Disclaimer: I have no claim on Inception, lovely thing that it is.
There was a dress in her closet that hadn't been there this morning. Ariadne was absolutely sure of it, because she had actually decided to wear a skirt instead of jeans today, so she'd been inside the closet rather than just digging through drawers. She knew Arthur had picked stuff up from the dry cleaners, so she figured he was either secretly a cross-dresser who had picked today to forget which side of the closet was his, or he'd bought her a dress.
Not that it wasn't an impressive dress. She pulled it out of the closet and considered it. It was a deep purple in a subtle, shimmery fabric. The cut was simple enough, floor-length with a fitted waist, the only ornamentation were jet-black beads around the wide yoke neckline. In fact…Ariadne considered the garment. In fact, it was almost identical to the evening dress she had imagined to wear in a dream about eight months earlier, where the mark was a professional fundraiser who spent a lot of time at $1000-a-plate galas. They'd all gotten to dress up for it (Eames had looked striking in both his tux and as a tall blonde in a slinky red dress), and Ariadne had had fun coming up with something she'd never have the chance to wear in real life. Apparently, Arthur had noticed.
She found him in his office. The space wasn't actually a room, but rather an alcove they had sort of enclosed using freestanding shelves as room dividers. The desk was about the only antique that Ariadne had found that Arthur really loved. It was a dark ebonized wood, all clean lines and angles and reminiscent of something Japanese in design, though the dealer they'd bought it from insisted the provenance was British. The only things hanging on the room's two walls were a striking abstract painting he'd bought at some point in the years before they met and had stored, and the framed drawing she'd made of their totems. There were no knick-knacks cluttering up the shelves or the surface of his desk other than a heavy brass desk lamp and his laptop. The record player she'd found him for Christmas rested on top of one of the shelves with a small stack of records beside it. Some big band collection was playing as he sat and typed away, the cat sprawled on the floor next to him.
She crept up and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, splaying her fingers across his sternum as she leaned in until her mouth was next to his ear. He kept typing without pause. "Arthur," she murmured, "why do you keep buying me things?"
She could feel his cheek shift against hers as he smiled. "Only two things."
"Four suitcases."
"Those count as one."
"Right, of course." She waited until he reached a pause in his typing, then shimmied in between his torso and the desk to plop down on his lap. He leaned back in his chair a little, and wrapped his arms lightly around her waist, an amused expression on his face. "Where in the world did it come from?"
"The dress?"
"No, the Ford Mustang in the bedroom. Yes, the dress."
"My tailor recommended a seamstress."
"Of course he did. And you, what, described the dress from memory?"
He nodded.
"Wow. It must have made some impression in the dream."
"It did."
"And here I thought your smoldering glances were all for Eames." She was possessed with squirms as he unexpectedly launched a tickle attack on her midsection. "Cut that out!"
"Take it back."
"Arthur—" she gasped, then dissolved into laughter again. "Okay! Okay!"
He stopped.
"I concede that you are not sexually attracted to Eames when he is a woman. Or a man!" She gasped out the second part when his hand went for her belly again. "At all! You are not attracted to him at all! You are far too busy being crazy about me."
"Agreed." He withdrew his hands from their tickle-threatening positions and sat back. She fell heavily onto his chest, still laughing.
"That was cruel." He chuckled softly, and it was the laugh she loved best, the kind that ricocheted around his chest and echoed against her ear when it was pressed to his heart.
"So…the dress. It's pretty much exactly what I remember imagining."
"I sketched it pretty quickly after we came out of the dream."
"Did you really?" She pulled back slightly from him so she could see his face. "I would love to see that sketch."
"No."
"Oh, come one. Please?"
"I don't have it anymore, anyway. I gave it to the seamstress. Though I'm pretty sure the only thing she was able to ascertain from it was the dress's length." He looked mildly perturbed by the fact.
She smiled and lightly patted his cheek. "My poor, tortured artist."
He shot her a glance. "Keep that up."
"Ha! Okay, okay, I'm done with the teasing. Honest." She snuggled back into his chest. The chair, which really wasn't designed for more than one person, gave a little creeeak. "I guess you develop a pretty good visual memory as an extractor."
