Chapter 12

A year ago . . .

The fading sunlight filtered through the blinds while Ariadne was lying on the bed in her hotel room, her knees bent as she stared at the chain dangling from her hands. The diamond on the ring looped within the chain glinted and turned on its own, ever revolving.

There were days when she wouldn't think about it, when she would let life consume her and she would keep busy enough that the chain around her neck never registered. But those days were rare and few, and she would look back at it with guilt, rather than progress.

Was it progress if she forgot? Was that getting over it?

A part of her hated the idea of leaving something behind. Those days when she would feel fine, she took as a sign that that part of her life was definitely over, that it would be harder to get back to that point of being happy.

Should she still want that life if Arthur clearly didn't?

She debated that. She felt responsible for his leaving. Hell, she knew it was her. Their last argument, the one before he left, created a tension between them that she knew required more than just leaving to clear up. It needed a long, overdue talk, one that she and Arthur had been sidestepping around. She knew he didn't want it, avoided it because he approached solutions on his own, but she needed to clear the air.

She was suffocating in her own guilt, because she was starting to think that she didn't love him anymore. His inability to talk about the stifling desire to dream more was eating at her, and the more she would even entertain the thought that she maybe, possibly didn't love him anymore, her stronger urge came out. The one that screamed, no, no, no. And she would feel awful all over again. She'd clam up if only to stop herself.

Going behind Arthur's back with Yusuf was a terrible idea. She thought that maybe she could have her cake and eat it too, but it looked deceitful. Okay, it was deceitful, and Arthur didn't deserve it. He deserved her full attention, because he was wonderful, caring, enthralling, and he loved her.

She just couldn't suffocate anymore. But what was there left? Stay with him and just cope on her own? Leave him and break her own heart and his?

She didn't need to make that decision, apparently, because Arthur chose for them both.

"Ariadne."

Ariadne looked up at the Forger who just came into her hotel room. She dropped her hand with the silver chain, hoping that he didn't see. Of course he did, though.

"You're still holding onto that?" Eames asked, quietly, approaching her.

And Ariadne wasn't going to play denial. She sat up as the Forger sat on the edge of her bed. "Yes." A simple response that signaled how easily she accepted her new lot in life.

She waited patiently for the Forger's lecture. She waited for him to tell her that she didn't need the Point Man, because while the Forger knew Arthur longer, had strong ties to him, he didn't waste any time in telling her that she was fine without him. Not that Eames was quick to slay the Point Man. The worst he said was a slight against him for leaving her, but other than that he kept mum, supporting and encouraging her when she felt like saying things. Because being kidnapped, forced to work, and broken up with the love of your life in the past four months is a lot to handle on your own. "Do you want to find him?" Eames asked.

She didn't expect that answer. Eames was part of the "your better off without him" school of comfort, and he hardly brought up the subject himself, waiting until she braved up a topic. But all at once, Ariadne appreciated his friendship even more. The fact that he even suggested it was comforting.

Ariadne looped her fingers around the silver band, remembering his proposal and how her heart swelled up at his sudden bout of sentimentality. She shook her head, unable to say it outright at first.

"We can, you know," Eames went on. His eyes soft and patient. "It's a small community and with the right connections—"

As if that tempting thought never occurred to her before. She had the resources and connections now. Finding him, despite his propensity to stay under, deep under, the radar, she knew she had the skill set to find him now, if she wanted. She also had the skill set to stay hidden herself, though.

"Eames," she pleaded.

And she suspected that the Forger saw her face break at it. The temptation was always there to find him, she knew. She made enough connections already to inquire, but she also knew that she was living a life he would disapprove of. One he never wanted to see her in. What would she say then when he asked her how she got into this?

"Charlie."

Ariadne looked up, still mulling over Arthur's dejected tone as she made her way back into the room. Her hand still on the knob as she pushed it shut behind her. The floorboards creaked as she carefully made her way to Micah. She wasn't sure what her face was doing, but she attempted a smile at him, which he returned reassuringly.

She sat down on the floor across from him, and Micah, picking up on the weight of this probably, sat up. "You're with him, aren't you?"

Ariadne had this rueful smile on her face and shrugged. She wasn't very surprised. "That is an extremely loaded statement, Micah." The fact that he even inquired made her shrug. He wasn't dumb, she knew. Micah Roebuch had a mind of his own, and with how she and Arthur were acting, Micah would have to be daft not to notice that subtle bit of comfort they took in one another.

Even more surprising, Micah Roebuch didn't get angry and he didn't fly at her like she thought he would. He attempted to sit up casually, as if his hand wasn't chained to a dirty bathroom sink. "What's your real name?" he asked as if this was the perfect setting to break social niceties.

Ariadne leaned forward, elbows on her knees, considering him with her head tilted. "I'm really sorry, Micah."

Micah didn't seem to care either way. He had this noncommittal way about him as he looked towards the window. "I should've figured that you were with him."

She laughed. "Why?"

Micah flashed her a look that was overtly rakish, inciting genuine laughter from both of them. He wiped his face clean of it with his hand as their laughter died down. "Sorry," he went on. "But gorgeous girl who is insanely interested in me?"

