My thank you's go to: Lauraa-x: Yeahhhh. I have a feeling that Ariadne's big heart is what's gonna win him over. Grace-xox: It is Arthur...so he wouldn't rush into the fiery flames of passion right away. A/A gotta simmer first. Hahah. Thank you! I hope you continue to like it. Lazarus76: Yes he can. Poor robot and thankya. lilachiccups: Aww why? :/

And special thank you's to new story followers, yay: IntoTheVelvetSky, bajatadancer and numbah435spiritsong. Know what would be awesome? Dropping a line and telling me what I did right to make you follow it so I can continue that. Lol.

Chapter 3: Count On Me

They pulled up to a two story white house with dark green shutters and door. The cab ride had been silent (the two plane rides and the layover in between too. The Architect had earbuds in her ears for most of the flights and was asleep for the rest of them.) It seemed like the closer Ariadne got to home, the farther her mind drifted from the world. The cab pulled up to her abode and while Arthur was quickly on his feet and grabbing their bags from the trunk...Ariadne sluggishly slid out of the backseat and stared at the house. It wasn't until Arthur had nudged her elbow that she noticed the cab had gone. She visibly shook whatever she was thinking off, steeled herself, grabbed the handle of her suitcase and wheeled it up to the front. Her mother—Shannon—with contrastingly blond-ish hair and green eyes met them on the stairs. "Addy Grace! How was your flight?" She smiled, ushered them in, obviously happy to see her daughter whereas the Architect had to force her mouth into a halfhearted upturn, "Long. How are you doing?"

"Good, considering…." Her mom nodded, her features starting to scrunch at the thought. If Ariadne was trying further dampen her mom's mood upon her arrival then she succeeded. Before Shannon could finish the sentence Ariadne abruptly cut her off by shutting the door (almost a slam) and gesturing to the quiet figure shadowing her around the property.

"Mom, this is Arthur." The Point Man had to do a double-take to make sure he was indeed in the right house with the right Architect. Sure, he'd witnessed her gradual plunge into silence but this girl was completely different than the one he boarded their first flight with. This girl was somber and closed off. He'd never known Ariadne to be closed off.

"Hello Arthur." Her mom shook his hand and Arthur took a respite from the speculation of Ariadne to exclaim his delight to meet her. Shannon wasn't surprised Ariadne had brought him with her; she'd called and told her mom that someone from her office was going to come and help with dissolving her dad's private construction and engineering firm. What her mother didn't expect was for him to be a Casanova in a three piece suit. "Come on let's get you two some drinks." She led them into the kitchen. For the point of conversation only, Shannon questioned, "How long will you be staying again?"

With a quick glance at the Point Man first, Ariadne replied. "Three days is all I think we could get off work." And then Arthur specified how the time would be used, "Today, the funeral on Friday and then Saturday for the business."

The older woman poured two short glasses of sweet tea and offered them, "Ok, well I was thinking we could go to the grocery and you could help me pick out a few things to serve at the reception. Just easy things we can stick in the crockpot and heat up that morning. Or would you guys like to unpack first?" Shannon looked between the two of them.

"It's up to you ladies." Arthur shrugged and set his now empty glass down in the sink.

The Architect followed his example and then rubbed her head, "I'm so jetlagged. Could we get settled in first?" As said earlier Arthur was a natural at picking up details. When Ariadne was tired, she blinked a lot. If she rubbed anything it was the corners of her eyes. He'd never seen her half-exhausted at the warehouse and rubbing her forehead.

"Of course, Sweetie." Arthur watched as Ariadne's mother patted her and kissed her temple. "It's still early. Take your time, shower, get a long nap in and we can go this afternoon."

"Want us to show you where the guest room is?" Ariadne said in afterthought, trotting out of the kitchen. Arthur agreed and followed them to the staircase. As normal, he went to pick up the Architect's bag but she grabbed it as soon as his hand reached towards it. "I've got it." It was clipped and her eyes were sharp. What had he done?

As they were hiking up the stairs, Shannon commented, "He may be more comfortable in Alex's room, Ad." Arthur could feel the tension as soon as that phrase left her mom's mouth. Ariadne's voice was abnormally curt, "Why? The guest room has that king Tempurpedic." It didn't take a trained psychologist to figure out that Ariadne was offended by the notion of anyone even stepping foot into Alex's room.

"We switched them." Shannon stopped at the top of the stairs and turned around to wait, "Alex has the king—"

"Had the king…" Ariadne halted at the top step and eyed at her mom blankly before brushing past. Her mom merely swallowed and continued, "—And the guest has the full. Arthur's legs are long; he'd hang half off of it."

