Most of the characters and situations in this story belong to Christopher Nolan, Legendary Pictures, Syncopy, and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. All others belong to me, and if you want to borrow them, you have to ask me first. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.
Many thanks to Cincoflex for the banner, and for telling me where I was going wrong in this chapter!
Production notes for this and other chapters are available on my LiveJournal.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Chapter Ten: Peace
"I'm sorry to impose," Ariadne said again, staring down into the mug of tea she held. "I just - "
"Will you stop it?" Cobb admonished, and when she looked up he was wearing the gentle smile she remembered. "We're glad to have you."
She shrugged, unable to help smiling back. "Yes, well, it was all Professor M to be honest."
It was strange to sit in a room she'd only seen in a Dream; it was familiar, but there were obvious changes as well - different dishes on the table, different toys on the floor. And the man who sat across from her was no longer driven.
"Miles has his own reasons," Cobb - Dom - said quietly. "But they're always good ones. He was right to bring you - and I owe you, Ariadne. We both do."
She ducked her head, feeling her cheeks warming, and remembered Professor M saying the same thing, months ago.
"Twice over, according to Arthur," Dom added, raising his brows at the flinch she couldn't suppress. "Ah. Miles was right, then. What has Arthur done now?"
Ariadne took a gulp of tea, forcing back the hard lump in her throat and unable to care that Dom could apparently see right through her. "Nothing I shouldn't have expected, I guess."
It had been Tomás who'd found her, hiding in an empty lecture room when the hurt and humiliation had boiled over into furious tears; Tomás who had called Maryse, and Maryse who had arrived with tissues and sympathetic cluckings and who had ratted her out to Professor M. And Professor M had bundled her briskly up and taken her home with him; "For the holidays," he'd said, not giving her time to argue.
It was a pity, some part of Ariadne mused dryly, that she couldn't have made all the flights she'd taken this year under one name; the airline miles would have been considerable.
Dom regarded her steadily, sipping from his own mug before speaking. "He's never been an easy man to know. But in all the conversations we've had since the first Cobol job, your name has come up exactly twice. Eames, on the other hand, was pretty much a constant topic."
Ariadne glared down into her tea again. "That doesn't surprise me."
"It surprises me." Dom leaned forward, catching her gaze. "The more something, or someone, matters to Arthur, the less he talks about them. He mentioned he was hiring you for the job, and he told me what you did to make sure it would succeed. That was all. I've never seen him so closemouthed about anyone he's worked with."
If his words were intended to make her feel better, they weren't working. "Maybe." She worked hard to keep her voice from trembling. "But he's made it very clear that none of it matters."
Dom growled exasperatedly and sat back. "Dammit, Arthur." His smile was sad.
Ariadne shrugged again. "It's not my affair. He got his heart broken, so what? If he wants to let that…warp the rest of his life, it's his problem." Her own damaged heart was her problem.
"Well, it was a little more than that," Dom said, setting down his mug and pulling his totem from his pocket. As Ariadne watched, he nudged a cereal bowl aside and spun it in the clear space. "Did he tell you about his fiancée?"
Ariadne blinked. "Not that they were going to be married." It was a small, unpleasant shock.
Dom didn't lift his gaze from the top. "Yes, well. She left him for his twin brother. Eric was the only family he had left, and while they weren't the best of friends then, that pretty much severed the connection."
That made her wince despite herself. For someone like Arthur, who had few human connections and held them deeply when he did, it must have been a double betrayal. To…care, for him, is to lose.
"Yes," Dom said, watching her face now. "It's a risk, a big one. And he's never been too good with risk."
Ariadne let his words sink in, as the top wobbled and finally toppled, spinning out with a tiny clink as it hit the bowl. "Why are you telling me this?" she asked at last. "It's…"
"Not my place to tell you? Maybe not," Dom said, his smile going crooked. "But you deserve to know. Because he doesn't do this lightly, Ariadne. If he's hurt you this badly it means he's hurting pretty bad himself. We've been friends for years, and I have never, not once, seen him more than mildly interested in someone, and it never came to anything. You matter to him." He scooped up the top and put it away. "He may not be able to say yes to you, but it's not for lack of feeling."
