Disclaimer: I don't own Inception but I have borrowed some lines from the movie. Main title comes from lyrics in Ellie Goulding's song: I'll Hold My Breath.
Chapter7 rating: PG-13
Chapter 7: Every Woman's Dream
Arthur is still thinking about what he uncovered in her apartment one early morning on a slow day in the warehouse. He finds himself alone, enjoying the quiet and solitude as no one else has made it in this early in the morning. He's taking a break from his computer research, tilting back in his chair as he likes to do, letting his mind wander to Ariadne's nightstand. A huge grin forms on his face, one that always finds its way there whenever he thinks about his discovery, which is one time too many. He is so absorbed in his musings that he doesn't hear Ariadne approach. When she suddenly appears in front of him he is so startled that the front legs of his chair hit the ground and his legs fly up in the air, much like when Eames tipped his chair during that one meeting.
And as she did then Ariadne doesn't try to hide her amusement.
"Thanks Arthur, but I got the concept of the kick when you and Eames demonstrated it in the meeting."
Feeling sheepish, he says, "Uh, I didn't see you there. I was distracted by…something I was thinking about."
She's still smiling. "Obviously. Must have been a really pleasant something. I swear you were grinning from ear to ear."
As if on cue, his ears start burning. It doesn't escape her notice and she laughs, a free and easy laugh, the kind she shares with Eames and Yusuf—but never with him.
"You know, you really shouldn't tip your chair back like that. One of these days you might accidently fall backwards instead of forwards. And maybe not even accidentally if Eames is around when it happens."
"Yeah, it's a terrible habit. My mother always scolded me about it but I guess I never learned." Surprised that he shared a personal anecdote, he decides to move away from the whole embarrassing incident by asking, "When did you get in? I didn't think anyone else was here."
It's Ariadne's turn to look sheepish. "I've been here all night. I fell asleep at my desk sometime in the middle of the night. I've been trying to perfect the designs and time kind of got away from me."
Now that she mentions it he notices her rumpled appearance. Her clothes are wrinkled and she's in need of running a comb through her hair. She has dark circles under her eyes and her complexion is pale. She looks worn out and vulnerable and that pulls at something inside of him.
Arthur knows that out of everyone on the team she's been working the hardest. After all, she had to start from scratch by learning about dream sharing and its architectural tricks. Then she had to build and design each detailed maze and dreamscape while incorporating information she learned about the mark. She also tailored each design to the part of the subconscious they needed to access which was also tailored to the specific dreamer. Lastly, she taught mazes and the designs all to each of them. And she did this all while continuing to take a few seminars at the university so as to not rouse suspicion to her other activities. It—she was amazing.
"You were here all day yesterday, weren't you?"
She gives a big yawn and nods her head. The movement causes her to sway and she grabs hold of his desk to steady herself. Arthur jumps out of his chair to help her stay on her feet.
"When was the last time you had something to eat?"
"Um, I think I had a left over croissant for lunch yesterday."
She was referring to the croissants she always brought in the mornings from her favorite pâtisserie.
"Come on, we need to get you something to eat and then you need to go home and sleep."
"But the designs, I wanted to ask—."
"Don't worry about the designs. They're perfect. You've been working too hard and not taking care of yourself. Come on, we'll go get you something to eat."
"I'll just go home. I can fix something up there. I don't want to trouble you—."
"Ariadne," he takes her chin in his hand to look her in the eyes. Hers widen in surprise. "It's no trouble. Now, quit resisting and I'll take you home."
She doesn't argue and allows him to lead her out to his car. She's seated in the passenger seat when she realizes she's forgotten her things. Just as she's about to get out of the car, he stops her.
"I'll get them."
Ariadne just nods and sits back in her seat.
"Wait! Arthur, don't forget my jacket."
He smiles. He's never seen her without it.
He returns shortly and gets into the drivers' seat, handing Ariadne her things. She smiles her thanks, puts on the ubiquitous jacket and settles into the seat.
Arthur starts the car and is about to drive away when he remembers that he's not supposed to know where she lives.