Without turning around to answer, Ariadne lugged her bag carelessly down the hall. Even as it turned over to where the wheels weren't being used and she was dragging it, even after it hit the molding of the doorway like a bumper car. "Then just show him both rooms and let him choose." Her suitcase disappeared with a yank just before her second dramatic door slam of the day.

Shannon sighed and made an apology, "I'm sorry for that- "

Who could blame the Architect? She'd just lost her younger brother and her childhood home was filled with memories of him. From the pictures lining the walls to his sweatshirt hanging on his doorknob. It was only a few days and Arthur had slept on much, much worse, "Mrs. Bourgeois, the guest room would more than suffice. I'm not particular."

"Don't let Ariadne's attitude make your mind for you. She's not herself. You're doing a great kindness to our family and the business. Were Alex still here—he would've offered to switch rooms anyway. He was that kind of boy." Her hand touched her chest and her eyes began to shine with moisture. As Ariadne had done earlier, she shook it off and insisted, "Please, I want you to be comfortable."

His eyes flickered to Ariadne's closed bedroom door, "I would be most comfortable knowing Ariadne isn't upset with me and I feel she would be if I stayed in his room. I don't feel right disturbing it. Out of respect for her and Alex, I'd rather stay in the guest room." When Shannon considered him (or rather his long legs) doubtfully, he added "Please."

"Alright. It's this room here." Shannon led him to the middle door in the hallway on the opposite side of Ariadne and Alex's rooms. "Make yourself at home." She traipsed into the room, opened the closet and put a thick blanket on the end of the bed for him, opened the blinds by the window seat and pointed to the corner, "the bathroom is through that door there. I'll be downstairs; if you need a glass of water, anything, don't hesitate to come down."
xxxxxx

Arthur took a shower and re-gelled his hair. He always felt gross and unkempt after flying. The Point hadn't unpacked his things because he didn't think their stay was long enough to allow it. The PASIV—which never left his possession—was hidden under his mattress and his laptop and cell were hooked up to their chargers. Around two o'clock, Arthur felt famished so he followed the scent of home cooking to the kitchen downstairs. Her mom sensed his presence without ever looking. Must be a maternal thing. "Do you like white chili, Arthur? I made enough for all of us. Would you like to try a bowl?"

"Please." He took a seat when she gestured and a piping hot bowl was placed in front of him. A dollop of sour cream and a sprinkling of cheese sat on top. Courteously, the man waited for her to sit with her own bowl before he dug in.

"The kids love my white chili," stated the blonde as they chowed down.

Arthur stirred the mixture to cool it off and took another gratuitous bite, "I can see why; it's delicious."

"Tell me about yourself. I can hazard a guess that you didn't grow up in France." Shannon chuckled and Arthur could see who Ariadne got her smile from. Never the less, he dove into one of the many cover stories he'd dreamt up over the years. With embellishments added here and there for flavor and continuity with what Ariadne had informed him she'd told her parents. "No ma'am, California, actually. I got my degree much like Ariadne. Worked for my AA at home—UCLA—and then transferred to Oxford for my Masters and certificate. But it rains engineers in England and finding a firm was scarce. Needless to say, when my good friend Dom said he could get me a job at one in Paris…it was off to France."

"So it was more of a mandatory career move than anything." Shannon assumed and took a sip of her tea.

Arthur pursed his lips in thought, "Yes but I'm not complaining. Paris is…" And then half a laugh escaped his lips at the thought of anyone pitying themselves for living and working in Paris. Out of the thousands of cities he'd visited the world over, Paris had always been in the top 3. It could've been because it was one of the ones he frequented most as Cobb's partner and held nostalgic value. Or maybe it was a societal feeling instilled in him. After all, it was a place every human being wished to see before they died. The city of lights, the city of lovers, of dreams, of opportunity. Endless art. A place where you could walk the streets during the day and smell nothing but freshly baked bread and walk there at night like strolling among the stars. "…perfection. I admire the atmosphere there," Then the image of a French native coming out of a coffee shop, laughing, shrugging her red jacket on and playfully slapping the forger they both knew too well blasted through his mind and Arthur couldn't help but add, "and the people." It was true. Parisians—the ones he'd met—all had an effortless charm about them and a passion he envied for himself: Miles, Penelope, Dom, Mal, Ariadne.

Her mother nodded and grinned in agreement,"Addy has always wanted to live in Paris. Ever since she was a little girl. I think it was because since she was born we would visit Gerard's parents over there every other year and spend either summer or Christmas break with them in the city. She'd pack months in advance and whereas other kids like Alex would cry when we left Disney World…Ad only cried when we dragged her home from Paris." The faraway look on her face suggested Shannon was picturing young Ariadne and Alex in her mind. "When she was seven she convinced herself she could move there on her own."

