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, who likes a good battle as much as I do.
Production notes for this and other chapters are available on my LiveJournal.
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Chapter Eleven: A Merry Chase
On reflection, Ariadne was a little surprised to wake up and find Arthur not only still in the room but still playing pillow for her. It's his room, dummy, where is he going to go crossed her sleepy mind, but she knew very well that nothing would keep him in a place he thought he should leave.
But he was there, a warm hard cushion under her ear - one that rose and fell slowly with his breathing, though by the gentle movement of his thumb back and forth along her shoulder she knew him to be awake.
She was thirsty and she had to pee, but Ariadne didn't want to break the peace just yet. She opened her eyes enough to see the gray light of morning edging the curtains, and closed them again. "Mmm. G'morning."
"Hey there," Arthur said, gently humorous. "You're early."
She smiled against his chest. "I never could sleep in on Christmas morning."
He stiffened slightly, a barely perceptible shift in the muscles beneath her. "Christmas. I…forgot."
"Eh." Ariadne rolled off him so she could stretch luxuriously, ending up on her stomach so she could see him properly. "Not everybody celebrates it, you know."
She knew it wasn't that, but admitting that she knew he had no family to celebrate with would open a fresh can of worms that she really didn't want to deal with just yet.
Arthur, propped up with pillows against the headboard, looked more melancholy than someone who'd had a night of great sex had any right to look; but then he reached out to gently push her hair out of her eyes, and his face softened with a smile. "Do I lose points if I say I didn't bring you anything?"
She grinned at him, wicked. "Trust me. You did."
It was worth any number of awkward moments to see him blush beet-red, and worth even more to win the laugh that followed. "Touché."
"That too." Her grin widened, and Ariadne slid off the bed and stood, to give him a moment to recover. "Can I borrow your shirt?" Normally she wouldn't even bother to ask, but this was Arthur after all.
He cleared his throat. "Sure. I think there's a robe in the bathroom if you want that too."
"'Nks." She scooped up the dress shirt draped over the nearest chair and put it on; it was at least longer than her sweater. "Back in a few minutes."
The hard light of the bathroom made Ariadne feel grubby and messy, but use of the facilities and borrowing Arthur's toothpaste and comb improved her outlook somewhat. She lined the comb up precisely as she'd found it, smiling a little at the evidence of his neatness, and pulled on the thick terry robe that was much too long for her. More comfortable than the shirt, though, she thought, hanging the latter on the hook where she'd found the robe. My butt's not hanging out this way.
When she opened the door, Arthur was just putting down the room's phone. He was now wearing his boxers and a faded UNIDAC Lunar t-shirt, and while part of her mourned the covering up, Ariadne had to admit he looked very good scruffy as well. It was definitely the first time she'd seen him needing a shave, for one thing.
"I went ahead and ordered breakfast." He wore the narrow-eyed gaze that usually meant either disapproval or discomfort; it made Ariadne's heart sink a little, but she placed her bets on the latter and smiled brightly at him.
"Excellent. By the way, how did you know where the heck I was?"
Arthur blinked, his posture loosening, and he gave her a smirk. "It's what I do, Ariadne."
She rolled her eyes, and wandered over to put her arms around him, reasoning that she might as well begin as she meant to go on. "I'm glad you found me," she said to his chest.
His return embrace was stronger than she expected, and the press of his lips against the crown of her head put a lump in her throat. "So am I," he muttered, almost too low for her to make out, and she just squeezed him tighter.
He felt good in her arms, Ariadne realized; tall and tough, and still tense despite the night they'd just passed. She pressed her cheek against his chest, wishing as usual that she was taller, but otherwise content.
Arthur held her almost too tightly, and Ariadne wondered what was going on in his head, though she thought she could guess. It was going to take some doing to convince him that she wasn't going anywhere.
…When did this get so serious? The question made her blink. When had her interest in the enigmatic point man gone from casual to this stubborn intensity?
Later. Arthur sighed, and Ariadne tightened her arms once more before letting go. "I'm starving."
He laughed, hands sliding down to linger briefly at her hips before releasing her. "I'm not surprised."
That made her flush again, and Ariadne scowled at him cheerfully. "You should be too."
"Didn't say I wasn't," he pointed out amiably, and tapped her nose with his forefinger before sliding past her. "Excuse me a minute."