"Pretty much."
"It's really lovely, Arthur. It is. I can't wait to try it on. One thing, though: why in the world do I need an evening gown?" She waited for a response, and when he said nothing, sat up again to look at his face. He was wearing an enigmatic grin. She huffed an exasperated breath. "Is this another mystery month thing?"
He nodded.
"Damn it, Arthur, where are we going?"
"Eventually? Alaska."
She hadn't actually expected an answer, and looked at him askance. "We're going to Alaska, but it's going to take a month, I need $5,000 in new luggage, and a purple evening gown. Are we going to some kind of…royal wedding?"
"In Alaska?"
"Ah, right, I guess not. Damn it, Arthur, where are we going?" She forced the question through clenched teeth.
He stood, displacing her, and strolled towards the kitchen. Crash, roused by Ariadne's raised voice, jumped up and followed him, belly swinging hopefully beneath him. "I told you. Alaska."
Ariadne took a deep breath, and tried to count to ten. She got to four. "That is really not helpful at all, thank you!" She called after him, then plopped back down into his desk chair. She was facing the still-open laptop. She considered it thoughtfully, and scooted the chair forward so she could reach.
"The browser history's empty," he called helpfully from the kitchen.
She sighed, and fell back into the chair. "Of course it is."
Though Arthur stayed mum on the topic of how they were getting there (and why it was going to take a month), he did reveal to Ariadne what awaited them in Alaska.
The military had established dream-sharing as it had been a decade earlier, but had fallen behind in the intervening years, while people like Cobb and Yusuf pushed the limits of what could and could not be accomplished in a dream, how deep one could go, and the correct chemical compounds required to bring a person back from the brink. Arthur, Ariadne, Eames, and Yusuf had been invited to lead a sort of dreaming workshop at Fort Richardson in Anchorage.
Ariadne was responsible for coming up with mazes and levels of varying difficulty and Yusuf would be doing trial runs of various compounds. Arthur and Eames would be playing both instructors and marks, when it came time to show their students what a subconscious putting up a hell of a resistance looked like.
Ariadne got to work on her mazes, and started packing at Arthur's (albeit extremely unenlightening) advice. "Pack for cold weather. Layers. A bathing suit. A few dresses in addition to the purple one. Snow boots. Enough clothes for a month."
"I did figure that part out myself, Arthur."
It kept her busy enough, and though having Arthur back made things more enjoyable, she was still looking forward to a month out of the flat, doing something—anything—else.
April 20th dawned clear and bright. Ariadne was throwing the last of her toiletries in her red vanity case, which had seemed the silliest of her suitcase purchases until she'd actually begun packing it. She'd since fallen completely in love with the clever little thing, and could easily see herself taking it with her on all subsequent trips, no matter how long, just for the simple joy of carrying it around.
Arthur had bundled Crash into his carrier (a largely unnecessary piece of equipment, but useful in case something happened and he needed to be taken to the vet), and was returning from leaving the cat with Mme. Desmarais. Ariadne added her case to the small mountain of others in the entry.
"Was she waiting, fish in hand?"
"Crash will feast like a king."
"Excellent." She stood, arms akimbo, and surveyed the luggage. "So, you're carrying all of this, right, manly man?"
"With one hand, little lady."
Arthur had taken a lesson from their previous taxi experience and thought to request a larger cab, so they were a little more comfortable on this trip. He settled next to her in the back seat, and Ariadne waiting with baited breath to hear where they were going.
"Charles de Gaulle, s'il vous plait."
"The airport?" He nodded. "Curiouser and curiouser."
He smiled at her. "Should I be wearing a hat?"
She smiled back. "You must admit that it is a little rabbit hole-esque from my perspective."
"Just be patient."
"Bah."
At the airport, they boarded a private plane. Ariadne looked around. "This is fancy!"
The interior was decorated in that peculiar style that indicated a great deal of money but no personality at all. A pair of decorative katanas on one cabin wall was the only identifying element.
"We'll have to remember to send Saito a postcard from wherever it is we're going."
"It's only a two hour flight, and he was going to be in Paris for business. I just asked if we could borrow his place for a few hours."