"What's your address?"
Her response is a sleepy one. She gives him directions, different than what he would have taken himself. She is asleep the whole fifteen minute drive there.
He parks near the entrance to her building and calls her name. She mumbles a response that sounds like 'five more minutes' and it makes him smile. He opens his car door and walks over to her side, unlocking her door then gently shaking her awake. Ariadne is sleepy and disoriented but manages to remove herself from the car but doesn't notice him leading her up the stairs to her apartment without asking for the number. He searches for her key in her bag and opens the door.
"Ariadne, we're home."
This one short sentence breaks her out of her sleepy stupor.
"Thank you, Arthur. I'd probably still be asleep at my desk, half-starved if it wasn't for you." She looks at him with a sleepy smile that twists something inside of him. "I think I'll just take a quick shower before going to bed. I'm much too tired to be operating a stove or any other kitchen appliance."
"I really think you should eat something first."
"Arthur, really, I'm fine now. Thank you, again. But I think I need a shower and a change of clothes more than food right now. She starts removing her jacket and heads toward her room. "You can show yourself out, right?" She disappears into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.
Arthur isn't comfortable leaving her alone. She doesn't exactly look steady on her feet, and despite her assurances, he wants to make sure she eats something. So instead of showing himself out he walks into her tiny kitchen and opens her pantry. All he finds are some crackers, a jar of Nutella, and tea. An inspection of her fridge proves almost as bare.
Standing in front of her open fridge he debates what to do when he is struck by sudden inspiration. With quick movements Arthur's shrugging out of his coat, rolling up his shirtsleeves, and tying on an apron that hangs on a peg on the wall. Hearing the shower start to run he puts Ariadne's tea kettle to boil and begins preparations for an omelet. Arthur is by no means a culinary master, but he knows a few simple recipes. Omelets are easy because they can be filled with whatever is on hand.
Twenty minutes later he is flipping over the omelet and turns from the stove to slide it onto a plate. Ariadne is standing in front of her open bedroom door. She has changed into a pair of boxers and an old Notre Dame University shirt. A towel is wrapped around her shoulders to keep her damp hair from soaking through her shirt. Her mouth hangs open at the sight of him.
"Arthur?"
He suddenly feels like an idiot. He knows he looks like one, standing in her tiny kitchen wearing her frilly little apron with a pan in one hand, a plate in the other. What is wrong with him? What possessed him to do this? He should have just left. She can take care of herself.
"I just wanted to make sure you ate something so I checked your pantry but it's almost empty and then I noticed your fridge was pretty much in the same state, but then an idea came to me—I'm not a great cook or anything—omelets are pretty easy to put together, so that's what I made but if you don't want it I can pick you up something else because you really should eat something."
He is babbling. She reduced him to a babbling idiot. So much for the calm and cool point man image. He puts her food down on the counter and unties the apron, hanging it back on the wall then walks over to her sofa to grab his coat. He is about to excuse himself when she grabs his arm.
"Wait!"
He stops in his tracks and watches as she hurries into her bedroom. He hears some rustling and then she's out again, walking over to her coffee table where she places her totem. The low thunk of the chess piece breaks the silence. She looks back at him with a big smile. "This isn't a dream?"
Confused by the question he asks, "Why would it be?"
"Because you were standing in my kitchen, wearing a polka-dotted apron with your plaid tie, cooking for me. That's pretty much every woman's dream."
He chuckles despite his earlier embarrassment. "You dream of guys wearing polka dots and plaid? I hope you have more fashion sense than that."
"Well, usually in my dreams you're—uh, the guy is, uh, wearing…clothes—obviously!—and it's, uh, something…appropriate. Boy, I'm hungry." She ducks her head and quickly walks over to the counter to pick up the plate and a fork, keeping her back to him. "This smells good. What's in here?"
He smiles at her discomfort. He wants to tease her about her slip, but decides to let it go so she can eat. "Goat cheese and tomatoes, that's all you had in your fridge. It was either that or Nutella and crackers. You really need to restock your pantry."
