Ariadne sees Arthur, Liz, and Sam off that evening after taking them out for proper pub food, mushy peas with their fish and chips. She reaches over, giving everyone hugs before they board, and keeping Arthur alone for a second longer. He knows that she feels better for their talk. He knows that she thinks they fixed things and that they can return to everything like before. He can tell from the growing comfort with which she talks to him, hugs him even. He doesn't try to ruin it at all for her.

He knows better.

"How'd it go?" Liz asks from across the small divide sitting on the train. Sam begins to fall asleep on her shoulder.

Arthur turned to Ariadne, sitting on the steps of St. Paul's. He sighed, heavily. "If you want it out, I left conning because, you inspired me to do it." He waited a moment to see what she'd say, and when she didn't, he continued. "I wanted to see if I could do it myself."

She appeared to be considering this. "And could you?"

He feels himself smile bashfully at this admittance. "I realized that I never really tried."

Ariadne nodded along, knowingly, and Arthur felt that this was the wrong thing to say at the wrong moment.

"But," he said, grabbing her hand, almost for reassurance but mainly just for the strong bit of contact. "That's not your fault. It's mine for leaving you."

She didn't retract, which he took as a good sign. "Arthur, I left you."

"And I didn't come with you." He reached over and pulled her closer to him. "That was my mistake from the beginning."

Arthur's looking out the window of his seat, facing his own reflection in the darkness. "We're still friends," he informs his sister.

He can see Liz's pulled expression in the reflection amidst the dotted train station lights. "Just friends?" she asks, and he can feel that she's doing her best not to say anything else.

"She doesn't want anything more," Arthur says simply, knowing that Liz would accept it and leave him alone.

On the cathedral steps, he pulled Ariadne towards him, his lips finding hers again and again and again, until he felt her pull away slightly. His name was a warning whisper, and he took a smug satisfaction that she hadn't opened her eyes yet. "Arthur."

"Yes?"

"I don't—"

It was immediate, this feeling. He retracted back, disallowing himself to hear any more. "I'm sorry."

She leveled a look at him, her large brown eyes watched him and made him think otherwise. "Arthur, I realized this past year, that I have to learn to be without you."

Arthur didn't reply.

"I had to come to terms that you didn't need me too."

Arthur felt his expectation plummet. He rushed forward in a haphazard manner, "That's exactly what I'm telling you now—"

"I'm really happy for you, Arthur," she interrupted. "I want you to figure out your own happiness too, but I just think that we're better off as friends."

Arthur pulled his hands away, quickly, regrettably. "Friends?" he repeated. The word used to mean the world to him, when he had her as this stable figure to return to.

She sighed. "Yes."

Arthur had a hollow smile on his face as he looked out the rest of the London block. "You're kidding yourself, if you think that's all we are," he said.

Ariadne appeared to register this, and Arthur regretted his bitter words as he saw the transformation of her hurt face into a brave one, how quickly that determination looked to him. "I honestly don't think so."

He remembered what she had said, about having to bear it before, about realizing that she loved him long ago, and about how she came to terms with her feelings being unreturned. He witnessed this transformation all along, encouraged her with his lack of admission. He left her too often, grew too comfortable in having her there when he came back. Compared to his life of flights, tome zone changes, endless hours of recon, and extraction, he found her stasis a comfort. The idea of returning to her in Paris was the same satisfaction of coming home from a long day and collapsing onto his couch. The one they bought together.

His first sign that she wasn't always there for him was Tom. Granted, he was the one who mistakenly brought them together, but if Arthur was honest, he didn't think of Ariadne's progression without him. Sure, Arthur wanted her to find something to make her happy, and yes, he knew she had a day-to-day life while he spent days, years, in a dream, but he just assumed that they would be there for one another at the end of the day.

He knew he was attracted to her early on. It grew into respect and friendship, which grew into this want, this gut feeling that he couldn't let her go on without being in her life. He credited Eames for dragging him back into hers.

It became love without his knowledge, to the point that he hadn't realized that that was what he was doing for so long. There wasn't a look or a word from her that made him think it. He assumed it with a quiet, calculated eagerness he assumed everything, shouldering it, watching it, and suspecting it.

Her relationship with Tom made him realize that she was more than just someone to wait for him. He thought it best to let her go, but Dom said something to him before he left about it not being a question of if but when.

In listening to her, Arthur began to realize that he had missed his opportunity at when long ago. He distrusted himself each time she gave him the opportunity: the key, the date, the twelve-hour relationship. Moments when he should've said but held back. And for what? Because he was responsible Arthur? Because he had a slight fear of where it would end up?

He couldn't quantify or research this. He could probably predict a good amount of probable outcomes, but he couldn't figure out what he wanted in time. He couldn't trust himself when it came to something like this.