Her head ached, exhaustion and jet lag and frustration all combined. "I…I don't know what to think."
"Dom, let the poor child get some sleep." Professor M spoke from the hallway, ambling slowly into the kitchen. "Ariadne, my dear, your case is in the guest room at the end of the hall. We shall not call you for breakfast." He patted her shoulder.
They were all so gracious. Ariadne changed into pajamas in the cozy little room, and brushed her teeth in its bathroom, listening to the high-pitched calls and laughter as the children came in with their grandmother from the backyard. She was curious about them, the kids whose forms she had seen but whose faces had ever been turned away, but Ariadne was too tired to pursue the desire now. The voices hushed under Dom's firm command, and Ariadne lay down on the bed, where late afternoon sun warmed the sheets.
She was asleep before the sun faded, and she did not dream.
x
Ariadne found herself fitting into the routines of Dom's family without much trouble, helping with the dishes and rather bemusedly playing ponies with Philippa upon request. The children were excited about Christmas coming, though James was really too young to understand the concept; as far as Ariadne could tell, they didn't miss their mother at all.
Dom did; that was clear. The peace he'd found in Limbo had not erased his grief, merely made it cleaner; and Ariadne could see that while Professor M had forgiven his son-in-law for Mal's death, Mal's mother had not, not entirely. Still, she obviously doted on the children, and the tensions were kept out of the way - whether because of the presence of a guest, the upcoming holiday, or a desire to not trouble the children, Ariadne didn't know.
Dom didn't bring up the subject of Arthur again, but he did tell a few stories that included him, casually bringing them out in the midst of other conversations. Ariadne drank them in, half against her will, the hurt too raw to seal just yet.
Though hearing the naked-in-a-stadium story from Dom's point of view made her laugh until she cried…
It was a family unlike her own noisy, close-minded clan; people who treated her as an adult and an honored guest rather than a rebellious child. They had seen more of the world than her parents and brothers even knew existed, and weren't shy about sharing their experiences or soliciting her opinion.
It was a strange, unlooked-for peace, and for the moment it was enough.
x
Going to Christmas Eve service with Dom's family reminded Ariadne of her childhood; it was a different denomination and a different congregation, but the hushed rustles and giggles were the same, the candlelight was the same; the pageant had different kids, but it too was the same, a clumsy reenactment made holy by the faith of those who watched and those who recited. Ariadne found herself smiling as James squirmed with excitement on his father's lap, just barely restrained from calling out to his shepherd sister as she knelt beside a manger filled with straw and a swaddled doll. Ariadne had done it herself, long ago, though she'd played Mary instead and the infant Jesus had been the placid, blinking son of one of her cousins.
She sang along with the familiar hymns and listened to the Word, but for all her resolution she couldn't help thinking of Arthur. What was he doing, where was he now? Celebrating Christmas alone? Or ignoring it, and passing yet another night in books and soaring music?
Separate from her own churn of anger and exasperation and longing, it hurt to think of him so solitary. She'd thought he was alone by choice; knowing that those he loved the most had walked away from him made Ariadne a little ashamed of her assumptions. It's not like he said anything, she reminded herself, but what Dom had told her made Arthur's choices more logical. It stung, badly, to know that she wasn't enough for him, but - That's how it is sometimes.
Still, she walked out of the service more melancholy than when she'd entered it, and as Dom drove them all back to his home she wondered dismally if she shouldn't just leave, rather than dragging down the holiday mood. It felt strange to watch as the children hung up their stockings with great ceremony before Frances bustled them off to bed; Ariadne pulled off her coat and gloves and took a seat next to the twinkling Christmas tree, and tried to summon up some polite enthusiasm to get her through the rest of the evening.
Professor M hung up his overcoat and took himself into the kitchen to make buttered rum, waving aside her half-hearted demurral. Dom emerged from his room with one more wrapped box, but before he could put it under the tree the house phone rang.
He answered it, idly thrusting the box under his arm. "Hello?"
Ariadne tried not to pay attention, but the way Dom straightened and looked over at her had her curious. "Yeah," Dom said into the phone, half a smile twisting his lips. "Yeah, he did….No, I didn't, how was I supposed to know that?"