"Hmm, if this tastes as good as it smells, I'll want to see what you can come up with using only the Nutella and crackers."
"You'll be getting Nutella on crackers."
She laughs and walks over to the sofa, curling her legs underneath her, cutting a piece of the omelet and popping it into her mouth. Her eyes widen in surprise. "Mmmm," is her only response before cutting another huge piece and stuffing it into her mouth. He walks back to her kitchen to grab the cup of tea he had steeping, bringing it over and placing it in front of her. He gives her a smirk when he sees her half-empty plate.
"Okay, I was hungrier than I thought," she says before forking in another bite. "Thank you, this is delicious by the way, in case you didn't already know that by the way I'm scarfing it down. Where did you learn how to cook?"
He shrugs before answering. "I know a few simple recipes. And it's not that difficult to follow directions in a cookbook. That's about it."
"Well, you could have fooled me." Finishing off the omelet she gulps down some tea and gets up to put her dishes in the sink.
Arthur gets up to leave. "I should let you get some sleep."
"Are you leaving already?" He can hear the disappointment in her voice.
"You were practically asleep a few minutes ago."
"I'm not that tired now. I think the shower and the food helped. Besides, I owe you for taking care of me today."
"Really Ariadne, it's not necess—."
"Sorry Arthur, I've already made up my mind." She walks up to him and firmly pushes him toward the sofa. "Sit. Relax, this won't hurt." She heads over to her drafting table and picks up a sketchpad and some pencils then takes a seat on the other end of her sofa.
Flipping open her sketchpad she motions to him, "Now, take off your clothes."
"Uh, Ariadne, I—."
She chuckles, "I'm only kidding. I just wanted you to relax. You're sitting there like you really do have a stick up your ass, just like Eames always says you do."
"I'm not sure I'd be any more relaxed if I did take off my clothes."
"But aren't you a bit more relaxed now, knowing that you don't have to?" She raises a questioning brow. "Unless…you want to?"
"I think I'll stay dressed, if you don't mind." Her eyes stray from his face to his clothed form and her teeth bite her bottom lip, almost an unconscious gesture. She lifts her eyes up to his after a few moments then quickly hides behind her sketchpad. He grins, finally leaning back on the sofa, immensely pleased he still has this effect on her.
"So, is sketching a guy naked another dream every woman has or is it just yo—?"
"Arthur, I was just joking!" She doesn't look up from the sketchpad but he sees that her face is still pink.
He laughs. "I'm just teasing. You wanted me to relax, right?"
"Yes, but not at my expense," she mumbles.
Still smiling, Arthur searches for something to keep his mind occupied off of wondering what her other dreams might include and how much nudity they involved.
He eyes her totem. "What's the significance of the bishop?"
She looks up from her drawing. "What?"
He points to her bishop lying on its side on the coffee table. "Why did you pick that chess piece as your totem?"
She shrugs, returning to her sketching. "It's been my favorite chess piece ever since I was a little girl and my dad first taught me to play. I wasn't disciplined enough to play chess properly though. The bishop is considered a minor piece, except if both are still in play, then they dominate by covering the entire chess board. That was my only strategy, to protect the bishops to capture the king. But my dad always tried to outmaneuver me and I'd get upset when he'd tip one over when he captured it. In dreams, I never have to see the bishop tip over. Why did you choose a loaded die?"
He should have known that she would ask about his totem after asking about hers. He's quiet for several moments and Ariadne looks up to search his face. He knows that she's disappointed that he won't share. They had fallen into a comfortable, if slightly awkward, rapport. His silence disrupts that and her demeanor changes back to the cool detachment she developed with him over the last few weeks. She returns to her drawing and says, "Sorry, I didn't mean to get too personal. Just forget it."
They're quiet for a few minutes. Ariadne continues to sketch with a small frown on her face. She never looks up to examine him.
"It reminds me that it's possible to control chance."
She pauses from her drawing to look at him, clearly unsure if she should prod him or wait for elaboration.