To himself, he admitted that he loved her this entire time, and he went against his better instincts and let her go.

Sitting on the steps, Arthur stood up, patting his thighs in a way to signal the end of this conversation. "All right," he said, getting up and lending a hand to her. "Friends. Only—" He pulled her towards him again, his hands along her waist and his forehead dangerously close to hers. "—do you think I could persuade you?" His manner was half joking, half calculating, and he studied her uneasiness in the wavering focus of her eyes.

Ariadne's breath was coming out in small hitches, and Arthur ran his fingers along her waist, feeling her startle at every single movement.

She took a moment to disengage herself, but she nodded firmly as she led the way down the stairs, a tight, forced smile on her face. Arthur couldn't help but feel that that wasn't a proper answer.

"Just friends." Liz says, thoughtfully across from him. "And how do you feel about this?"

He pushed Ariadne away, when all she wanted was him in the first place. The night of their twelve-hour relationship, he told her it wasn't a good idea for it to go further, and he saw her brave a face as she agreed. He thought he could wait for when.

Arthur doesn't hesitate when he turns to his sister sitting across from him. "Great,"he said, prompting himself to feel it. "Just great."

"Ariadne," Rebecca scoffs on the phone as Ariadne sits in the wooden seats in the emptying King's Cross Station. Arthur's train left hours ago, and yet here she sits, her phone at her ear, her short legs stretched out, and her neck arched all the way back to look up into the rafters of the station. She admires the industrial quality of it. "Honestly, Ariadne. I don't know what to do with you. He said everything right this time."

"No. He said everything too late," Ariadne corrects. "I'm not going to fix his life for him."

"But he wants you to be there when he does."

For the first time since she watched them leave, Ariadne begins to regret her resolution. She sits up in her seat, questioning herself, calming herself down as Rebecca's insistence grates on her raw nerves. Sitting with Arthur's family for food, pretending that everything was okay, was enough.

Ariadne rolls her eyes. "It's not what I heard and it's not what I feel. I've already been disappointed by him too many times," she insists harshly. "I don't want to count on him like that, so why should I expect him to count on me?"

There's a pause that makes her feel extremely silly as she waits for Rebecca to reply. Safe in the life of freshly wedded bliss, she feels that Rebecca can say these things. She looks to the past, rather than looking to the future, which Ariadne feels more concerned with.

Her friend doesn't say anything for a few moments until, "If you think that this is the best place for both of you, then I'm happy for both of you."

Ariadne leans forward, holding her mobile close to her ear. "Thank you. That means a lot."

"But I reserve all rights to tell you, I told you so, when it comes to it," her friends says with a smile Ariadne can hear over the line.

Ariadne lightens at this. "Oh Rebecca," she says with a sigh, "always the optimist."

As they sat on the rocks and as the light rain still pelted down under the sunny sky, Ariadne spoke about Limbo, what she saw of Mal and how Dom stayed to get Saito. Arthur merely shook his head and Ariadne demanded to know what that was for.

"Of course this was going to get botched up," he said tiredly. "Cobb kept throwing wrenches into the plan, from Mal, to the plan, to you. It wasn't going to be a clean job. But, you, you ended up where I was trying to save you from." The way he said it, as if it was unperceivable for her to go there and back again without a scratch on her.

"I didn't lose myself," she pointed out rather defensively.

"No, no you didn't." He turned to look at her, his eyes softening and a slight quirking of his mouth implied a smile. "I'm glad you didn't."

Arthur goes back to work once Liz and Sam leave, busy writing, and frantically finding connections he used to have when he was legitimate. Thankfully, a few are still there, and thankfully, a few remember him and are willing to help.

He mentioned this to Liz when he hugged her before the security gate. "Really?" she asked, ears perked for yet another scheme to butt into. "And where are you thinking of going to, dear?"

Arthur shrugs, holding his cards close to his chest. He touches the die in his pocket out of habit. "Wherever they'll have me," he replied suavely, and Liz had the audacity to ruffle his combed back hair as a retort.

"They'll take you anywhere you want," she said, hugging him hard, his arm behind him swiping the stray strands down. "Just make sure we know your phone number."

Arthur reads through an e-mail from an old favorite professor at Columbia. He's near retirement but has connections, advice, and also an invitation to see him whenever Arthur's back in the states. Arthur reads the message again, a little smugly. He remembers settling down to write the initial message in the first place back in Cobb's kitchen, Philippa sitting next to him as he did it.

The correspondence has been pretty relaxed, joking about old times and trying to catch up on news, and Arthur finds himself at least a step in the right direction, and thinks that at least it's a step away from where he is now.

Saito stopped calling. He expected the businessman to come back, needing him, but Saito doesn't, committing to this challenge, unintentionally, egging him on. He feels that this is a better way too.