"How'd she figure she'd do that?" It was polite to inquire and further their conversation. He was in a somewhat trapped position. When researching marks and fellow team mates he purposefully refrained from any background information that wasn't statistical. Besides the fact that it was irrelevant to the job in 99 percent of the cases, he didn't care what the name of someone's first pet was. There was no desire to find past yearbook pictures if it wasn't necessary. And if there was (and believe it that he was tempted to know how this tiny Architect had ended up with such a brazen personality the second she told Cobb off and slapped Arthur in the face with her jacket as she stormed out) he avoided it. Apart from the Cobbs, Arthur knew nothing private about anyone else he worked with and if they would try to engage in conversation in which they revealed more of themselves he would back away. See, to know those intimate things about a person was to really know them. And when you really know someone as in the case of he and Cobb then you became friends. You grew attachments. And those were rare in successful dream sharers. He and Dom (and Mal when she was alive) were an anomaly in the business. And if they hadn't been the best of the best and pioneers in the research that made so many newcomers to the field rich and working then they would've been laughing stalks. He already knew things about Ariadne that he regretted knowing: her preferred style of architecture, her closeness with Miles, a few bad habits like biting her lips and picking at her nails, her penchant for scarves and inclination towards éclairs for dessert and all because she cornered him and slipped the information into his brain without him realizing it was happening. The same way she wriggled out of him that his true last name started with a 'T' and he had a preference for ball point pens. This case was already tricky. He generally liked Ariadne as a person. She was intelligent, cultured, an asset to the team—a sweet girl and they worked well together. The problem: He generally liked Ariadne as a person. Every man on the Inception team had a soft spot for her but Arthur didn't have soft spots. And he would insist that. Though there was the fact that when Cobb dragged her into limbo, it bothered him. And he strangely (in an out of body, adrenaline filled, air headed moment) tricked her into a kiss…and he agreed to travel with her to her hometown to be of assistance to her family... Anyway! The point was: she was a barely filled in sketch. A few marks here and there, maybe a dot of color filled in a corner section. The Point Man wanted to keep it that way. As usual, he didn't want to see the whole picture of a person, he wanted to keep them a file. A number. A name. But he couldn't curtly end the conversation or explain his disinterest to Shannon so he found himself asking. One more dark line on the sketch wouldn't hurt. Arthur furrowed his eyebrows and took another spoonful of chili as he waited.

"Who knows?" Shannon chortled, shook her head and rolled her eyes, "She got it into her little brain that she would and stubbornly insisted on trying. Certainly scared us half to death."

The Point smirked, "Sounds like her." It was friendly. It was true. It was non-committal and the perfect way to laugh off the story and move on to a different subject. If only he was so lucky.

"She had told us she was going to the night before, too. Got out her Sailor Moon backpack, packed some clothes and her toothbrush and made a bunch of PB&J sandwiches but we thought she was being silly, which is normal for her. Gerard and I were coming back from—oh gosh, what was it?" She covered her mouth with her hand like it would assist her failing memory," Oh—Alex had an ear infection and we'd taken him to the doctor. Ariadne had to ride the school bus home that day and got home maybe an hour before we did. Anyway, we came inside and couldn't find her anywhere. Called everyone. Nearly had heart attacks. We threw Alex in the car and went driving around the neighborhood looking for her. After an hour I was sobbing, her father was beside himself and we got a call from the airport." Arthur shook his head. Not in disbelief because it sounded just like something a baby Ariadne would get herself into. And shit—the story was amusing him. "One of the nice ladies at the ticket counter said she asked Ariadne what her parent's cell number was and called right away but that she was trying to buy a ticket to Paris with a piggy bank full of quarters. So we rushed to the airport and there she was: must have walked or—God—taken the public bus to get there. She was sitting on one of the luggage scales by the lady who'd called us with a big beanie on her head and her piggy bank under her arms. Just a-swinging her legs and beaming with pride. She was happy to see us only because she thought we came to say goodbye."

"What'd she do when you took her home?" He was this far in. He might as well get the full story.

"Threw a fit. A blubbering, kicking and screaming fit." Shannon could not contain her snicker, "She tried again when she was thirteen. And she made it all the way there but Gerard's parents called us and put her on a plane back home."

"But they let me stay a week first." The star of the story had made an appearance (and a change of clothes). Ariadne paraded into the kitchen (her comment almost a brag) and grabbed a glass out of the cabinet. "Telling embarrassing things about me, Maman?"