"Oh, is that all?" Ariadne's voice was dry and amused. "So, two hours. That puts us in…London? No, too close. Athens? No, that's closer to three hours. Somewhere in Italy?"
Arthur's expression gave nothing away.
"I'm guessing Milan or Rome. Final answer."
"You'll find out in…" he checked his watch, "and hour and fifty minutes." And then he took out that morning's paper and closed himself off behind it, leaving her to entertain herself for the remaining time.
She sketched various Italian landmarks from memory. After finishing her Tower of Pisa, she considered it, than added a little Ariadne cheerfully tossing a frowning Arthur from its top. It was surprisingly satisfying.
It was Rome. There was a car waiting for them on the tarmac, a luxury to which Ariadne still was not accustomed after three years of being a multi-millionaire. Arthur usually went subtle and understated when he traveled, and Ariadne preferred to follow his example. This trip was going to be full of departures from the norm, it seemed.
The ride was quiet. There was no point in asking questions, so Ariadne chose instead to take in the city from her window. Arthur was doing the same on his side of the car. She glanced at him, and was suddenly filled with a rush of affection for this man, so determined to surprise her and going about it in his careful, Arthur way. She reached out to take his hand where it rested on the gleaming leather seat and linked her fingers with his. He looked up at her.
"I like Rome," she said.
He smiled. "I know."
"Are we staying here?"
"Not today. We'll come back another time."
"Okay."
And then the ride was over, and the driver was solicitously opening her door for her. She stepped out and looked around.
"The port? We're taking a cruise?" She spun to face Arthur as he emerged from the car behind her. "We're taking a trans-Atlantic cruise? That is so cool!"
He laughed. "I thought you might like it."
"Are we going all the way to Alaska on a boat?"
"No, this only takes us to New York. But the trip beyond it will be worth it, I promise."
She wrapped her arms around his waist and laughed. "I believe you. I really, really do." She tilted her head up and drew his face down to hers for a smacking kiss. "Thank you, Arthur. You are the worst kind of secret-keeper, but I forgive you."
"Reconsidering tossing me from the Leaning Tower of Pisa, I hope?"
She grinned. "I'm holding that in reserve."
A porter appeared from somewhere to their left to take their bags. Arthur told him the name of the cabin, which, judging by the porter's reaction, was kind of a big deal. Luggage dispatched, he looked down at Ariadne, still twined around him. "Ready to embark?"
She grinned. "Oh, absolutely. Let's get this adventure started."
a/n: Okay. So it took me a little longer than I said. Admittedly, the beginning was done about an hour after I posted the last chapter, but I decided to get them to the bloody port, at least. Also, I managed to use two of my favourite words, "albeit" and "akimbo" in this chapter, which I find THRILLING, no joke.
Can I just say how thrilled I was at the reviews I got from people who actually looked up the luggage? You all make me SO HAPPY. It makes all of my silly research feel worthwhile. Speaking of silly research, if you are at all interested in what Arthur's desk looks like, I based it on a sideboard designed by E.W. Godwin in the collection of the Victoria & Albert Museum. It's easy enough to find on the website. I doubt he ever made a similar desk, but this is my fantasy world, after all. More fantasy: the trans-Atlantic cruise I decided to put Arthur and Ariadne on disembarks in Ft. Lauderdale, not New York, but it was easier to get them where I wanted them to go from NYC. I have lied to you, my readers. I hope you can forgive me.
For the record, I find guys who buy fancy dresses for girls really, really creepy. Maybe I've seen Vertigo too many times, I don't know. But I needed for Arthur to give Ariadne a fancy dress which it would never occur to her to buy on her own (she's a casual sort of girl, I think), so I cheated and had him copy one she'd designed for herself in a dream. I hope it works as well on paper as it did in my head. Anyway, Ariadne has dress + Arthur isn't creepy = happy Peri.
I am heading back to civilization from my mountain prison this evening, so this may be the last chapter until after the holidays. It depends on how amusing my family decides to be. Then again, I have been promised Inception on DVD for Christmas, so…
Happy Holidays, y'all! Hope you're safe and happy, wherever you are!