So he writes, asking for advice, looking up work, talking to Cobb. He flounders some nights on his own, and thinks about simply retiring somewhere entirely. Then he inevitably gives up on that idea, because he realizes that that really isn't his style. He needs more of a purpose than just retirement. Cobb has his children. Miles has his classes. Saito has his empire. Arthur wants to feel that similar passion and sense of worth in something. He at least feels comfort in these e-mails, small as they are to balm this pressure in his head.

He doesn't call Ariadne to tell her about it. He doesn't really explain it fully to Liz either. He wants to keep this seed to himself, if only to watch it grow a little more, until he can properly claim it to others.

Arthur woke up, stressed. The last he saw of Dominic Cobb was the unshakeable version he left in the water, and despite Ariadne's calm assurances and stark belief in him, Arthur couldn't bring himself to be as positive.

He's heard about extractors before who delved too deeply, who lost their minds. Mal's concept of the totem helped somewhat in this case, but Arthur himself began to feel the confusion of realities. He touched his die as he thought of this. Cobb's been at it longer and through more layers. Arthur couldn't imagine keeping sanity stable for that long.

But a part of him, understood Cobb the man and Cobb the dreamer. Arthur had hope.

Subtly, Arthur loosened his grip on his armrests and gave a subtle look behind him towards Eames. The rogue looked a little worried, shooting a glance to his left, guiding Arthur to Ariadne's seat.

Her eyes were locked onto Dom, who was still sleeping.

It doesn't take long for things to fall back into how they were, despite their talk, despite the so-called air being cleared, weeks go by without them talking, and the weeks begin to accumulate into months. But it's almost a mutual silence this time, an agreed upon armistice.

She sends him a text, wishing him well over the holidays and he replies with a pithy "you too," but that's about it. She spends her holidays in London, Sybil invites her to a few parties, and Ariadne makes the rounds, even getting a number or two from a guy. She doesn't call them, despite being flattered.

She doesn't want to keep ties when she's leaving in two months.

She got the news, finishing up the flight of stairs to her flat. She picks it up, the phone in the crook of her ear as she listens. "Ms. Inman?" a quip voice asks. She verifies her identity. "We're so pleased to offer you the transfer position. Of course there will be a lot of small things to go over…"

She wonders if she should have told Arthur. She wanted them to be back being friends. She missed how they were before, but she started to understand him better. He wanted more or nothing it seemed, and Ariadne couldn't bring herself to it. She put herself out there before, always questioning if that was the right thing from the key, the date, the twelve-hour relationship. She never felt any encouragement from him, until now, when he began to question his own status. She felt like a consolation prize, so the latter it had to be then.

She has weeks to prepare the move this time around, rather than the rushed job she had before London, and maybe because of it, she feels better, more secure in this departure, and leaving Arthur, further and without his notice finalizes it.

While packing the rest of her flat, Ariadne will look at her phone, she'll scroll through the contacts wondering how she should breach everything, but the longer she takes, the harder it is for her to even try, until it eventually seems pointless.

They're friends, though. She left it on good terms. She takes comfort in that.

Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose as he reads another e-mail. He lacks quite a few things. His references are a little dated for someone his age. He doesn't have any current contacts, nor does he have any current accomplishments that are strictly legal to boast of.

His former idealism feels tarnished after weeks of nothing to show for it.

Illegality can't be all that he's good for. He's a good worker, he knows. He's extremely detail oriented and on point. He gained a fine reputation in the con world, one that has insured a relaxing retirement in the future.

So he has time, he tells himself. Money isn't an issue at all.

Just boredom.

And Arthur is nothing if not thinking. He's nothing if not action.

"I'm going to ask Arthur to join me."

"He'll never go for it."

She ignores Eames' raised eyebrows in her direction as she grabs a wooden stirrer and a pack of sugar for her coffee at the edge of the counter. "What makes you say that darling?" he asks patiently at her elbow. She riles up at his careful question, reading into his tone. With a little more force than necessary, she hands him the creamer canteen, and the fact that he doesn't point this out or joke about it pushes her further.

Ariadne forces a shrug. "He's been living in Paris. He's settled down. I doubt he'd want to go back now," she replies, leading out of the coffee shop.

She holds the door for Eames and waits for him to meet her on the sidewalk. "You see, that's where I think you're wrong," he continues cheerfully, gesturing with his coffee container. "Our dear Arthur isn't made for domesticity or whatever it is Saito has him as a kept man."

"He's not a kept man," she insists, drinking through the sip top.

"He's not a traveling man," Eames argues with a sly look at her.

She lowers her cup down to consider him. "Are we going into a song? I honestly can't tell."

Eames continues without any acknowledgement. "Thing is, Ariadne. I think we both know that it's a waste for Arthur to just stay in Paris. He's good, too good, and I've had a couple of sweet jobs come my way because they want him on the case."