He disappeared into the bathroom, and Ariadne yawned and wandered over to part the curtains and look out. A thick layer of snow whitened the landscape and the few cars parked in the lot, though someone had obviously cleared the asphalt at some point. The sky was a heavy gray, but the air was clear, and Ariadne took in the view for a few minutes, remembering past Christmases. It felt strange, and a little dishonest, to be on the same continent when she'd had no plans to go home for the holiday; she had yet to inform her family that she was no longer poor, and they had assumed that she couldn't afford the trip.
Just tell them it was a design job. It's not like you have to tell them how much you made. And to be honest, they would have no idea what price that kind of job would bring anyway.
But as insular as they were, as much as they had scoffed at her dreams and told her to be practical, she did love them, and lying to them on what would probably be a continual basis made her feel sick. She might be able to explain extraction to them, but they would never approve of her part in it. And with reason.
"We're nothing more than sneak thieves." It was true -
The bathroom door opened, and Ariadne stuffed the thought back down, much more interested in Arthur just then. He had combed his hair, she saw as she turned, but without gel it waved slightly; but as for the rest of him…
"You couldn't stand it, could you?" Ariadne teased, walking over and lifting a hand to his cheek; the skin was smooth again, and slightly damp.
His return smile was wry, but then he bent to place a slow kiss just in front of her ear. "I have plans for you later," he whispered, and she wasn't sure whether it was his breath or his tone that made her shiver. "And there are places where beard burn is a bad thing."
Ariadne's eyes fluttered closed, and despite hunger and her lack of a shower she was seriously tempted to take hold of him and make later become now, but a knock on the door interrupted before she could make up her mind. Arthur's fingers tilted her chin up for another swift kiss, this one on her lips, and then he was striding over to open the door and take delivery on breakfast.
They were halfway through their eggs and toast when Ariadne's cellphone rang. She started at the sound, and Arthur raised his brows and reached back to grab her purse from the chair where it had ended up. Ariadne fished out her phone, and felt her cheeks heating when she saw it was Dom calling.
"I take it you didn't kill him," was his greeting, and Ariadne rolled her eyes.
"Merry Christmas to you too." Across from her, Arthur spread jelly on another slice of toast and watched her with amused eyes; clearly he knew who it was. "No, I didn't."
Dom chuckled. "Glad to hear it. Christmas dinner is at six; should we set two more places?"
Ariadne thought about it, tilted the phone away from her mouth, and cocked a brow at Arthur. "We're invited to dinner."
"Up to you," he said easily, setting down his knife, and Ariadne brought the phone back up.
"We'll be there."
Dom's voice grew fainter - "You owe me ten bucks, Miles - " and then was close again. "Good. I'll drop your bag off at the front desk on the way to church, and we'll see you at six."
She would not blush again, Ariadne told herself resolutely, and kept her tone light. "That would be great, thanks. See you then." She thumbed the off-button and sighed, setting down the phone and reaching for her coffee. "Professor M is never going to let me hear the last of this."
Arthur snickered, and passed her the butter.
xxxxx
It was a strange day. Arthur found himself reacting rather than acting, letting events and Ariadne unfold as they wished; and they did with slow sweetness, from leisurely breakfast to separate showers - the stall was too small to share - to a gentle stroll through the gray-and-white day. He found himself wanting to touch Ariadne nearly all the time, to take her hand or put an arm around her or just brush her hair back behind her ear, as if the simple contact would prove that she was there. She seemed to want the same, however, her gloved hand finding his and linking fingers in a secure grip. When they came abreast of a church, Ariadne asked shyly if he would mind if she went in for a moment.
Arthur didn't know why she thought he might object, and when she freed her hand to leave him, he found himself taking it back and following her inside.
He'd never been religious; no one in his life had offered more than the vaguest gestures in the direction of any faith. Slipping into a back pew with Ariadne, trying to draw no attention from the people engrossed in the ongoing service, was a new experience.
In fact, the whole thing felt surreal, as if he'd wandered onto a movie set - it was stranger, even, than a Dream. Ariadne seemed more or less at home in it, though, opening the bulletin she'd picked up when they'd entered and somehow finding her place.
Arthur didn't bother looking over her shoulder, though he echoed her when she and the congregation stood or sat. She sang, too, her voice high and pleasant and ordinary, and when the congregation began a carol Arthur recognized, he let himself join in, keeping his own voice soft. Ariadne shot him a startled glance when he did, but her sudden smile was dazzling.