"Non." Her mom over exaggerated her innocent tone, "Only the fascinating." Her mother wasn't the one with French background, her father was. She wasn't fluent in French like Ariadne and Alex but Shannon had learned little phrases over the years from listening to Gerard teach the children.

The Architect droned sarcastically as she scanned the contents of the fridge, "Oh yeah, I'm sure there's a real treasure trove of those."

"How was your nap?" It must've been well because Ariadne was a different person than the depressing one that dragged herself in. Back to herself…a little bit more than herself actually. The two who'd been sitting there previously couldn't decide whether it was genuine or not but they sure liked her this way better. "Good. No cranberry juice?"

"No, we'll have to pick some up." Her mom patted the table where she'd set a bowl of chili down for her. Ariadne need only look at the pot on the stove before she hurried to the seat and downed a spoonful. "Mmm…I love your white chili." Shannon gave Arthur that 'didn't I tell you look' while Ariadne addressed him, "Did you sleep?"

"No I was—"

"Working?" She threw him a knowing and accusing one eyebrow then alerted her mother to his problem, "Arthur's a workaholic. My friend William (Eames. Yes, she'd wheedled him out of his name as well) and I are looking into a seven step plan."

"Are you rested enough to head out?" Obviously, her mother ignored the jibe at Arthur and smoothed over that subject.

"As rested as I'll get. And—do you have anything I can wear to the funeral? We were in LA on business when I got the call and I hadn't packed a dress or anything… Nothing in my closet either." Ariadne stood and took her mother and Arthur's bowls to stack them all in the sink. She heard her mother over the faucet, "We can stop by that outlet on 4th if you want? I don't want you to have to wear a skirt suit like an old lady."

"I mean…it's not like I haven't before." She gave Arthur a pointed look over her shoulder.

Xxxxxx

The buggy was filled to the brim with all sorts of delicacies. They decided they could get some tortellini to cook in the crockpot, the bite sized barbecue wieners, a few cheese and meat plates, fruit and vegetable trays, several ingredients for Ariadne to make deviled eggs and gallons of drinks. Her mom had already contacted Ariadne's two aunts and they had agreed to pick up some more snack foods and desserts for the reception after the funeral. However while they were at it, Ariadne picked up several loafs of bread, cartons of milk, ready to eat meals, anything she thought her mom would need for weeks of groceries to come, insisting she was buying what her mom needed. Except when they got to the register, Arthur stepped forward with wallet in hand, "Allow me."

"Oh no, I can't let you do that." Shannon griped as she loaded things onto the conveyor belt. In front of her, The Architect halted stacking things and looked up at Arthur to reject with a shake of her head. He loaded the bagged produce back into the cart and looked over Ariadne's head. "I insist."

Ariadne protested in a hushed tone, "Arthur, that's hundreds of dollars of groceries. You know I have the money for it."

"As do I. Your mother is allowing me to stay in her house when relatives from out of town should. I'm eating the food, I'm using the water and electricity—it's the least I could do. At least let me pay for half of it." The man would not allow their hospitality to go un-thanked. Sometimes people did nice things for others, didn't she say that. Well he was attempting to do something nice for her family.

The girl cut her eyes to the nosy cashier and then huffed back at him, "You're a guest. Guests don't pay. I appreciate your offer but it's my family and my responsibility. I wasn't here when it happened," her caramel orbs fixed on the register and saddened, "I didn't get to help plan the funeral, I didn't order the flowers…I can at least buy the food." And Ariadne swiped her card before Arthur could further argue over the matter, ignoring the stare from the Wal-Mart worker.
xxxxxxx

"Really mom, I don't need anything too fancy. A simple black dress will suffice, I promise. This is Alex's funeral not a coming out party." They had been looking through dresses far longer than Ariadne was anticipating. (Though, Ariadne allotted herself five minutes and Shannon had drug it out to fifteen). Her mom was pickier than she was and it didn't help that Ariadne was so tiny that it was a feat to find anything in her size. "But this is adorable. Look at the back. Maybe they have your size!" Ariadne waved her mother off and picked up a simple black tank dress on the end of the rack, not even listening.

"We've been here like 20 minutes, everything in the car is going to spoil."

"Ariadne," Her mother put her hand on her hips and jutted out a hanger with the Architec's size on it, "just humor your mother and try this on. I've been through enough."