Ariadne begrudgingly accepts this explanation. "Okay Doctor Watson," she says with a roll of her eyes, a feeling of guilt and regret mingling in her stomach. "So they only want the packaged deal if Sherlock's with you?"

"Why am I Watson?" Eames asks. "I'm at least English."

Ariadne gleefully sips her drink, her eyes joking as she looks at him through the side of her eyes.

"But in all seriousness, dear," Eames says in a clipped fashion, "I wanted to tell you before I asked him."

Ariadne keeps her face blank as she feels her friend's eyes on her. The stomach emotions start to travel further, almost as if they're interested in her reaction too. "Why do you need to tell me anything?" she says, conscious of those emotions eavesdropping on her. "I'm not his keeper."

She sees how Eames remains delightfully tightlipped over the entire speech but says nothing. He takes a sip from his own coffee instead. "It's agreed then," he says, leading her down the block. "I'll call Arthur." His eyes linger on her again, and Ariadne

"Great," she comments a little surly. "Great talk."

Eames' eyes twinkle. "Like me to relay any messages?"

Ariadne considers this, before mirroring a similar tightlipped smile to her friend. "None whatsoever, Geoffrey."

Later that evening she mulls over it.

So this was it, essentially. A new number, a new country, and no new way to continue to contact him, and she can lose him completely. Sure she could try Miles or Cobb or even Eames, but they were all moving on. A part of her knows that her pride wouldn't be able to be so bold as ask anyway.

Her pride wouldn't let herself admit that to Eames today.

No one said anything to each other when Cobb woke up. Arthur felt his friend's eyes on him immediately, and he let an inward sigh of relief as Dominic Cobb grew conscious. He even laughed slightly for the panic he built in his head.

Arthur's mind whirled with the possibility of—he almost didn't allow himself to believe it, but Arthur was always pragmatic and covering all situations, good and bad, were part of his nature. He knew that if anything happened, he would be the one to tell Miles and Marie. He knew that he would be there for Pippa and James. He also knew that if his friend did wake up, he was going to slug him the first chance he got for putting him through this hell.

No one looked at each other when they got up to deplane. Arthur followed Ariadne out into the open airport. He felt exhausted but triumphant.

The weeks have gone by with not much success. Despite the offers of help from those willing, Arthur understands their small bit of reticence. No one's heard from him in years. He can't tell them what he's been doing either.

He reads the e-mails through, chats on the phone with his old professor. The old man thinks college would be worth another shot.

Worth a shot.

Arthur thinks about where that last shot got him.

"Arthur, to what do I owe the pleasure?" the Englishman asks with his usual jocular nature that tended to grate Arthur's nerves.

He hasn't heard from Eames in months actually, and this isn't peculiar, because they aren't the best of friends. They've worked together often, certainly, and despite the apparent disregard between the two men, Arthur understands Eames' loyalty. He's known the forger long enough to know that Eames' versed in helping a man out, even if it does mean Eames will gain something in return. They've passed jobs onto one another with almost begrudging respect before, and Arthur does have a sense of trust when it comes to him.

"I was just about to contact you actually," Eames continues, cutting into his thoughts.

"Eames," Arthur says with a heavy sigh as he leans forward onto his elbows in his seat. "I want a favor."

"Another coincidence," Eames says, and Arthur can hear the smile over the line. "I need one as well."

Ariadne looks around at her flat at the cardboard boxes she made and at the folded up cardboard boxes she will have to make. Everything's a mess, and she can only hope that this is the last time she does this. Back and forth. Forth and back. Is she insane to even commit a move again? She's done it before, but that was with Arthur's guidance, but even then, she had more of a hand in the plans. Here she trusted her new living arrangements to the new company, and even then, she had no idea what that would have in store for her.

She'd be back home, she realized. That wasn't something she thought she'd see soon since she left. She thought this move would be the move for her, when in reality it was only a phase.

She thinks about Arthur. Eames remained silent over how his request went over, and rightfully so. She acted petulant, when she knew that Eames was trying to help, but she was over it. She knew she was.

She was coming to terms with the idea that they were sincerely done with one another. The mild efforts to even stay in one another's lives was just plain dead, and she started to understand that this important person in her life was really gone now. And he was gone because he wanted to be.

Despite his insistence that he was fine with their friendship, despite the apparent acceptance of her refusal for his advances, she felt the heartbreak all over again, a reminder that she was unwanted.

The renovations she and Sybil headed were almost done, everything in place and on schedule according to a schedule with extra days for unplanned events, which there were.

Sybil's extremely happy and proud of her move, hugging her to death when Ariadne tells her of the position, which Ariadne can't even come to consider. "That sounds amazing," Sybil enthused, holding Ariadne at arms length. "You've talked about going back before, this would be it."

