Chapter IV: Messages
So sorry my dear readers, for the long absence. I hope this chapter will entice you to forgive me. ^_^
Ariadne grabbed the cold, metal pole as the metro rounded a corner. She yawned, fighting the affects of 1:20 AM. She noted with interest the way every other passenger leaned against the push of gravity. Every passenger – except one. He stood stock still against the back end of the train, one hand gripping the small silver case, the other braced against a seat. She hadn't noticed him when she had entered the train; his gray trench coat had blended perfectly into the interior. Ariadne took in the three-piece, cream-colored suit, the striped gold tie, the two-toned wing tip shoes. The faultless brown hair, the soft, dark eyes, staring directly into hers, as though trying to convey something without raising his voice above the roar of the underground. The metro turned another corner, the lights flickered, and still, Arthur fixed her with his enigmatic gaze. Ariadne blinked and glanced around. Where was she? The RATP, in Paris. Why was she here? …. How did she get here? She bit her lip, and with another glimpse at her fellow travelers, she pulled the bronze bishop from her pocket. She flattened her palm and laid it in the center, then nudged it with her finger. It resisted the pressure, remaining motionless and upright.
Ariadne's stomach seemed to drop a few inches. She looked up bemusedly to find a tiny smirk twisting the corner of Arthur's mouth. His eyes twinkled, even in the dim, fluorescent light, and he winked. Then the train jolted to an abrupt stop, she crashed into the pole as the floor came rushing up to meet her, and she jerked awake.
Ariadne sat up slowly and rubbed her hands over her face. Dim yellowish light was filtering in through the curtains drawn across the window beside her bed. She glanced instinctively down at her wrist, but found no needle or a mark of one. She drew her knees up to her chest and sat still. What the hell…
Arthur had informed her during their first job that she would continue to dream for a few more years. But not that she would dream…about him. For one wild moment, Ariadne wondered if it was possible to invade someone's dreams without a PASIV machine…
But that's ridiculous, she scolded herself. …Isn't it? She'd have to ask Cobb about that…
Ariadne rubbed her eyes hard and slid her legs from under the covers, pulling on the soft, blue cotton robe hanging from her bedpost. She wandered into the kitchen and sat down at the table. It had been five days since Arthur's dream. Since then, he had kept his head buried in the PASIV, excepting the occasional "hello" or fleeting smile of acknowledgement. Several times, she had attempted to catch his attention with a comment or a question. Nothing worked. Ariadne was getting so sick of this stagnant feeling; everything from that moment in the middle of the Fischer case was stuck in a….in a web of…
Ariadne sat up, frowning. Her kitchen window looked out at the rain, the street and shops two floors below. And someone was obscuring that view. She stood and leaned closer to the glass. Arthur was standing at the edge of the adjacent sidewalk, hands in the pockets of his brown overcoat, staring straight up at her. Ariadne blinked a few times, then pushed the totem on the counter. It clattered over. She glanced back down to the street. He was smiling now, that little smirk she had always been fond of. Even from a distance, she saw his lips move. "Ariadne."