Now, Ariadne was never one for shopping. That was devastating for Shannon because the woman lived to shop. She was always coming home with shoes and clothes she'd gotten on a special sale. She was a rewarded customer everywhere. Often, while Ariadne was growing up, her mother would come home with bags of clothes for her. Some Ariadne liked, a lot she didn't but it saved the Architect from having to go shopping on her own and she was never without. Not that Ariadne didn't enjoy looking nice but she had better things to do on her Saturdays than slave away at the mall trying to find anything in her sizes and buying into the world's commercialized view of how she should dress. Nevertheless, she spent many a weekend (especially leading up to a school dance or benefit for her mom's bridge club or party for her dad's work) being dragged around Ridgedale Mall. That's why she had so many scarves…her mother always bought her one if she lasted the day or one was on sale. It was an article of clothing her daughter actually got excited about so she fueled it when she could.

Today felt like those days long ago when Shannon's daughter was a teenager, rolling her eyes as she coaxed her into the dressing room yet again. Ariadne's friend was across the way absentmindedly looking at the displays. Trying to give them privacy she guessed. He is very polite. Shannon was delighted to see Ariadne pad towards her with her garment of choice on. It was positively darling on her. Slightly full in the skirt but hit right at the top of her knee, a sweetheart neckline and the back cut out to resemble a bow. "Oh my…you're buying that." Shannon glanced back over at Ariadne's friend and found his attention zoned in on her daughter and while his face gave off very little to be deciphered, his eyes were glued to her back.

Arthur had walked the store over, rejected offers of assistance and passed the same rack time and time again. He remembered doing the same with his mother. He learned his patience from such experience growing up. Not to rush someone. Not to hover and make them uncomfortable as they browse. Not to adversely comment on price or give opinion unless asked. He had been halfheartedly reading an advertisement for forty percent off their selection of shoes when Ariadne's mom's exclamation made him look up. Made him glance up in time to see Ariadne begrudgingly turning in a circle for Shannon to inspect. Ariadne was a woman. He knew that. So why was he so surprised how much she looked like one when she wasn't hidden under baggy cardigans and jeans? It was perplexing. Hmm…Ariadne: A woman. A nicely shaped woman. A decent looking—perhaps he should check his phone for email updates from Dom. That would be a wise thing to—

Ariadne looked at the tag (not that the money would've been an issue but the question of her never ending supply might be). "I'll help if you need it." Shannon added (desperate to talk Addy into purchase) but Ariadne plucked the plain, boring tank dress she saw earlier and handed it to her mom. "I can find something just as functional for cheaper. Funeral, remember?"

"I'll pay for it if money's the issue since you wouldn't take my offer to pay for the groceries." Out of nowhere The Point Man was behind her. Suddenly, the Parisian felt sheepish standing in the middle of a dress boutique modeling for her mom like a fourteen year old. Now Ariadne just wanted to grab the tank dress, shove cash at the employee and get out. Instead, she deadpanned, "Arthur, it's a hundred dollar dress."

He nodded, the look in his eyes calculating. He looked down at the rack next to him and read the price off of a copy of her dress as if the item were no different than buying her a magazine or cheese stick. With the way they were paid, a couple hundred dollars was practically nothing. "I'm aware."

"Can I talk to you for a second?" The Architect hazarded a glance at her mom. Shannon's shapely eyebrows rested at the top of her head and her over-excited, let me get ahead of myself and assume things look was already creeping onto her face while Ariadne pulled Arthur aside. "What are you doing? Buying me a dress—an expensive one at that- in front of my mother is exactly the kind of thing you shouldn't do." Her arms folded across her chest and he was lost to the reason, "Why not?" Funny. With how anal he was about keeping distance and the appearance of connectivity, you'd think he wouldn't have touched his recent offer with a ten foot pole.

"Because while the two of us may not think anything of it…the woman who spends her free time trying to set me up with everything on two legs started planning our wedding the second you offered." Oh. Sense trickled back to him. "Would you buy me a dress in front of Dom? Or Yusuf, or Eames? "

Point was made. "I'll wait outside." But as he walked away he added, clearing his throat, "The one you're wearing, it does look agreeable on you." Oh, what a compliment, Ariadne sardonically thought to herself. Then again, he didn't have to say anything at all. It was the dress she ended up with despite her better judgment. And she would go to her grave swearing it had not been because of Arthur's comment. It was 89 percent because of Shannon's persuading and cajoling. Only eleven percent was because of the Point Man's words. After they were finished with everything, it was time to visit Ariadne's dad in the hospital.