"Yeah," Ariadne agreed a little more numbly. "It would be, but it would be different, since everything that has happened."

Sybil waved this off. "You'll be fine. It'll be home. Plus, they got the right person for the job."

Ariadne looked doubtful. "Let's hope so," she answered, looking over at her desk.

"Oh, Ariadne," Sybill said, and Ariadne's eyebrows rose. "I wanted to thank you for introducing me to your friend Tom. He's pretty amazing."

Ariadne rolled her eyes at this, remembering how she brought Tom to that party with Eames and the blueprints. She had a feeling that the two would hit it off. "He has his moments," she allowed. She looked back at the folders spread out over her desk. "Do you think everything will be ready for the opening?" she asked, and Sybil went back to business, talking over schedules and details and calls, and Ariadne felt herself exhale.

In her apartment on a weekend night, Ariadne settles amidst her cardboard house of stacked boxes. With a little more resolution, she weaves around the pile of already packed boxes and stoops to pick up the collapsed cardboard on the ground. One by one she props them up in a line for her to tape together.

And one bye one she adds her new address on the front with black felt tipped marker.

It'll be weird being back in the States. Back home.

Ariadne didn't turn around as she stepped away from Arthur at the departures board, letting go of their handshake.

Further and further, steps away from him, the job, and the dream, she remembered being impatient to see the after effects of it all. Just to see if it came out smoothly. She started to regret her impatience with it all.

She wasn't sure when she'd see any of these men again, because in reality, they wouldn't come together at all in the first place. They were one of those bar jokes where a con man, a grad student, a businessman, etc. walk into a bar. When she let go of Arthur's hand, realizing that she was inevitably saying good-bye to a friend who had been there for her since day one, she felt almost ashamed at her hurry.

Because, it just hit her that these amazing people weren't the type to have an online contact or to be open for free communication when she just felt like talking.

Least of all, the man she held hands with just now.

Walking away, she flexed her hand, balling it up as if to physically contain it, remembering the sensation of contact.

Arthur looks around at his empty apartment. The packed boxes. The clean floor. The couch.

He did debate whether he should keep this place. For nostalgia if anything, but he decides against it. He wants a fresh beginning that he's made himself. Keeping this place that he never necessarily made himself seems wrong. He wants to do it on his own this time.

On his desk are papers, folders, and a few books. On his laptop screen are the marks Eames briefed him on. He has a lot to catch up on, he knows, but he also has the time and the mind for calculation to accomplish this. He taps lightly on the waiting books he needs to start reading later. He figures he can save those for the flight over and still have enough time to give Eames the information and contacts he would need first.

He tells Cobb of his plans, and Cobb is enthusiastic over it all, handing over connections, telling him advice, and offering any help he can to these ideas.

In a tentative way, Cobb even brings up Ariadne once, asking about her or if Arthur ever heard from her recently.

"No," Arthur admits a little reluctantly. He never told Cobb about the visit to London, and Cobb doesn't linger on the subject either. He congratulates Arthur on getting back to work, and Arthur can't help but feel comfortable in Cobb's profound interest and support.

Eames propped himself on Arthur's desk and looked down at the point man busily typing away on his laptop. "Arthur, mate," he began, and Arthur held his fingers poised over the keys, not even bothering to look at the forger as he spoke. "I've promised Ariadne that we would see her for lunch."

At her name, Arthur looked up at him. "What are you talking about Mr. Eames?"

Eames shrugged. "I've promised her lunch. Well, dinner and a few meals that I've missed, but I promised I would stick to this one," he explained. "But apparently I missed out on the past shareholder meeting I needed to sit in on. Daly was there, so boss isn't too happy with my—"

Arthur shook his head and went back to typing. "You had one job, Mr. Eames."

"It's Paris," Eames replied in a what-can-you-do manner. "I'm not allowed to enjoy the city?"

"Once you get your homework done," Arthur replied noncommittally.

"Who does homework in Paris?"

Arthur didn't miss a beat as replies in a flat, bored tone, "Parisian school children, people of the Sorbonne, Madeleine…"

Eames smiled. "I do believe you just made a joke, darling."

Arthur stopped everything he was doing and looked up at him, almost as if the lighthearted moment hadn't just happened. "What is it you need from me, Mr. Eames?"

Eames looked slightly uncomfortable as he scratched his chin, his mouth twisted slightly with chagrin. "Thing is, I called Ariadne when we arrived, and I've skipped out on all of the meals I promised to meet with her—"

Arthur felt impatient. "So you want me to…"

"She'll be waiting for me. We talked about a place near the Seine." Eames went on to describe the streets. "I told her I'd take you with me."

"Because you knew you'd flake out on her?" he asked dubiously.

"To make up for the past," he offered lamely. "You remember her, Arthur. You can't forget a girl who folded Paris in half."