He really had no idea how long a Christmas service was supposed to last, but they had been there about forty minutes and were halfway through "Joy to the World" when Ariadne zipped up her jacket and herded him gently towards the door.
"Why are we leaving early?" he asked curiously as they emerged into the cold noon.
"Self-preservation. If we stay to the end, people'll start asking questions and being all friendly." Ariadne's droll tone made him grin.
"Yes, we wouldn't want that." He took her hand again.
HIs hotel room was warm when they reached it, the bed remade and the towels replaced; Housekeeping was efficient, Arthur noted with approval. He hung up his coat and looked over at Ariadne, who had claimed the desk chair to remove her boots. The sight of her bent over them, hair half-obscuring her grimace as she wrestled with a knot, shifted something inside him, slipping it into place. It felt like a release, strange and surprising.
Ariadne set the second boot aside as he moved towards her, and looked up at him, puffing an errant strand of hair out of her face. "Do you want - "
It was so easy to lift her up, her arms so small and strong in his hands. She squeaked, a sound he was rapidly finding as endearing as her giggle, and he captured it with his mouth.
He started it; but she rapidly took control of things, and Arthur was too delighted to argue, finding himself spread out on the bed and Ariadne grinning as she took her time exploring him. It was a new experience, letting someone else make the choices, but Ariadne had a way of sliding past his defenses before he could even formulate a protest, and having those long-fingered hands traveling over his skin was far too distracting. She learned him the way he himself might learn the landscape of a Dream, hunting out secrets and pathways, until he couldn't stand it any longer and dragged her down to him, kissing away her teasing smile and promising silently to return the favor…later.
When he could think again.
x
The drive to Dom's place was short, and neither of them spoke; words didn't seem to be necessary at the moment. Ariadne adjusted the passenger seat so she could lean back and watch the snowy world outside, and Arthur carefully kept himself from watching her as he drove; the road was clear, but he tried to avoid accidents, thank you.
On some level he was aware that his thinking wasn't exactly clear; there were too many endorphins in his system at the moment for him to be purely objective. But as Ariadne's hand stole out to rest against his leg, he couldn't bring himself to care, either.
The pleasurable mist lifted somewhat when they reached the house, however. Arthur blinked as he halted the car. "What the hell?"
The scene was chaotic. Dom was running across his front yard with his son in hot pursuit; Philippa shrieked from behind a low rampart of snow, hurling snowballs with indiscriminate fervor. At the other end of the yard, Frances was throwing them with more selection and a deadly accuracy; as they watched, she hit her son-in-law square on the back of his head, the snowball exploding and Dom letting loose a laughing roar of outrage.
Ariadne started to laugh too, and was out of the car almost before Arthur shut off the engine. He watched bemusedly as she dove behind Philippa's fort and started adding to the chaos.
Arthur didn't move. Staying in the car seemed the safest course of action.
Dom scooped James up and chased Frances down, holding up his son so James could pelt his grandmother from a distance of about a foot. She retreated with exaggerated fear, and James screamed with delight, squirming to be put down. Arthur watched with amusement as James turned traitor the moment his feet hit the ground, joining forces with Frances to chase Dom back towards the center of the yard. Struck from both sides, Dom staggered theatrically, then charged towards the car.
Arthur lowered the window as he approached, grinning at his white-spattered friend. Dom's face was lit with fun under his slightly ridiculous bobbled hat. "Sanctuary," he pleaded, resting gloved hands on the window's edge.
"Forget it." Arthur shook his head at the snow caking Dom's pants and jacket.
"Neatnik." Before Arthur could react, Dom reached in and flicked off the lock, opening the door and grabbing Arthur's arm.
Arthur cursed, shoved, swung at Dom and missed, and did all he could to prevent it, but Dom's grip was too strong, and he found himself hauled out into the the frigid air and dragged into the yard. Cries of triumph rang on all sides, and snowballs flew. Not all of them hit their targets, but Arthur couldn't duck them all.
It wasn't his sort of thing in the least; but the sight of Ariadne helpless with laughter next to a bouncing Philippa was just too much to resist. Arthur bent, gathered snow in his gloves, and pasted his lover's face with a precise shot. He took one second to savor her stunned gape before discarding dignity completely and tackling Dom, intent on stuffing as much snow as possible down the latter's collar.