Xxxxxx

In all the research Arthur had done it was very clear that a strained relationship with Ariadne's

father was not present. So Ariadne's distant behavior as they entered his hospital room seemed off. She stood at the foot of his bed and watched her mother attempt to interact with him as if she was watching tv and bored with it at that. It was a hard thing to walk into. Most of the blood had been cleared from his face but his head was all bandaged up even covering one of his eyes. His arm was in a cast and his two legs in slings hanging from the ceiling. (The Doctor's feared he may never walk again). On top of all of that he was hooked up to an oxygen machine and they had heart monitors on him. A large intake of breath was all Ariadne gave away of her thoughts on the matter. It wasn't weird to the Point that he couldn't figure out what she was thinking but it was strange she wasn't wearing her heart on her sleeve as normal. Especially around someone so dear to her. She made no remark or correction when her mom tried to direct her dad—Gerard's—attention to his little girl and he had called her Jacqueline- the name of his sister who lived in Bordeaux. Arthur stepped out of the room shortly after they arrived (after seeing Gerard's condition) and heard the exchange from the doorway: Ariadne exclaimed a "Whatever, mom, it's fine." And then "Come on, Gerard, you remember Addy. Your 'Petite Gateau.' They didn't stay too long. It was already getting dark and they needed to get home and start preliminarily preparing for the guests that would come to their house after the funeral service. Arthur didn't feel a lot but he felt the melancholy suffocating them in the car.
Xxxxxxx

When they got home, Ariadne ran her new dress upstairs and then the three of them sorted and put away the groceries. It wasn't until the oven was switched on and they went to stick the cocktail weenies in the crockpot….that her mom realized they didn't have a crockpot. "I was supposed to pick several up from Maia and Stanley's house."

"They can't bring it over?" Ariadne kneeled down to pull out casserole pans and mixing bowls from the lower cabinets.

"Stanley is out of town with Nathan and Maia is working the nightshift. Your aunt Helena has the extra tables. Crap and" she looked at the cat shaped clock on the wall, "the florist is fixing to close, I was going to go ahead and pick up the arrangements tonight. How could all of that slip my mind?" The lone man in the house could come up with a few reasons. One being that when Ariadne acted the way she was, it was hard not to think about anything else other than what on earth would put her back to normal.

Ariadne's eyes widened at all the chores they'd left undone, "Ok…look. You need to start on your casseroles. Just make what you can and I'll go do everything. I'll pick up dinner too so you don't have to deal with that." She received a relieved kiss on the forehead and a big thank you for the offer. The Architect turned to Arthur, "Would you mind coming with? I'm not sure I can carry the tables myself." Arthur nodded and shrugged on his suit jacket, following her out the door. After all this is what he came for.

They picked up the flowers first in order to beat the store's hours and then headed to her aunt's for the tables. The stalky, awkward brunette invited them in, thrust glasses of iced lemonade in their hands and started asking them all kinds of questions about work and Los Angeles with bright eyes. Her Aunt Helena—as Ariadne described to Arthur in the car ride over—had a heart of gold but beans for brains. She was completely aloof to her sense of time and always stuck her foot in her mouth with ironically, the best intentions. The Architect privileged Arthur with the car keys and he passed in and out hauling the tables into the trunk. He didn't really catch what Helena was going on about until he was finished and had come up behind them to announce he was done. Immediately, he knew this conversation was a bad idea. He'd refrained from coming even remotely close to the topic himself but here the beans for brains was stressing the Architect to the max. And there Ariadne was gritting her teeth and trying to let it go through one ear and out the other. "Well sixty is a fragile age. If something big happens to you at sixty, you never really recover from it. It's like a slow, downhill ride until the end. I visited the hospital yesterday and the poor thing looked like an empty shell. I was talking to Shannon about it and she doesn't think your dad will ever be the same…It's such a shame he—"

Out of pure chivalry and pity, Arthur felt the need to rescue her. Interjecting hastily, "I had to put the seats in the back down but the tables fit. I don't mean to interrupt but we need to get the crockpots and they're across town." There was no idea in his mind where the crockpots were but it sounded plausible enough. And Helena seemed gullible enough to believe whatever he said.

Ariadne puffed air out her cheeks when she looked at him- every shade of alleviation sparked in her eyes. The Aunt was suddenly filled with a sense of urgency and rushed to give Ariadne a hug and Arthur a pat and smile and practically pushed them out the door to their next errand with bottles of organic green tea shoved at their person. Sliding into to the car, Arthur peered over at the driver: White fingers held on to the bottom of the steering wheel halfheartedly and a forehead was digging into the center of it. Something softened in the corner of his chest. Not a large something nor a sizable corner just for the record…There was no obligation to ask. He genuinely wanted to make sure, "Are you alright?"

A large intake of breath preceded, "Yeah. I just have a headache."