"We weren't there, Mr. Eames. Besides," he went on, turning back to his computer. "If she wanted me there, she would've just asked."

He felt Eames' eyes on him as he went back to typing. "You don't always need a dammed filigree invitation mate," Eames said in wonder. "Sometimes, you should make the call yourself."

And Arthur didn't look up at this scathing remark, but he heard Eames scoff. "It's Ariadne," he said, getting up, off the desk. "She wouldn't care anyway. She'd want to see us."

Ariadne. The girl who folded Paris in half. The girl he tricked a kiss out of. That was months ago. Odd how they found their way back to her city.

The rule was no contact from any of them for a few months at least—Eames and Arthur excluded themselves because of their professional experience, of course—if only to be on the safe side for this particular experience, but even so it seemed almost just a natural way of life. The job was done. Successful too. There was no need for anything more.

And yet, when Cobb called him about Ariadne shortly after the Fischer job, Arthur felt himself jump on this thread of contact.

"She wants to keep going," Cobb said a little wearily.

"You said she would," Arthur pointed out.

"Yeah, but I figured the experience alone would be enough." Arthur thought back to the months of reconnaissance, the time spent within close proximity of one another. Leaning over blue prints. Walking away from the warehouse to discuss logistics. "She ended up in Limbo," Cobb continued. "She saw the uglier side of shared dreaming. She shouldn't want to go back."

Arthur realized that he followed the wrong line of thinking and brought himself quickly up to Cobb's. "You forget she's a creator, like you," he pointed out.

There was an unspoken acknowledgement to that as Cobb paused. "I've stopped talking to her," he said suddenly. "It's for her own good, shutting her off. I don't want her to make the same mistakes as me."

"You're only making it worst, making her crave it more," Arthur replied.

Cobb was again silent for a few moments, before he sighed into the phone. "I forget that you and her were close."

He saw his laced-up leather oxfords, felt his hands in his pockets, heard her voice talking about home, back when they worked together. He shook his head to escape the memory. "Yeah," he said casually, as if he forgot himself.

"So what do you suggest I do?"

Arthur saw Ariadne roll her eyes at Eames' overt compliments early on in their working together. He saw her ease Saito into conversation just by sitting next to him during lunch. He saw her approach Yusuf with tamed eagerness as she asked questions about what he did back in Mombasa. "Wait for her," Arthur suggested. "Offer to talk about it after she's finished at the college, at least by then, some sense will come to her."

"And what if she doesn't agree?"

Arthur saw her in the warehouse, watching Cobb through the sides of her eyes. He noticed her questions over the extractor's history. "She'll agree," Arthur said.

He heard his old friend exhale, imagined him pinching the gap between his eyebrows. "You better be right about this, Arthur."

"I am."

Arthur looked up from his desk to see that Eames was eight feet away, closer to the door. Arthur stopped, his conscience heavy as his fingers stopped tapping. "Fine, Mr. Eames." He saw Eames stopped, barely looking at him over his shoulder. "I'll be there."

"So you're not going to say anything?" Liz asks. "Just get up and go and not say anything?"

Arthur smiles, scoffs, then tries to speak again, before failing miserably. "Look, Liz, I don't think that this has anything to do with—you yourself questioned whether I should even say anything to her—"

"Arthur, I just met the girl. I didn't know a lot about what was going on, and, yes, while she was upset at you and really, really resolved to just leave it there, I can't help but think that this is just—"

"It's really okay, Liz. We figured it all out between us. I'm not going to push myself onto someone, when all she wants is friendship."

"But not even tell her? From what I understand, she was tired of waiting for you to settle and you're going off again?"

"I changed jobs, Liz. I moved to a city. I bought a couch. What more did she need to ask me to stay?"

"That's the thing, Arthur," she said, her voice calmer than her previous heightened tone. "You were supposed to ask her to too. It's admirable that you want what's best for her, but sometimes, you're so stupidly selfless, that you can't see that that's all she wanted."

Ariadne stands a little impatiently outside the pub, pacing in an effort to not look suspicious or pathetic as Eames is thirty minutes late. She's actually pretty used to this. The Englishman is notorious for his impetuousness, which she calls untimely, though he has gotten better as of late, maybe because he actually respects her or maybe because he enjoys her witty repartee or maybe because he likes her dinner choices so far.

Yeah, it's probably that.

Ariadne leans against the brick front, away from the standing smokers, and looks at her mobile again for the time. He usually calls with a good reason, and Ariadne allows herself to feel charmed by his words and settles into the bar to wait patiently, sipping cocktails until he arrives. But this is different.

For one, it's damp. The air is moist and unforgiving to her hair as she stands there, her breath coming out in small puffs. It just rained, and Ariadne hopes that it's done for the night, seeing as she's still stuck outside waiting for him.

