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When Eames Met Ariadne
Chapter 2: The Return
Eames accepted his drink from the stewardess as she moved down the plane. He let a little grin slip over his face. They'd done it. They'd pulled off the impossible. Hopefully, Fischer would never even know it was a dream. Just in case though, they still put in every precaution. It would look odd if six people flew all the way to LA just to fly back out the next day, so everyone went their separate ways and took a forced vacation. A month later, Eames found himself flying back to Paris, of all places, on the rumor of a lucrative forging job.
He reclined his chair, mentally celebrating an impressive job well done.
"Just water, please," someone a few rows up told the stewardess.
He snapped awake. Names were iffy, but he never forgot a voice. Eames stood and stretched, looking around. Two rows ahead, the stewardess handed a brown-haired girl a glass of water.
"Thanks," she smiled, moving a sketchpad to create space for the glass on the folding table.
It clicked. "Ariadne?" Eames asked, his traditional smirk growing.
She turned. "Eames!" she exclaimed, but grinned.
The man next to her took in their reunion. "Would you like to trade seats?"
Eames came around to her row and clapped him on the shoulder. "Thanks, mate." He slid into the vacated seat. Ariadne's smile was still there, if shyer. He loved it when people were happy to see him. "So how's our little Architect been doing? Taking in big, scary LA all on your own?"
She laughed. "It was wonderful. I've never been before, and for once I wasn't a starving student."
He chuckled. "Amazing how well doing the impossible lines your pockets, eh?"
"Exactly. And how have you been, lying low—"
Eames coughed loudly. "While 'Architect' has plenty of non-criminal connotations," he whispered, "'lying low' and 'Forger' don't really."
Embarrassed immediately, she ducked her head. "Crap. Sorry."
"It's alright. Most of the time, people are too wrapped up in themselves to notice anything out of the ordinary." He pointed at the other person in their row, sleeping soundly.
"How do you know they're not faking?" Ariadne whispered.
"Knowing people is my job, love."
"Ah. Right." A smirk spread on her face. "You avoided my question from earlier. How has your month of down-time after getting laid off been?"
So the girl could learn. "Decent. Dom and Arthur were always the ones that enjoyed the break." He shrugged. "I live. It's a necessary part of being in the work force. Doesn't mean I like it."
"If you could, you'd prefer to be on a job all the time?"
"Absolutely, love. It's one thing doing paperwork, a whole 'nother getting to…walk in someone else's shoes, so to speak."
Her face scrunched up in curiosity. "I always wondered how you did that. I couldn't even manage to change my hair color."
Eames smirked. "It's not like I can go over the mechanics right here."
Ariadne's face fell, and he could tell she was mentally kicking herself. He gestured towards her sketchbook, still lying open. "Is that building actually possible?" He knew she'd catch what he was really asking.
She gave him a look. "There's no way those supports would be load-bearing."
He returned the look right at her. "There's a reason why I'm not the Architect, love. In English, please?"
"Ah. The building is too large for the structure to support its own weight."
Beat.
"So, not possible?"
She grinned. "Maybe someday."
He caught the meaning. "So you're going back to finish your degree?"
Ariadne grimaced. "I'm lucky Professor Miles understands. Otherwise I'd have to retake more than just three classes."
Eames shuddered. "Going through school once was more than enough for me."
"You have a degree?" He was going to pretend that her surprise wasn't insulting.
"I never said I finished school."
"Ah." At least not as insulting as her comprehension. "So before you dropped out—"
"Was kicked out," he corrected.
"—what were you majoring in?"
He smirked at her. "You want to know how I do what I do?"
She nodded.
"Then guess."
Ariadne studied him with the inevitable eye-squinting that beginners thought was so necessary. He hated feeling like some specimen lying on an operating table, but he really was curious what she would think.
She tilted her head to one side, and Eames realized where he'd seen that look on her before. He wasn't a specimen, he was an obstinate building. One where the floor plans didn't line up quite right. A wall where a doorway should be, a chandelier instead of a staircase.
A smile tugged at her lips. "Obviously not architecture. Or math, or science."
"Correct so far."
"Something creative, you've said nearly as much yourself."
Her nose scrunched up and he tried to patiently await her conclusion.
"Artist?"
Yes, and no. "What makes you say that?"
"Well, you forge—"
Eames broke into a loud coughing fit.
Abashed, she tried again. "Your replicas of other… artwork are so accurate that no one can really tell the difference."
"Alright, I'll give you that one. I considered art for a brief bit."
"But it wasn't your major?"
"Not a chance. No steady income. And as you've just discovered, income is a very important aspect of a job."
She grinned before resuming her study. He could see the beams going into place in her head, trying to see how the different floors related to the overall structure. But he could tell she was missing it. Floors could be added, changed. The foundation was always the only thing. Floors only mattered as much as they showed what was underneath.
A grin lit Ariadne's face. "People. Journalism?"
Eames swore violently. She giggled. "How the bloody hell did you figure that one out?"
She shrugged. "Tell Arthur a story once and he'll be able to tell it back better than you can. But it's not like you were able to get Fischer to share his life-long woes. You had to extrapolate, piece what little bits of information you could together to get the full picture."
He swore again.
"So why'd you quit?"
He looked over at her. "I was kicked out."
"Yeah, but I guarantee you wouldn't have gotten yourself kicked out if you'd wanted to be there."
He glared at her, but figured telling this all-too-perceptive girl wouldn't kill him. "I wanted to get to the heart of the story. See what it really was that drove them over the edge. Then I realized I just wanted to drive them over the edge. Much more fun."
Ariadne laughed. "So what was it that got you into, er… acting?"
His grin turned fake, but he knew she wasn't good enough to catch it. "Long, boring story. Enough of that, love. We're nearly back in Paris."
The plane was indeed touching down on the runway.
Her face fell. "That quickly?"
Eames grinned at her. "Time flies when you're having fun."
"Will I see you around in Paris?" Her face was so hopeful that it nearly hurt.
"I tend to work on the not-as-picturesque side of the law. Chances aren't very likely."
She nodded in sad acceptance and stood to get her bags from overhead. "Goodbye then, Eames. It was nice getting to know you."
"Likewise, Ariadne."
And she gave him an honest, if pained smile before joining in the mass of people leaving the plane.