Dom outweighed him, but Arthur was faster; however, both advantages were quickly made moot when the rest of the combatants descended on the wrestling match with whoops and more snow. In the end, it was a draw - if something closely resembling a puppy pile could even merit the term, Arthur reflected as he fought off Ariadne's attempt to steal his gloves and let Philippa pin his legs. Still, Dom was on the bottom and he wasn't, which was what counted.
It was Miles' voice that ended the fun, cutting through the noise firmly. "Dinner's almost ready, children. Time to get cleaned up." He stood in the doorway, peering out at them with sardonic amusement.
There were groans of disappointment from some participants. Arthur helped Frances to her feet and turned to Ariadne, but she was already up, breathless and snowy, reaching up to brush futilely at his disarray. "You're a mess, I'm afraid," she said, eyes twinkling.
"So are you." Arthur put an arm around her shoulders, turning her towards the house. Ahead of them, Dom had one child beneath each arm and was marching toward the door; Frances was settling her jacket and her dignity. Ariadne was watching Dom, and so it was easy to slip his handful of snow between her scarf and her neck.
Her shriek was enough to make Arthur start running, grateful that his legs were longer than hers. He beat Dom inside, Miles prudently stepping out of the way, but when he glanced back from the safety of the hall, the old man was nowhere to be seen and Dom was wearing a grin. A moment later, Ariadne tumbled inside, equally amused, and closed the door behind her.
"Where's Miles?" Arthur asked, puzzled.
Ariadne strode past him, nose in the air. "Later for you," was all she said, and behind her Dom laughed.
"He's in a clinch with Frances. They always get sentimental this time of year." He set down his kids and started peeling off their jackets.
Oh. Arthur shrugged. Here's hoping they don't freeze.
Dinner was less awkward than he was anticipating, though the food no doubt helped. Miles was an excellent cook when he put his mind to it, and Arthur hoped that Frances had made the pies, because Dom's uselessness in the kitchen was legendary. And though all the adults knew the situation between Arthur and Ariadne, no one commented.
In fact, Arthur reflected over his empty plate, it had been the best Christmas he'd spent in years - if the oddest. Family dinners, if they could be graced with such a term, had ceased upon his parents' deaths; and while he'd been invited to share the holiday when Mal was still alive, he'd always declined.
Now, watching Frances wipe James' face for him and Ariadne smile back over her glass, he wondered if it had been a mistake to turn them down.
After dessert there was a fire in the fireplace, and cognac for the adults, and Philippa's train set to be put together and enjoyed. Arthur claimed one of the recliners and watched as Dom and Ariadne strung track together and argued amiably over the best path for the train; Miles was in the other armchair, glasses sliding down his nose as he read to James from one of the boy's new books. Frances tatted and watched the others, her vieux Parisienne face wearing an expression of contentment that was close to smugness. Philippa hooked the train's cars together on the rug and made choo-choo noises, imagination unimpaired by the lack of a finished track.
Part of him kept waiting for something to interrupt it all, to bring the pleasant ease to an end - an argument, a phone call, an unwelcome visitor. But nothing happened. The train was set in motion, clicking and whistling its way around the track; James fell asleep on his grandfather's lap, and Miles fell asleep holding him; the tree's lights continued to twinkle serenely, tiny flares of color like stars undimmed by atmosphere. When his cognac was gone, Arthur eased himself to his feet and slipped into the kitchen.
He had the dishwasher mostly loaded when Frances spoke behind him. "We usually leave it for tomorrow, you know."
Arthur glanced back at her, dropping a last fork into the silverware basket. "I like cleaning up."
And it was true; disorder bothered him, but he also enjoyed the process of neatening, be it a space or a collection or just something dirtied. Frances lifted her hands in a gesture of resignation, and found him a chef's apron to cover his vest and pants, donning another to tackle the turkey carcass.
After a while Ariadne wandered in, smiling at the sight of him arms' deep in soapy water in the sink, though Arthur couldn't imagine what about the situation amused her. He expected a teasing comment, but she merely fetched a dishtowel and started drying the pots he'd already washed.
They worked together in peaceful silence, punctuated only by the occasional soft curse from Frances. When the dishes were done, Ariadne wiped down the counters while Arthur hung up the apron and rolled down his sleeves; he was more than a little startled when she came over and plucked the links from his fingers to finish fastening his cuffs herself, but he managed to school his expression before she looked up. "Where'd you learn to do that?"
He half-expected her to claim an old boyfriend, but instead she rolled her eyes. "Three brothers, two cousins, and my best friend growing up. I was the only girl allowed in the groom's room at any of the weddings."