Secondly, it's their good-bye dinner. Eames is off to the Philippines in the next day and she will be gone in two weeks. They made these plans a week ago to ensure that it would actually happen, and she's made sure to remind him often.

Ariadne rests her head against the brick wall and stares up in exasperation, puffing her breath to flounce some of her hair form her face. He would do this to her. Eames, despite his best intentions, has a tendency to do this to her, because if there was one thing she learned from Arthur, it was the unreliability of these conmen. She couldn't count on them for anything.

Not in friendship. Not in relationship. Not in dinner plans.

Perhaps, she should get different friends. Perhaps she should just leave. Perhaps she should stop feeling sorry for herself.

Ariadne scoffs at her line of thinking and straightens up, looking warily down one side of the sidewalk, then the other, before she decides to open her mobile. She scrolls through the contacts a little miffed, finding the proper name before opening a blank message, acting quickly to let her emotions act out before sense kicks in.

I'm leaving England in two weeks. I'm sorry we didn't get to see one another. I'm sorry we didn't get to say good-bye. I'm also sorry that I'm telling you this in text message, but I know you're leaving soon too. Eames told me.

Ariadne does a quick survey for grammatical errors before sending it off. She leans back onto the wall, mind and heart racing against one another, hardly looking back at what she just did. She picks up her mobile again, holding it close to her ear and taking out her anger by squeezing it to death. She dials.

"Eames," she says, exasperated. "You better come around. Sure it's charming and you make everything better with your accent, but you better be sick or dying or kidnapped because—"

"Ariadne?"

And she swivels on her ankle to face him, that voice already known to her. "Arthur?" She still holds her mobile in her hands. She grimaces. "We're talking later," she says, before shutting it off.

She hesitates only slightly, looking at her phone, then him, before she reaches over and hugs him on the shining wet sidewalk. Behind her, she was vaguely aware of the slush of water as cars drove by. "What are you doing here?" she asks, taking a step back.

Arthur shrugs. "Visiting? The mushy peas really have a draw."

And Ariadne takes a step towards him without thinking and throws her arms over his shoulder. "You're terrible," she says, pressing herself to him as if time and self-consciousness wasn't an issue.

"I like to think of myself as charming," he says, relishing the feel of her arms around his neck. He rests his arms around her back and squeezes her tightly, taking in the cold, fresh smell of her.

"Yeah, well you're also late," she says into his shoulder, burying her face into his shoulder.

"Eames," he says by way of explanation.

"Eames," she accepts on tiptoes, arms wound around him, not letting go.

In the pub, they sit and talk, it's almost like old times, except that they aren't in Paris, Arthur didn't just drop by, and Ariadne isn't worrying about life. It's odd how she can put everything on the back burner. Be happy for him. Be happy for herself, when she's spent so much time worrying over it.

It's easy and she begins to hanker for this discussion, despite it actually happening at the moment. He knows her well, she remembers, even despite the separation or maybe because of it.

Unintentionally, she remembers the good times. She remembers him passing out on her bed after walking through Paris, his Italian lace ups kicked off in a very unlike Arthur fashion. His eyes sleepily closed as she laid right next him, on her back, looking over her shoulder at him. He was on his stomach, hugging one of her best pillows, his voice starting to dwindle in zeal as the sun reached through her windows lazily.

She watched him close his eyes and attempt to keep them open, and she laughed at his stubborn insistence that he was just "thinking with his eyes close."

"Really?" she asked. "Then what was I saying?"

Arthur tried to open his eyes again. "You said," he began, mustering up weak confidence, but then he ultimately gave up, apologizing lamely. He closed his eyes again, and Ariadne waited to see if he decided to prove her wrong.

In the pub, across the small, sturdy wooden table, she's smiling.

He stops, apparently mid-sentence. "What?"

She attempts to clear her face of expression, but she can feel that she's failing. "What?" she repeats, yet another futile attempt to hide her expression.

"You're looking at me like you're going to murder me," he says, taking a sip of water.

Ariadne attempts to frown. This too fails miserably. As if to distract herself, she reaches for her glass as well. "No I'm not. I'm smiling at you like it's good to see you."

Arthur keeps his glass poised at his lips. "Was your smile always this—"

She places hers back down. "Alluring?" she suggests with a slight purr. "Yes. I do believe it was."

"Jarring?" he decides, sipping his glass.

Ariadne rolls her eyes and looks chagrinned. This is easy. This talk is an easy give and take, lighthearted in the forced fact that they are each purposefully sidestepping away from anything that might lead down a more substantial path. The good stuff really.

It is a battle of wits because both of them are trying to show how completely "over" it he or she really is. Ariadne, stubborn and self-admittedly so, realizes what she's doing, but she doesn't want to lose this, and the fact that she sees it this way undercuts everything she felt so sure of before.