Ariadne frowned at him, puzzled by the intensity of his stare. "Yes, well, she's right here, do you want to - " He blinked. "You seriously expect me to - oh, all right, okay, good grief. Yeah, merry Christmas."
He thumbed the phone off and gave Ariadne a look that she could only term exasperated. "You didn't turn your cell back on yet, did you?"
Her hand went automatically to her pocket; she'd shut the device off for the church service. "No, I forgot."
Dom nodded once, and glanced back over his shoulder towards the kitchen. "Miles, you old baba, you're in trouble," he called, then turned back to Ariadne. "Arthur says to tell you he's at the Stapler if you still want to talk to him. Room 620."
The ice that sluiced over her was breathtaking, but one corner of Ariadne's mind suspected that Dom had translated rather freely from the original. Heat followed on the heels of the cold, and Ariadne found herself on her feet, unable to identify the emotion coursing through her, though she thought there might be some rage in there - or maybe it was fear. She had to try twice to get her voice to work. "Where is it?"
"I'll drive you," Dom said, and set the package down.
Ariadne found her coat again and fastened it with clumsy fingers while Dom went to fetch his keys. Professor M wandered out of the kitchen, mug in hand and a decidedly smug expression on his face. "Well, well, I was beginning to think he'd never get off the mark."
Dom reappeared, shooting his father-in-law a sharp look. "We'll discuss this when I get back," he said. Professor M scoffed, but Ariadne ignored him, already heading for the door.
Neither of them said anything on the short drive to the hotel. On some level Ariadne felt she should be embarrassed, but the tangle of feeling pounding through her allowed no lesser emotion. The traffic was light; when she saw the sign for the Stapler Hotel in the distance, Ariadne turned to Dom. "Stop the car."
He gave her another exasperated look, but obeyed, pulling over to the curb. Ariadne took off her seatbelt, and he frowned. "What are you doing?"
She opened the door. "Walking the rest of the way. I need to think."
Dom started to protest, then sighed. "Do me a favor and turn your phone back on, all right?"
She did so on the spot, holding it up to show him the lit screen before climbing out of the minivan. Before closing the door, she leaned back in. "Dom…thanks."
He laughed, a rueful sound. "Don't kill him, okay? We might need him later."
"No promises," Ariadne said, and pushed the door closed.
She tried to think as she strode along the pavement, but the storm of emotion made it hard, and by the time she reached the hotel she was half-running, cold and hot together, with no idea what she'd find or what she'd say. The desk attendant looked askance as she whisked past him, but he didn't try to stop her, and fortunately for her temper an elevator was waiting.
The sixth-floor hallway was plushly carpeted and utterly neutral. All the doors were shut, and for a moment it felt like Arthur's Dream, walking along and seeing them all blank. But this corridor had an end, and before she reached it she came to 620.
Ariadne knocked, hard enough to be heard despite her gloves. For a long moment nothing happened, and her heart quailed.
Then the bolt clicked, and the door opened. Arthur stood looking down at her, dressed in nothing but an undershirt and boxers, his feet bare and his eyes dark-circled. There was no expression on his face, though the fingers holding the door were white-knuckled.
And in that moment, she knew exactly what to say.
"You idiot," Ariadne snapped.
Arthur reached out one long arm and pulled her inside, letting the door slam behind them. "Yes," he said, and his hands felt like brands on her cold cheeks. His eyes glittered as he bent, and Ariadne grabbed hold of whatever she could reach as his mouth came down on hers, hot and sweet and so electric that it ran out to every cell in her body.
It wasn't rage now, it was triumph, an insane exhilaration that outstripped even the joy of creating a Dream. Arthur's hands stroked roughly through her hair, tugged her closer, and all the while their lips never parted, because learning the taste of him was more important right now than anything else.
Somehow Ariadne managed to work her gloves off and drop them. His nape radiated heat against her chilled fingers, and she almost laughed, because a man so cool should not be warm to the touch. She stretched up on her tiptoes, glad that her boots had at least a little heel to them.