And suddenly he could see it, her dry humor diffusing the sweaty tension while she straightened ties and inserted boutonnières, small and female and completely unintimidated by the nervous testosterone surrounding her. "Bridesmaid?"
"Twice. Plus one maid of honor, one usher, and one best woman. Drove my mother up the wall." Her lips twisted wryly. "She's a traditionalist."
Yes, the wife and homemaker, who had raised three blue-collar boys and - judging from what Ariadne had said earlier - had probably expected her daughter to follow in her own footsteps, not ditch her boyfriend and take off for Europe and a high-level career. Arthur wondered suddenly, irreverently, what she would make of him.
And equally suddenly, wondered if he would ever find out.
Frances sighed audibly. "Ariadne, cherie, would you fetch me the big stock pot from the pantry? This will make soup if it will fit."
Ariadne grinned and left him. Arthur tugged his cuffs into place and returned to the living room, only to find that Dom and Philippa had joined the others in slumber, Dom stretched out on his back on the carpet and Philippa snuggled into his side, head pillowed on his stomach. Arthur smirked, and took a photo with his cellphone. It's always good to have blackmail material on hand.
Ariadne came up beside him and made a tiny aww noise. Arthur looked down at her, and doubt suddenly reared up from under his breastbone, and struck. "Are you coming back with me?" he asked softly.
"I'd better, my suitcase is still in your room," Ariadne said, lifting her own phone and wincing slightly at the flash.
The doubt threatened to turn into something darker. Is that it? a small voice asked bitterly in his head. She got what she wanted and now she's going to -
Ariadne glanced up at him. "Do you mind if I stay another night?"
The voice choked off as Arthur recognized the same doubt in her hesitant tone. For answer, he curled a finger beneath her chin, bent, and assured them both.
xxxxx
It was good to wake up slowly, wrapped in blankets, even if the mattress was a bit too soft for her taste. Ariadne let herself drift for a while, eyes closed, knowing that Arthur was not in the bed but nevertheless not alarmed. She could hear the soft shush of pages turning somewhere nearby, and there was coffee in the air.
Contentment was not something she experienced often; there was too much to do, too many goals and challenges she hadn't yet met. But here, in this little space of time, there was nothing demanding her immediate attention - not even that long-unfulfilled yearning.
Not unfulfilled any more. Her grin was entirely internal. While it was rarely wise to extrapolate from just a few examples, so far the chemistry between her and Arthur was living up to its promise; and as a lover, he was both much more experienced, and more attentive to detail, than any she'd had previously. Which didn't surprise her.
It had worried her briefly, the inequity, because for all her assumed confidence Ariadne knew experience was something she was lacking. But Arthur didn't seem to mind. And I learn fast.
"Do you want breakfast before you shower again?" Arthur asked, even though she hadn't moved. Ariadne rolled over and blinked blearily at him; he was sitting at the table with a newspaper and a coffee cup, smiling slightly as he read; wearing a shirt and boxers once more, and looking adorably tousled.
She didn't even bother asking how he'd known she was awake. "Coffee, shower, food." She muffled a yawn with one hand. "Good morning."
This time he looked up, the smile widening into the expression she'd only seen a few times, one that hovered between smug and tender. "Good morning," he answered obediently.
Ariadne smiled back; she couldn't help it. She sat up slowly, smoothing down the sleep shirt she'd pulled from her case the night before. They had both been too tired to do more than curl up together in the bed, or at least she had been and Arthur had given a good imitation thereof; Ariadne knew he didn't sleep much, though she couldn't remember now who had mentioned it, but she also knew the value of simply relaxing in the dark. And falling asleep with her head on his shoulder and his hand covering hers on his abdomen was a bliss she hadn't realized existed.
Arthur was pouring another cup of coffee, so Ariadne climbed out of the bed and came over to the table, scraping her hair back out of her face and feeling a touch of shyness. "Thanks. This feels weird," she said, taking the offered cup and sitting down in the chair opposite Arthur.
"I know," he said, in the same matter-of-fact tone. "But not bad."
She looked across at him, at a casualness most people probably never saw, at the faint smear of newsprint on his thumb and the fresh-shaved skin of his chin, at the way his eyes rested on her with a calmness belied by an underlying wonder.