Wonder why…Arthur chided in his mind but then offered to drive for her. Her head lifted from the steering wheel and shook as she turned the key in the ignition. The statement that he didn't know where to go was a good point to which he rebuffed, "There's a handy function called a GPS on my phone…" and added, "Plus, you could always tell me where to turn." It dampened his spirits when she agreed and thanked him only because Ariadne must have been enormously upset to give in and let someone help her. After downing some of the Tylenol stashed in her purse, her knees pulled to her chest as he backed out of the driveway, half looking where he was going and half worrying about her emotional state. Unfortunately. "Turn left at the next two stop signs and then a right when you get to the road." There was a split second of self-hatred in Arthur for being an emotionally stinted person because if this is what it felt like to ride in a car with him during a hard situation, he sympathized with every person that told him that bottling his emotions 'at a time like this' was unhealthy. She was acting like he would: shutting down, trying to pretend it's not getting to her, becoming a short worded, tightlipped mystery of a person and it was infuriating. Was he that infuriating?"You need to be in the far right lane. At the next light, veer onto the interstate."

"Interstate?"

"The Holts live in Myrtle Beach; it's thirty minutes away from us." She crossed her arms and looked out her window. Twenty minutes into the drive and every time he glanced over at her, her eyebrows had been furrowed and her jaw set but not a trace of a tear. Ariadne was the kind of person that wore her heart on her sleeve, the kind of person that was passionate about everything in her life, who valued her relationships with the people around her more than anything. Arthur was sharing this car ride with an entirely altered person. He could only imagine the flurry of thoughts swirling in her mind and how the real Ariadne must be struggling to ignore them. "Get off at the Wilcox exit and veer left." Those were the only words she'd spoken to him. Normally, if Ariadne could get him alone somewhere she attempted to con him into telling her personal things like his birthday and where he grew up. By miracle, they arrived at Stan and Maia Holt's house (there were so many turns and back roads Arthur was surprised anyone could find the place). Robotically, Ariadne hopped out of the car, found the spare key and let herself in. Arthur left the car running but trailed behind. And easily enough that task was done too.

"Alright. We said we'd pick up dinner, what are you in the mood for?" Arthur inquired from the driver seat after Ariadne had led him out of the Labyrinth that was the Holt's neighborhood and they were on the freeway. She replied "I'm not really hungry. You can pick somewhere." He'd heard that phrase too many times before when she was swamped with work at the warehouse. Arthur had a personal relationship with that phrase himself. That sentence meant she wasn't going to eat. Loss of appetite goes hand in hand with grief (or so says the articles he read about it) and the Point wasn't fixing to watch her starve herself for the next couple of days (for the benefit of the job waiting on them in LA) so he quipped, "We've been running all day, you need to eat something. You've eaten very little."

"I had a banana before we got on the plane and chili before we left with mom."

"In a bowl the size of a mug and you barely finished it. It's impossible to believe that was enough sustenance." The blinker flipped on and their vehicle changed lanes to gain speed.

Ariadne huffed, "Just because my dad is off vegetating in the hospital doesn't mean you have to pick up where he left off."

Silence filled the car for several minutes. The two of them mindlessly watched the road in front of them and the miles they devoured with their distance. To anyone else, Ariadne would've appeared to be fuming, absolutely livid with him. The way she was breathing—in an almost exaggerated manner. Suck in. Shove out. Her arms folded across her chest, the bemused line on her face where her mouth normally sat, the occasional eye roll when she sensed him beholding her. To someone who'd observed people and their body language for a living, it was like critiquing the performance of an exceptional actress and looking for the flaws in their game of pretend. Or perhaps it was like that game you played as a child. The one in the activity books where you'd be given an arrangement of pictures or words and told to find which one didn't belong. If he were guessing Ariadne's emotions like that game she'd be one of those difficult lists where technically everything made sense and was in place: A pail, a shovel, a towel, gardening gloves. Which doesn't belong? On the one hand it could be a list of things used in the garden…in which a towel would be out. Or it could be a list of things used at the beach…a place where gardening gloves would be useless. So what didn't match with Ariadne? She could roll her eyes at him in a continuous loop and hold her face in the hardest of shapes for the rest of night but when he saw her reflection in her window she couldn't cover over the fact that her eyes looked lost and frightened and desperate to release the tears she refused herself. And though her arms may have been folded up in the universal signal of indifference and annoyance, her hands clenched her jacket beneath her elbows as if she'd never been more cold in her life and she only wanted to hold her jacket as tight to her as possible. She wasn't angry with Arthur, not really. It wasn't that she wasn't in the mood to eat and he voiced his concern for it. It wasn't about his insistence for her to pick where they ate dinner or that he sounded condescending. It was because her father was in critical condition at the hospital and her brother was dead. Simple. Ariadne's newfound personality was a byproduct of forcing herself to be strong when all she needed was to let herself be weak; of putting on a firm face to take care of everyone else at the time she most needed to be taken care of. So Arthur strived to make himself one less problem for her to worry about, "I apologize if I gave off the impression of trying to parent you. I'm just concerned about your wellbeing. I only meant to be helpful."