His hands were fisted in her jacket now, and Ariadne pulled away long enough to gulp a breath. "Here - " She fumbled with the zipper, yanking it down, and shrugged the garment impatiently away, not caring when it fell to the floor. Arthur's fingers stroked down her arms, apparently liking the texture of her sweater, but when she kissed him again they tightened convulsively. She leaned into his grip, curving her palms around his hips, feeling his skin just as hot there.
He had a clever mouth, greedy and coaxing by turns, turning her spine to liquid. Ariadne let him take her weight and nipped his bottom lip lightly, wanting to leave some small mark of possession. The sound he made was not quite a groan.
When she slid a hand beneath the hem of his undershirt, Arthur stiffened, lifting his head. Ariadne hesitated, but he didn't release her; his eyes were dark, looking down at her as if in disbelief.
Maybe it is disbelief.
Very deliberately, she placed both palms on the firmness of his abdomen, sliding upward and gathering his shirt on the way, giving him ample opportunity to stop her. But he didn't, and she could feel a faint trembling under her fingers that she didn't think was a chill. When her fingers grazed over his nipple, he sucked in a hard breath and let her go, but only to pull the shirt off over his head.
Ariadne smiled, and leaned in to kiss what her hands had touched. Arthur smelled utterly delicious, cotton and citrus and warm male, but she only got about five seconds to savor it before his fingers under her chin brought their lips together again, hot and slick and drugging. She fumbled for his hands, circled his wrists, brought them up to the buttons on her sweater, and to her relief he worked them open swiftly, starting in the middle and working up, then going back for the last few. It was easy to wriggle out of the sweater, and she reached up for the clasp on her bra, grateful it latched in front, because getting the other kind open always had a faint air of hilarity and she wasn't in the mood.
He was all over her skin, leaving welcome fingerprints, his touch lingering on the curve of her collarbone and then dropping to the admittedly slight slope of her breasts. She wasn't in the mood to apologize for that either, just now, not when the slow slide was making her whimper into his mouth.
He muttered something against her cheekbone, then spread a palm across her belly and repeated it more clearly. "Birth control - Ariadne, I don't have - "
She reached up again, because the feel of his nape was really addictive. "Pill," she said firmly.
His smile was more addictive, but she didn't get a lot of time to think about it. Ariadne wasn't sure which one of them urged the other to the bed, but then the sheets were a flash of cold against her back and Arthur was running his hands down her legs to pull off her boots. He went back for the leggings - Christmas or not, she wasn't wearing pantyhose in this weather - and she couldn't stand it any longer and yanked him down to her.
Linear thought stopped. It was slow-motion lust and a sharp, long-deferred delight, blushing under his hungry gaze when he freed her of skirt and panties as well, and grinning in approval when she finally took off his boxers. Arthur didn't lose control so much as set it aside; overwhelming her with mouth and hands and his voice vibrating against her skin, all of which ached for him. He fit into her body like the answer to a question, and Ariadne cupped his face in her hands as he held her, those narrow suspicious eyes now wide and dazed, and kissed him until there was nothing else in the world.
She'd expected it to be fast, at least this first time, but it wasn't; it was long and slow and achingly sweet. The feel of his muscles bunching under hands, of him sliding in and out of her, of his breath on her neck, wrapped her up in a cocoon of exquisite pleasure, and she lost track of everything but the fact that it was Arthur in her arms at last, in all his stubborn thoroughness, restraint discarded and that deep voice stumbling over the syllables of her name. And when the bliss rose up and drowned her, it was his she cried out, triumph and amazement together.
She clutched him close as he shuddered again and again, and smiled when he did not let her go.
xxxxx
There wasn't much to see outside the hotel window, just a scrap of scrubland and the parking lot below, but Arthur spotted glitter in the air beneath the pole lights, and realized that it was snowing.
He stood looking out at the night, caught in an odd peace. Ariadne slept in the wide bed behind him, curled neatly with her hands tucked beneath her chin and her hair a wild tangle; he'd actually slept too, for hours. It astounded him - he hadn't slept more than three hours at a stretch in years, and yet five at least had passed in deep slumber.
He would have felt guilty about it if Ariadne hadn't fallen asleep first.