She wanted to climb into his lap and kiss him, she wanted to cuddle him like she might a baby, but instead she just smiled again, curling her toes into the carpet and savoring the fleeting moment. "No, not bad."
x
They spent the day in various small tasks, mostly shopping; there were a few things that simply weren't available in France, and Ariadne took advantage of the unexpected time. Arthur accompanied her to the mall, but his errand list was shorter, and when he was through he gave her a discreet kiss and went to meet Dom. Ariadne grinned and waved him off, and continued to shop in peace.
The two men picked her up for dinner. Dom's favorite restaurant was actually a pub, possessed of dark booths and a staff that appreciated privacy, and the three of them ate enormous sandwiches and truly superior onion rings, and talked about Dreaming in general and extraction in particular. It was good to see Dom again, Ariadne acknowledged to herself, especially now that she wasn't distracted. It was he, after all, who had gotten her interested in Dreaming in the first place.
At one point Arthur excused himself to make a phone call, and Dom looked at Ariadne across the table, a small smile on his lips. She ate another onion ring, and waited.
"I'm glad you worked things out," Dom said at last, propping his elbow on the table and his head against his fist.
Ariadne shook her head. "Thanks for the advice."
He made a little negating motion with his free hand. "He looks…a lot better than he did."
The praise embarrassed her. Ariadne shrugged. "Sl - rest will do that."
"You two will be very good for each other, I think." Dom shifted to reach for the pickle end waiting on his plate. "What are your plans when you get back to Paris?"
"I still have class after the break," she replied. "After that…I don't know."
"There will be other jobs," Dom pointed out around his mouthful.
It was true; and yet, Ariadne realized, her enthusiasm for the next challenge had faded. It wasn't the death she'd died in the Dream - at least mostly; it was the quandary lurking beneath the entire setup, still nagging at her. Theft. Invasion of privacy… "Yeah. Do you remember when we first started talking about this stuff?"
Dom blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Other applications for Dream tech." Ariadne wiped her fingers on her napkin and made air quotes. "The ones that aren't 'strictly legal'."
"Oh." He sat back. "They aren't as lucrative as extraction."
It was her turn to lean her elbows on the table. "Tell me about them."
xxxxx
The flights back to Paris were long, and crowded; even first class was full, and due to their last-minute ticket purchases they couldn't even sit together. Ariadne divided the flight times between sketching and sleeping; Arthur read, mostly, judging from the times she passed him on her way to the lavatory, though they could exchange no more than a smile. When they landed at last she was cranky and hungry, and wanted her own flat so much she could almost taste it.
Arthur told the taxi to wait and walked her up the narrow stairs, insisting on carrying her suitcase and then leaning a shoulder against the wall as she unlocked the door. "Why don't you have a bigger place by now?" he asked curiously.
"I hate moving." Ariadne pushed the door open and looked up at him. "You know, I don't even have your address."
"That's because I don't have one." Arthur gestured, and she preceded him into the tiny hallway, trying to process his statement.
"You mean you don't have a home in Paris?" she asked, taking the case from him and setting it down next to her coat tree.
"I mean I don't have one anywhere." His gaze down at her was faintly amused, but the statement sent a pang through Ariadne; it spoke of a loneliness more profound than she could easily grasp. She blinked up at him, propping her hands on her hips.
"Nowhere? You just live in hotels?"
"That's right." Arthur folded his arms, still looking amused. "Lots of people do, you know."
Ariadne shook her head once, and bit off her gloves so she could yank a key from the ring still in her hand. "Here." She held it out, and slapped it into the palm he extended hesitantly. "When you get tired of that, you can come here."
It was a ridiculous offer, and they both knew it; her flat was scarcely big enough for her, let alone two, and he'd never even been inside it before. But Arthur didn't laugh; instead, he folded his fingers slowly around the key, then cupped her face in his other hand and kissed her, hard and slow.
A promise, if ever she'd felt one.
"I'll see you later," he said, before she could recover words, and was gone.
And she didn't doubt him.
x
He was there the next afternoon when she got home from class, sitting cross-legged on her bed and reading her copy of Gödel, Escher, Bach, and the sight made her just stand in the hallway and smile. When he looked up, pleasure gleaming out from behind his reserve, Ariadne dropped her bag, took off her coat, and stepped out of her shoes, and without a word climbed into the bed next to him - right next to him, as there wasn't much room. Arthur put an arm around her and started reading aloud, and Ariadne rested her head on his shoulder and listened to that marvelous voice.