The Architect wouldn't acknowledge him for quite a few minutes. A quick sigh sounded over the air conditioning vents before she relented and suggested Sonny's BBQ, "The one right by the exit into town does carry out…I'm kind of craving their amazing pulled pork sandwiches." He smiled and pulled in.
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There was tons of cooking done that night. Casseroles, deviled eggs, fruit and potato salad were in the fridge and several crockpots cluttered the counters full of things slowly heating through. The sink was piled high with used whisks and bowls and pans and now the kitchen table was decorated with take out bags, wrappers, containers and cups of sauces as the three ate their barbeque at long last. The Point Man had never had the delicacy that was Sonny's Barbecue and from his first bite he was hooked on the southern East Coast wonder. Shannon joked, "It almost looks like we're having a party tomorrow, doesn't it?" Arthur looked the rest of the kitchen over agreeably. Ariadne pulled apart her sandwich and dipped it in the sweet sauce without making eye contact or cracking a smile, "Yeah mom. Real party."

Shannon then tried to change the subject with a chip of good news, "The Doctor at the hospital called and said your father won't have to have surgery. The new bleed is only on the frontal lobe and shouldn't spread so they're going to check it in another thirty days."

"Ah..so they're going to leave his brain soaking in blood until something bad happens and they have to have surgery. Brilliant." A cursory glimpse in Arthur's direction had her biting her lip and blinking her eyes to keep from getting worked up in front of him.

It wasn't the reaction Shannon was expecting. She put her fork down and looked at Ariadne intently, demanding to meet her eyes and have a serious discussion about it. The mother of the Architect fixed her with a challenging glare, "Would you rather they open his head up?"

Ariadne mimicked her mother's actions, "If it'll fix him."

"It's not that easy, Ariadne. Sucking blood out of his brain isn't going to make him walk again. Just opening up his head isn't going to make him the person he was before the accident."

"Then what the fuck are we doing?" The arms of the Parisian flew in the air the same time her mom scolded her for her language. "What? If there's no hope for him what are we doing paying all these hospital bills and waiting for something in his brain to blow? Just bring him home where he's comfortable and watch as he dissolves." Arthur suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable, like he was intruding. He silently got up and acted to throw some trash away and clean the pile of dishes so the Bourgeois' wouldn't feel his presence in their private business.

"We're just waiting to see if his brain will correct itself before we go hacking away at his scalp. I'm not saying there's no chance he'll be the same it will just take a long time and more than one miraculous surgery for him to get that way." Her mother explained. The Architect had already abandoned the last half of her sandwich and was rubbing her forehead. Arthur could clearly detect the quiver in Shannon's voice when she softened it and caught her put her hand on her daughter's out of the corner of his eye, "Don't give up hope on your father, Ariadne. People have come back from much worse."

Ariadne's hand wrenched out from under her mother's with a wrath and pushed her food away as she got up from the table, "Yeah…well let me know when Alex comes back from the dead." Arthur stood in shock because for the first time, he'd witnessed a droplet of water fall out of the Architect's eyes. Shannon dropped her head in her hands and started crying. Arthur didn't know what to do with himself…so he packaged Ariadne's food back up and put it in the fridge assuming she might be hungry to finish it later and then offered to take Shannon's trash for her. Common knowledge said he wasn't good with emotions. Shannon lifted her head and he saw a wave of Ariadne's face in the woman. The same nose, the same mouth. He saw the same heart through the red rims on her eyes and the tearstains down her cheek. "Thank you, Arthur, "she handed him the bag full of her crusts and used utensils, "I'm sorry you have to see our family like this."
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Next Chapter: Arthur (actually) attempts to cheer Ariadne up… ;-) I promise you'll like it. So review, review, puhlease. Title of this chapter from the Bruno Mars song.

If you're bored waiting for an update from this story or another and wanna take a look at what I pictured Young Ariadne wearing (plus her sailor moon backpack and piggy bank) on her seven year old escape to the airport… Picture is on my profile. I had fun picking out her crazy style. The kid doesn't look too much like Ellen (plays Ariadne in movie) but enough to picture the outfit on a young ellen, I think.