Ariadne. It was a stunned murmur now, and Arthur reflected that in his deepest heart - or gear - he'd never really believed that she did want him, even temporarily. Despite her forthrightness.
He still wasn't entirely convinced…but she was still there. And judging from the way she'd curled up around him earlier, she had no intention of leaving just yet.
Arthur let out a silent breath and leaned his forehead against the window, ignoring the chill of the glass against his skin. His totem sat on the table next to the bed, and if he were so fanciful as to believe that inanimate objects had souls, he would have thought it to be mocking him, even though he'd already thrown it twice. He'd never been afraid to roll it before.
But both times it had told him he wasn't in a Dream. He wasn't sure if that frightened him more.
He wasn't sure why he'd made the choice he had, either. But finding Ariadne gone from Paris entirely had crystallized the urgency in his blood, giving him a focus he'd thought impossible. It all might yet come crashing down, but he had to at least try.
The voice speaking sleepily behind him should have startled him, but it didn't. "Are you flashing the neighborhood for a reason?"
The smile felt unexpectedly good. Arthur straightened and twitched the curtain back into place, returning the room to gloom, but a moment later Ariadne switched on one of the bedside lamps, and he turned to regard her. She was sitting up, the sheet pooled around her waist, and her smirk widened as the light revealed the boxers he'd pulled back on. "Oh, darn."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "You're shameless."
"Yep," she agreed. "What are you doing up?"
He looked her over for a long, slow minute, equally shameless, and was delighted on some deeply masculine level to see a flush spread from her cheeks downward, though her stare didn't waver. "You have to ask?"
Her cheeks went from pink to crimson, but she laughed, and Arthur found himself laughing too. With one smooth movement he launched himself back into the bed, sliding up the mattress and kissing whatever stretches of skin he could reach along the way. Ariadne purred and wound herself around him, and he finished with a kiss aimed at her mouth but that ended up on her chin. "Hold…" This time he hit the target. "…still."
Her Nope was a vibration against his lips, and he felt her hands tugging at his waistband. Further discussion was postponed.
Later, when she was stretched over him like a blanket, he looked down at the dark hair under his stroking hand. "Not Sleeping Beauty," he said, and rubbed a strand through his fingers. "More like Snow White, with that skin."
Ariadne sniffed, though her lips turned up in a pleased smile. "Waiting for Prince Charming? No thank you. I had one of those already."
"Boring?" he ventured, smirking, and she laughed.
"No…well, yes, a little. Oh, stop it," she added as his grin widened. "It wasn't his fault; he was just part of the whole small-town thing."
"I'd never have taken you for an urban snob."
"It's not that," Ariadne said thoughtfully, resting her arms across his chest and her chin on her hands. "More like…home was too small for me. I could have stayed - he proposed twice before I left - but I wanted something else. Something bigger."
"And look where it got you," Arthur said, not entirely teasing. "Filthy rich, on the wrong side of the law, and in bed with a professional thief wanted in three countries."
"Three?" she said, yawning. "Archie missed a couple then. Well, I suppose I just think villains are more interesting."
That made him blink. Ariadne peered at him, her expression going a little uncertain. "Not that I think you're really a villain, you know…I mean…"
Arthur laid a finger against her lips. "I know." The idea that she might like him for his differences instead of despite them was an unsettling thought.
Ariadne nipped his finger gently. "Dmph," she said around it, then released him. "Dom told me some things about you. It's probably more than you want me to know, but I'm just saying, I'm not leaving until you tell me to go."
He knew she didn't mean the hotel room. Arthur swallowed, and touched her lip again, fitting his fingertip against that intriguing dip at last; Dom's secret-spilling seemed a small thing next to the satiny texture of her mouth. "Even though I'm an idiot?"
Her grin was very smug. "I'd say you definitely redeemed yourself." She smothered another yawn, and he had to laugh, just a low breath of amusement.
"Go back to sleep," he told her. "I'll wake you when room service opens."
"Mmkay." Ariadne moved to slither off him, but he caught her close.
"No, stay here."
She hummed, eyes sliding shut.
Arthur held her, and let dawn walk up from the east, wanting nothing more, just then, than he already had.