She thought she could do this. She comforted herself with the fact that this was all done, but she feels that tumbling sensation in her gut, laughing at her. She smiles, slightly less sweetly than before. "I'm going to pretend that you spent the first ten minutes of our reunion, complimenting me."

Across from her, Arthur appears less uncertain and easier in this give and take. It unnerves her further. "You can, but what good will that do you?"

"For my memory bank." She points at her temple with a hard nudge. "I'll have it that way as a fond memory."

Arthur laughs, which startles her slightly. "We can always extract the truth from you, if it comes to it."

"Yeah, or we can incept the idea that it really did happen that way, but that's just a waste of your time and resources."

Arthur shakes his head slightly. "Nah, it would be like a training exercise, especially since I haven't done it in over." He stops to count. "Two years? Has it really been that long since I stopped extracting?"

Ariadne nods, carefully aware of this tread of conversation. "Do you miss it?" she asks, peeking at him.

Arthur looks thoughtful but hardly hesitates when he replies with a wave of his head side to side as it to debate it physically. "Yes and no."

"What's the yes?" she prompts.

"I miss being able to influence my surroundings, to live a rush, to be able to take apart a plan and react immediately to the situation."

"And the no?" she braves to ask.

Arthur doesn't hesitate when he answers. "I don't miss being no one, having to keep moving, not being able to have anything substantial or sedentary."

Ariadne shifts in her seat. "I wouldn't miss that either."

They're silent for a moment as she considers his answer. "I don't miss being no one." The statement has a hollow echo, suggesting nights of consideration, suggesting times without her. She doesn't say anything at first, wondering at what Arthur exactly expected this meeting to be. He wanted this. He was the one who used Eames to suggest dinner here. She didn't have time to mentally over think this entire episode. She didn't have time to find something suitable to wear. Her hair was frizzy thanks to the outside. And this is the fifth time she's worn these jeans, because everything else she has is packed.

But here they were, and she couldn't hide the smile always coming to surface at her lips. He made a step, more than a text or an e-mail or even a flyaway phone call. She can understand why her heart's starting to work against her resolve. She can feel her anxiety and her condemnation war with each other, and she doesn't like the uncertainty of all of this.

"Arthur," Ariadne starts, a little heedlessly. "I want to apologize—"

Arthur's face slightly falls at this unpromising beginning. "Ariadne." His voice is placating and she jumps to her defense, her conscience telling her to not let this go out easy.

"No really!" she starts, then stops at Arthur's darkening features. It's not angry, per se, but she can see his features school themselves into a properly blank state. It's like watching a garage door slide closed after you saw your neighbor's really nice car. You wonder why they don't drive that thing around more often.

"Ariadne," he says, stopping her. "I didn't come here to dwell on the past. It's already done."

"I know but—"

"I know that you wouldn't say things, unless you thought about it. And I respect that. But I didn't come here to focus on that. It's already done. I just came here because I missed my friend and wanted mushy peas."

Ariadne debates whether to start over again and then decides against it. She smiles. "You never ordered any."

"Really?"

"So it's really just because you missed me," she says lightly, watching him carefully for his response.

Arthur looks around, shrugs, and meets her eyes, conceding the point entirely. "Yeah. Yeah it is."

The attraction to her was undeniable. Her smiles. Her stories. Her manner. She was infectious, influencing him all over again in a way that he couldn't admit to. He wondered at Eames' lack of initiative to see her again as they walked down a street in search of a place to eat.

Then again, he wondered at his own.

"It's the city of lights," she pointed out for the umpteenth time again, this time cheekily gesturing towards a lamp store.

"I've already succeeded the point," he said, mock-exasperated as they passed yet another full café of enticing smells. "Can you please just pick a place to eat already?"

"You're very grumpy," she said.

"I'm very hungry," he insisted.

"We're almost there." She lead him down a cobblestoned side street. "What happens in dreams when you're hungry?" she asked carelessly, perhaps to distract him. "I mean, when Yusuf drank too much champagne, it rained—"

"Earthquakes."

She turned to him, wide-eyed. "Really?"

"Murder too," he added as an afterthought. At her stunned expression, he continued without hesitation. "When you're that hungry, you're ready to kill yourself to get back to some real food."

He looked at her to judge her reaction. Her face broke into a smile. "We're almost there."

"We better be."

A/N: Big news, kids! I moved to New York, which explains this post being posted later than intended. I'm back on track now, and I will post the next chapter this week. Also, big thanks to Laura-x, Nina.4444, PrincessVamp, and FudgeFanatic for their kind reviews for Chapter 9. If you're wondering, there's one chapter left and an epilogue I'm toying with. Thank you everyone who followed or favorited too!

As always, thanks for reading!