Arthur looks past her, out the window behind her back. "My father taught me that we can control almost any outcome through preparation, attention to detail, and ingenuity. If you work hard enough, nothing has to be left to chance or uncertainty. He used a pair of loaded dice as an example of that concept. I use one of his dies as my totem." He clenches his hand in his pocket. "You roll a regular die and you can expect one of six numbers, six different outcomes. The loaded die is engineered to give one outcome I can always rely on. That tells me this world is real."
"Well, now I know why Cobb and Eames say you're one of the best at what you do. You took your dad's lessons to heart. Does he still have the other die?" She gives him an encouraging smile.
"Yeah, he does. It's buried with him." Her smile falters at his admission. He's silent for several moments before he continues. "He was a fireman. He died during what was supposed to be a routine search and rescue. The building he was in…he didn't know that it should have been condemned. The owner was paying off inspectors to have it pass code."
He stops again when Ariadne sets aside her things and slowly moves from her end of the couch to his and reaches for one of his hands. Arthur stares down at their hands but doesn't remove his. Neither one of them says anything. Looking up into her eyes he reads sympathy in them.
"He did help save several families. He just…there was no plan for what to do when the only exit would be blocked after half the building collapsed because of shoddy construction. He died of asphyxiation. "
"Oh, Arthur, I'm so sorry." She places her other hand on top of his.
He stands and starts to withdraw his hand but is stopped by both of hers. He's just recounted a major loss in his life, yet, when he looks into her eyes, it looks like she's afraid of losing something too.
"Arthur, please?"
He sits back down on the sofa, but refuses to look at her until one of her hands brings his gaze to hers. "Arthur, I'm sure your father did everything he could. Sometimes life…life is full of…unknowns and sometimes the unknowns work against you but that doesn't mean that the only outcome is a negative one." When he starts to protest, she quickly cuts him off. "I'm not saying your father's death should have happened, but there are those who were also affected by what happened. That crooked building owner got found out, didn't he? And those families that your father helped saved. He's a hero to them—and to you." He looks directly at her and she continues under his stare. "I'm guessing his…passing helped shape you into the man you've become. Would you be doing what you're doing now if it weren't for him? Would you be the best point man in the business if it weren't for what he taught you? I don't think you carry that die just because you know you'll always roll the same number. I think you carry it because you want to honor your father—that's real to you, and you can always count on that, even when things don't turn out the way you had planned."
He swallows once, not saying anything. Ariadne is quiet as well, her hands still enclosing his. She begins to rub her thumb gently over his knuckles, obviously anxious that she may have offended him. He remains silent.
"Arthur?" His solitary name is a question softly spilling from her lips and he understands what's unasked. She wants to know if she overstepped bounds, if he's angry with her for making him stay and sharing something personal of himself with her. Before today his first instinct would have been to put on his professional mask, walk away and leave—but not this time. She has some kind of control over him and he's helpless to fight it. More troublesome is that he's discovering he doesn't mind.
"How do you do that?"
"Do what?"
Make him drop his guard. Make him want to pull her into him and do more than hold hands. Make him want to tell her everything, things that no one else knows.
The last thought surprises him. There are only a few people in the world who really know him and even fewer who know everything. This urge to disclose everything to her confuses him, but at the same time a fluttering sort of…hope, deep down inside of him starts to take wing—and it makes him smile.
"Make me want to smile."
Ariadne's smile is one of victory when she feels him relax and settle back on the sofa. She picks up her sketchpad and pencils. "You know, maybe it was a good thing that you aren't naked." She tries to hold in her grin at his confusion. "It probably would have made your confession even more difficult than it already was if you were."
Despite himself, he laughs, but quickly reassures her. "It wasn't as difficult as I thought it would be. Telling you, that is."
She smiles softly, unmoving from her now closer position to him on the couch. Ariadne continues with her sketching and they sit in comfortable silence for several minutes as he studies her—eyes roaming over the paper, hand moving across it in swift strokes, and tongue darting in and out between her lips as she concentrates. She never looks up from her drawing to examine him.
