over by her clutter and messes that happens when she has a school project and deadlines to meet. She tries to be tidy, she really does, and yet it's not always easy. Guilt propels her sometimes to ask if she should move out, but his answer (a dark furious look and a kiss that steals her breath away)shows that its futile to think he would let her move out.

In fact he'd rather die than admit to her, but he actually doesn't mind the mess she makes.

It makes things seem more real, that finally for once he is not alone. The mess shows that there is life, there is someone else here, sharing his life with him and he doesn't have to be by himself anymore. He used to in the dark of the night when he couldn't sleep, watch the city and the empty streets from his window, watching the traffic lights blink for imaginary cars and bikes and pedestrians. And he used to feel like the king of this world: where he was the only one. And even as he enjoyed that little fantasy, it was lonely. Now he doesn't have to. There's the two of them and it's the best feeling he could have ever had.

Yet sometimes he wishes that it was still those days where he was awake-alone. He hates to see her suffer, hates to hear the rustle of sheets that shows that she's still awake at 3.50am when she has class at 8am the next day. He knows it's not easy at all and he hates the way the dark circles under her eyes seem to be taking up more and more of her face each day. He wishes there was more he could do aside from taking her in his arms and holding her while she tries valiantly to sleep.

And one day it happens.

She's lying in bed, curled up at his side (It took an awful lot of haranguing on her end to get him to sleep with her; there wasn't space for another bed or couch in his room and he had to work too so it was out of the question for him to keep sleeping on the floor) while he reads another book. She's looking up at him, admiring the way his reading glasses make him look even more scholarly than he usually does and suddenly, she feels strange.

"Arthur?"

"Hmmm." He looks down at her, a slight smile playing on his lips.

"I feel strange."

"What kind of strange?" He sounds like her doctor now, even as he puts his book aside and takes off his reading glasses.

"Like. My eyelids feel really heavy. And I think I'm slurring." She blinks and tries to keep her eyes open. "I bet it was the chicken you made. Did you put in any wine? You know I'm not good with wine." She snuggles in even closer to him, closing her eyes.

"Ari," His voice holds a shard of laughter in it. "That's called being tired. Your body's ready to go to sleep."

He settles down beside her, propping himself up on one elbow even as she yawns widely. "Oh good," she smiles up lazily at him. "I've a test tomorrow anyway." And as she presses her head into his side, he keeps perfectly still until her breathing becomes deep and even and she's surely asleep. Its only when he's sure that she's completely out, does he edge her off him so that he can turn out the lights and then lies down completely beside her, holding her and dropping one last kiss on her head.

And that night, the both of them sleep.

Good/bad? Review please! (: