Capitulation

Disclaimer: I do not own Inception.

Note: Because I refused for this to turn into one of those angst-fests where she has to hide all her sufferings to alleviate his burden. Because that's just annoying.

Chapter Ten

She wakes up screaming.

Ariadne shoves at the weight thrown over her waist, lurching out of bed and only dimly aware of the ache in her shoulder. A shadow moves from the bed. The architect grabs the first thing she sees: a bottle of water from the nightstand, and hurls it. The thing ducks and the bottle hits the opposite wall with a crack.

"Ari! It's okay, Ari, it's me."

Light floods the room, and it takes Ariadne's eyes several seconds to adjust to the change. Arthur stands on the other side of the bed, hands raised. In a cotton t shirt and pyjama bottoms, he is the most dressed down she's ever seen. Chest heaving, Ariadne looks around the room. Hotel room, no mark, no Connor Black...the architect reaches one hand up to her shoulder to collide with a long white bandage.

Fruitlessly, she feels for her totem, but it's only just dawned on her that she's only wearing a dress shirt. A man's dress shirt. Cheeks burning, Ariadne tugs on the hem with one hand. "Where's—"

"Over here," says Arthur, pointing to the floor outside the bathroom door. Forgoing her decency for the moment, she rushes over to the bishop, tipping it on the counter above the fridge. It clunks hitting the granite. Trying to breathe normally, Ariadne pushes her mind to recall the night before. But not much comes.

"What happened?" she half-whispers, turning wide-eyed to face Arthur. The point man's eyes widen in turn, before his face settles into something calm, reassuring.

"What do you remember?"

"Um, I remember you going under with the mark, opening the door to go back to Yusuf's...Connor was there. He—" Ariadne holds her wrists up to her eyes, and then looks down at her legs. The colour drains from her face. "He had a knife. I um, I jumped for the gun..." Her hand finds the bandage again, and her eyes returns to Arthur's, confused. "Did you...?"

The point man nods. The architect folds her arms around herself, feeling painfully exposed. Graciously, Arthur turns around as she lifts the hem of the shirt with a trembling hand. The bruise is dark and painful to the touch. When she looks back up again, Arthur is still turned away. Feeling lightheaded, Ariadne returns to the bed, wrapping herself in the covers. Hearing the movement, he looks back. His eyes are troubled as—very slowly—he moves to sit on the end of the king-sized bed.

"Ariadne," he says quietly. "Did he—"

"No." It comes out nearly a quivering shout. She is unable to meet his eyes for the longest time, before forcing herself to. He has to know this at least. "No, he didn't."

Arthur's shoulders sag as relief colours his features. It's the first time ever that she's seen him be anything less than...calm, composed, unfazed. Even when he smiles there is something reserved about it, something careful. Unnerved by this un-Arthurian display, Ariadne proceeds to pick at the immaculate bedspread.

"Thank you for telling me."

There is a certain resignation that she doesn't understand, mixed in with the intense anger in his eyes. Ariadne chuckles humourlessly. "You would have figured it out eventually. I didn't want to cause you more trouble than it was worth. No need to delay the inevitable, right?"

Arthur's jaw tightens. "I suppose not."

There is a brief pause. "I'm sorry, Arthur," says the architect suddenly. "That was callous of me."

He shakes his head, dismissing it. "It's alright." Standing, he stretches. Ariadne's eyes widen at the smooth expanse of his stomach as his shirt rides up, and the defined muscle she can spot from feet away. "Hungry?"

Feeling a distinct déjà vu, the architect nods, blushing as Arthur catches her staring. His lips quirk, the earlier tension forgotten. "What do you feel like?"

"What time is it?"

"Just after seven."

"Hmm." Ariadne folds her legs underneath herself. "Waffles. And hash browns. Ooh, and bacon."

"Fruit?"

"Fruit would be nice too, yes."

Chuckling, Arthur picks up the hotel room phone. She's not even surprised to hear him order in perfect French, before replacing it in its cradle. "Where are Eames and Yusuf?"

A dark shadow flits across the point man's face unlike anything she's seen before. "They're dealing with Black."

"Dealing?" she echoes, jumping to her feet when he doesn't respond. "What's that supposed to mean? Arthur?"

"It means," he says slowly, the muscle in his jaw twitching; "They are informing him that the job was failed and that he will not be getting his information."

"But you—"

"Yes, I did. We got it out of Michelson. It's actually nothing particularly impressive. No missiles or bubonic plague or anything. Just your standard black market automatic weaponry."

"Standard black market weaponry," she repeats dryly, raising an eyebrow. "There's such a thing?" At his nod, she can't help but roll her eyes. The architect is not looking forward to the day where illegal activity could be rated on a scale of one to ten, and be unfazed by one to four.

"He hurt you." They lock eyes as Arthur answers the question still lingering in her mind. "He therefore forfeited any right to demand anything from this team."

There is a long pause. "Arthur?" She is quiet now.

"Yes?"

It's hard to look at him again. "Thank you. For staying."

The serious intensity of his expression barely dims. "I promised, didn't I?"

Effectively silenced and pink, Ariadne returns her attention to her state of undress. "Think Eames and Yusuf could stop at my apartment?"

Wordlessly, Arthur hands over his phone. Sitting once again on the bed, the architect dials yet another memorized number.

"Why Arthur, if I didn't know better I'd think you have no faith in my rejection abilities."

"I have complete faith in you, Eames. But you might be right about that. But..." Her voice drops into seriousness. "You didn't...do anything to him, did you?"

"And good morning to you, Princess. No, I didn't. Would have been delighted to, but those Blacks just love their security. How is my favourite architect feeling?"

"As good as can be expected," she replies, as Arthur moves to deal with knocking on the door. "Listen, could you and Yusuf stop by my apartment? I need something to wear out of here. I'm not leaving this room in nothing but Arthur's shirt."

"Ah, but you wear it so well, darling."

Her face colours, and Ariadne is glad the topic of conversation is out of the immediate vicinity. "Gee, thanks. But I prefer you know, pants with my shirts that I haven't slept in."

"Fine then." She can practically see his pout. She gives him her address and location of the spare key and tells him to grab the first few things he sees. Hanging up, Ariadne has to make an effort to keep her mouth closed as the scent of breakfast wafts into the room. Arthur's lips twitch at her expression. She eagerly accepts her plate, but is unable to stop the flinch as their fingers brush.

Shamefaced, Ariadne stares down at the food. She can feel his gaze on her.

"Hey." Arthur's voice is gentle. "Look at me."

Tentatively, she raises her eyes to his. The understanding in them makes her gut twist uncomfortably. The point man's gaze is probing. "It's okay. I hardly expect you to be over this in a matter of hours." He smiles very softly, which she only manages to return. Conversation over, they both tuck into breakfast, and for a long time there is nothing but that comforting silence and the memory of a bright Los Angeles afternoon.

.a.

"We need to train you."

"Train me?" Uneasy, Ariadne sits down in the lawn chair on the other side of the bright silver case. Even though the Michelson job is technically over, no one has disappeared. Somewhat afraid to ask why, she doesn't. Arthur nods firmly, handing her the catheter.

"I know you don't want to be in another situation like the one you were in."

Tense but helpless against this logic, the architect inserts the IV into her wrist. Arthur studies her for a long moment. "Do you trust me?"

She nods without hesitating. Seconds later, they're under.

It's a very Matrix-esque dojo. Ariadne can feel the bounce of the material under the floor, as well as in the walls. Which hopefully of course, won't hurt as much as a plaster hotel room. Arthur beckons her to the centre. Projections battle all around them.

"Hit me."

Pausing for a split-second, the architect takes a swing at his face. It of course doesn't land, as Arthur's hand jerks out to grab her wrist in mid-flight. It's the first time they've touched in almost a week. He drops her arm, expression flat. Ariadne can feel her hand curling into a fist, and releases it. She knows he can read the uncertainty in her eyes.

"Again."

She keeps trying, he keeps blocking, and dozens of tries later he is still patient with her. "You're not trying hard enough."

"Yes, I am," she insists, frustrated. Arthur shakes his head. Angered, she swings another fist. He ducks effortlessly, and before she can even gasp her back is to the wall and Arthur's eyes bore into hers. His gun hits the floor with a clatter.

"Did he pin you?" he asks, and it's with a twinge of fear that Ariadne recognizes that darkness in his expression from inside the Champ Elysees hotel room. She squirms, but he's too close and their bodies do nothing but shift together. "Did he expose your neck?" Her scarf flutters to the floor. Panic begins to build inside her chest. In dreams, her skin is perfect once again. In reality there is a thin white scar, only marginally smaller than the original cut.

"Did he make you vulnerable?" With disconcerting speed he's grabbed both of her hands in his and pulled them up above her head. She can't help the whimper that escapes her lips as lashes out, trying to buck him off.

"Go ahead. Scream."

Arthur's grip barely tightens as he leans so close she can feel his breath against the shell of her ear. "Fight back."

With a strangled cry she rips herself from his grip. Her knee flies up to catch him in the stomach, but Arthur expects this. He evades her knee but not her hand as a fist cracks against his temple. Shoving him with everything she's got, Ariadne lurches away, only to have the point man grab her arm and yank her back. Putting all her momentum into it she tackles him around the middle, sending them both crashing into the floor.

Their heads crack together and for a moment all she sees is an explosion of white behind her eyes. He flips them; eyes still dark and hair still perfect. This time her knee does connect, and she takes the opportunity to kick him off with both legs. Spinning around she tries to scramble to her feet, but he grabs her foot and yanks her back to the ground. She kicks out with her free leg, not even looking to see where but only knowing she's connected with some part of him and he lets go.

The gun. It's right there in front of her face, but Arthur kicks it away. He's turned her around again and she lashes out, scratching at his neck. He lurches up, and she scrambles for the gun again. At last she reaches it and whips around, still lying on the floor like some movie spy. Arthur's raised his hands above his head—his nose streaming red—staying still as Ariadne tries to regain normal footing. At last she's standing upright, with him crouching low before her.

Her hands are shaking. Arthur reaches out wraps his hand over hers, steadying her grip. He then pulls the gun forward, placing the end against his chest; against his heart. "Shoot me here," he says, and then pulls it higher; to his forehead. Ariadne squeezes her eyes shut. "I won't get up."

The gun plummets to the ground and the dream crumbles around them.

It takes two tries to get her bishop upright enough to fall over. Eames and Yusuf look over, but she ignores them.

Furious and trembling, Ariadne rips the IV from her arm and jumps to her feet, ignoring Arthur as he calls her name and follows her out. His hand lands on her shoulder— "Ari—"—and his head snaps to the side with the force of her slap. The architect puts her stinging hand to her mouth as Arthur blinks slowly, reaching with one hand to gingerly touch his jaw. Breathing heavily, she tightens her grip on the bishop in her other hand.

"I'm sorry." She doesn't understand how he can still be so damn calm. He looks down at her with those endlessly dark eyes. "I probably deserve that."

"Don't follow me," she gets out, glaring for all that she's worth before spinning back on her heel and storming away.

How could he do that? Ariadne is still fuming as she fumbles with the key to her apartment. Reason tells her that he was just being smart; using her anger and fear to get her to attack, but that sensitive part of her still rails against it. In a few hours Ariadne knows that she'll be able to forgive him, because she knows that he's only trying to keep her safe. Still, it's a bruise to her ego and psyche, so the architect just lets herself grumble in the privacy of her home.

"Hello, Ariadne."

Make that not so private. What is it with this guy? Ariadne drops her keys upon sight of Connor, sitting in her lazy boy like he owns the damn place. "Get out." She doesn't care to know what he's doing here. She just wants him gone. Connor smirks, his fingers steeple together in front of his face.

"Not so fast. I was wondering where you were when your two lackeys came to tell me that they failed in the extraction. With your boyfriend Arthur perhaps?"

"Arthur's not my boyfriend," she snaps automatically. "So we failed. You didn't pay us. Now get out of my apartment."

"But that's just the thing." Connor is on his feet now, his smirk falling into a something cold. "I don't think you failed. I think you lied. Arthur is the best at what he does, and if you've all worked with Dom Cobb, then you're all the best there is too. So there's no reason you should have failed at a simple extraction."

"Well gee," Ariadne bites out, "Maybe you should have thought of that before you decided it would be fun to jump the architect."

His expression grows dangerous. "Tell me what you extracted from David Michelson."

"I didn't extract anything." Her hand reaches into her pocket, but he grabs her arm before she can get to her phone, or totem. "I was too busy dealing with the employer trying to mess up the job he'd given us."

"What did you extract?" Connor demands again, gripping her arm until it starts to hurt. Ariadne just keeps glaring, wrenching her arm from his grip.

"I wouldn't know, even if we did. You should know what it means to have too many people with that knowledge. Arthur isn't stupid."

"Ariadne?"

Both heads turn to the open doorway. Ariadne's elderly neighbour, Mrs. Bloomfield, peers at her anxiously. "Is everything alright dear?"

"Er, everything's fine Mrs. Bloomfield," the architect assures her quickly. She puts a (disgusted) hand on Connor's arm and nearly shoves him out the door. "I don't need new insurance, thanks."

"When you change your mind," he says coolly, "You know where to find me."

"I won't thanks!" she says, her fake smile so wide it's almost painful. He stalks away. Mrs. Bloomfield is still looking at her with wide, concerned eyes.

"Are you sure you're alright, Ariadne?"

"Oh, I'm great." The smile is still plastered onto her face. "Just have a lot of work to do for school. I'll see you later, Mrs. Bloomfield." And with that, she slams the door shut. Her heart hammering, Ariadne grabs her phone. It rings and rings, until she's afraid he's ignoring her call.

"Are you still mad at me?"

"Of course not." Fear is beginning to seize her lungs. "Arthur, we have a big problem."

Author's Note: Okay so not seriously emotional, but I did get a review asking for a less coquettish and damsel-like Ariadne, which sort of threw me for a loop and I had to rework the entire second half of this chapter. If I'm being frank, I was actually going to include the first hardcore Ariadne/Arthur moment, but now it'll have to wait. I think I've found a better place for it amidst Ariadne's headstrong-ness anyway, but apologies.

No, I haven't forgotten the Arthur/Connor thing, (I know some of you are thinking it) it will be explained. Within the next few chapters at least. I'd hate to say it, but as much as I can't see the exact ending to this fic, I know we're nearing the end. Only a handful of chapters left, I think. So I just wanted to take a second to re-thank every single one of you who reads and reviews and even those who don't, because I certainly don't have time to review everything I read, but that certainly doesn't mean I didn't enjoy them all just as much.

Love you guys lots,

Annie