"When will I get to see that picture?"
"Soon."
"I hope you can draw portraits as well as you can draw buildings. I'm not going to end up looking like a Picasso, am I?"
"I'm not as good with the human form as I am with a building, but you're not going to look discombobulated, don't worry."
"You're not drawing me in an uncompromising position that you'll blackmail me with later?"
She smiles, not answering him, focused on her task.
"I've noticed that you haven't taken a look at me this whole time."
"You know, you're a lot mouthier than Eames was when I drew him. I wouldn't have thought that possible."
"You drew his picture?"
"Yes, he asked me to."
"Did you ask him to take off his clothes as well?"
Ariadne finally raises her eyes to his. They're shinning with merriment. "I didn't have to, he suggested it himself." She returns to her sketching.
He has several more questions racing through his mind that he's dying to ask, but he's afraid of the answers.
"Okay, I'm done." She quickly gets up from the sofa and walks over to her drafting table to place her pencils back. "Come take a look."
He joins her by the window and she hands him her sketchpad. He stares down at his picture and is surprised. It's a pretty good likeness of him, but it's not of him sitting on her sofa. It's a picture of him from earlier that morning, in the warehouse, leaning back in his chair with a huge smile on his face.
Ariadne's searching his face for a reaction. "I hope you like it. That's the most relaxed I've ever seen you. I had to capture that. Maybe it'll remind you of whatever it was you were thinking about and you'll smile like that again." She takes the pad from his hands and tears the page away, handing it to him.
"It's great. Thank you." He accepts the drawing, not telling her that he doesn't need the drawing to remind him of his thoughts during that moment. He just continues to stare at his likeness. Then another thought occurs to him. "You didn't really need me here to draw this, did you? You did this all from memory."
She's silent for a moment, avoiding his eyes. "Well, no, I didn't need you here to draw this picture." She stares at his tie. "I just…wanted you here…are you mad?"
Arthur knows she's not asking about the drawing. She's managed to close the distance between them, the one he engineered. The point man in him would have called this a failed venture because he didn't succeed in his planned objective. But another part of him, the part that reminds him that he's a man with needs and desires—that part can't bring himself to care about failure. In this case, it isn't the only outcome and certainly not an unwelcomed one.
The fluttering inside intensifies to a steady beat.
He takes a step toward her so that there's only a breath of space between them and takes hold of her chin, much like he did earlier this morning, and brings her eyes to his. His voice is low and a bit hoarse as he says, "No Ariadne, I'm not mad." She places her hand over the wrist holding her chin, staring at him with a shy smile.
Releasing her chin and grabbing her hand he pulls her towards her bedroom. "I think it's time for bed."
Her eyes widen. "Arthur, I—."
He grins. "You need your rest. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Oh." Her face is pink yet again. "Yeah, I'm definitely delirious. I thought we—you're right, I need some sleep." He laughs and she rushes him towards her front door.
"Arthur?" He pauses before opening the door and turns back toward her.
"Yes?"
"Would you like to have lunch tomorrow? Together, that is. During work. I mean, if you want…that is if you're going to eat lunch tomorrow…then maybe we can eat lunch together."
He smiles at her awkwardness but takes several moments to respond. An idea forms in his head. "How about breakfast instead? I'll come by, say around 6:30 in the morning tomorrow?"
It's obvious that she's surprised by his suggestion, but she gives him a smile and replies, "Um, okay."
He smiles back and walks out the door, heading toward the stairs. Pausing at the landing, he turns around and sees Ariadne standing in her doorway. She smiles and he waves back.
When Arthur reaches his car he catches a glimpse of his face in the window. The face reflected back is enjoying failure way too much.
Author's Confessions:
I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'm not sure if I'll post the next chapter up next week because I'd like to post another fic instead, one that I'd like to have posted sometime during Valentine's Day week. It's not a Valentine specific fic, but it is going to be fluffy. :)
I've made a reference to an Emily Dickinson poem in this chapter. Cookies for anyone who can guess which one. ;)