She looked at the ceiling. "I wouldn't go that far." She laughed at Micah's compliment and shoved it away.

Micah looked at her, and Ariadne remained tightlipped but smiling.

She leaned over the floor and stuck her hand out. "Ariadne."

He grabbed it. "Micah." They shook and she leaned back, her arms stuck behind her as if she was going to crab walk.

"You're actually wrong about me and—" Ariadne tossed her shoulders behind her.

"Excuse me if I don't believe you, Ariadne," he replied. She saw him stop slightly on her name, unused to it as he was.

"Understandable. But I can assure you that we're not together."

Micah's eyebrows shot up at that. "Bad break-up?"

"Bad lots of things," Ariadne admitted.

It was odd being this open with the mark. It placed them in extreme danger, but she figured with time moving so much faster anyway, she'd just see where this led.

Outside the bathroom, Arthur heard laughter. He wasn't sure what he was expecting when she walked through that door unattended. Their rouse, he knew, was probably up, and surprisingly, he didn't really care that much right now.

As with anything in dealing with her, Arthur didn't know what to do. She had a maddening way of making what he knew disoriented. Disorienting, but thrilling was what he accepted when he first met her. Hell, she had a way of looking at things that was downright straightforward, barreling towards goals and ideas with passion and conviction that simply took Arthur away. He used to get swept in it, wanting to join her and just see where they'd end up.

This was where they were, however.

Arthur pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed for Trevor, shooting a look over his shoulder at the bathroom door. He decided to drag a nearby chair over and under the doorknob as the dial tone went off.

The phone stopped and there was a break to let him know Trevor answered. "Trevor."

"Arthur."

"Eames?"

"Ariadne and Micah," the English man finished lightly. "Now that we've run down our cast list, to where did you take my partner?"

"Eames, Where's Trevor?"

"He's the one who knocked me out," Eames insisted. "I'm only lucky he dropped his mobile, so that we can have this lovely chat right now."

"He escaped?"

"He's not as complying as you are, darling," Eames trilled. "Now where are you?"

"Where are you?" the Point Man posed back.

"I'm making my way to the city. The last I saw of Trevor, he was headed to this way." Arthur knew that the route from Roebuch's mansion was kept the same to get to the city, so Micah could come back from the party without being the wiser. He only assumed that Eames knew that part of the layout already, having, apparently, studied Micah just as much as himself. "Let me talk to Ariadne."

Arthur looked at the bathroom door with the chair propped against the doorknob. "That will be impossible, I'm afraid."

He felt Eames tense at these words. He marveled at the note of concern that immediately took over the easy-going Englishman's voice. "What have you done to her, Arthur?"

Arthur was offended. "She's fine. I locked her up with Micah—"

"You mean you can't see her?" Eames asked, and the shift in tone took Arthur unaware.

"I kidnapped her," he fixed.

"Yes," Eames allowed calmly, almost as if he were speaking to a five-year-old Arthur. "But you can't see her right now, right?"

Arthur looked at the well worn bathroom door with the chair propped against the knob and didn't say anything, answering Eames' question. The Forger laughed.

"At least tell me where you are, and I'll help you find her," he was saying, but Arthur wasn't paying attention. He was taking careful steps towards the bathroom door, one ear listening for the careful noises from within.

"I'm almost in the city," Eames was saying. "Which way?"

He moved the chair, scraping it against the floor with no heed that it was a warning to the captives inside.

"Arthur?"

Arthur held the phone aloft and opened the door slightly before swinging it open. And just as he expected, it was empty.

"Arthur?"

Arthur stood in front of the bathroom window. It was pried open somehow. He never intended this window to be able to open, but then again, Ariadne was relaxed enough to change her circumstances in the dream. When he leaned out the window, he saw that there was also a fire escape that wasn't there to the original plan of this building. "She's not here."

Eames had the audacity to laugh. "I told you she wouldn't be."

"She took Micah."

"Well, yes," Eames agreed as if this was obvious, "that's part of the job. She needs him."

"We were working together," Arthur insisted, turning away from the raw daylight now streaming into the bathroom.

"Didn't you just tell me that you kidnapped her?" Eames pointed out.

"It was part of the plan," Arthur faltered. "You were supposed to take care of Trevor."

"Well, we both have something in common then, don't we?" Eames suggested.

"And what's that Mr. Eames?"

"Both of us just failed at our jobs," the Englishman answered with a relish.

And Arthur hated the Englishman even more.

It wasn't uncommon for Arthur and Eames to go years without seeing one another, and if Arthur was honest, he really didn't mind it. And while they both came to a respectful understanding of one another because of the inception job, they weren't each other's first contacts when in need. They just knew of one another, and that was that.

The last Arthur had heard of Eames, he was somewhere in Eastern Europe promoting himself in barely humble ways that he was part of inception. For once, smartly, the Forger cut ties with the rest of them following the inception job, and Arthur understood that Cobb and Yusuf were the only two members of the team, besides himself, that Ariadne had spoken to.

When he realized that Ariadne had left Paris, he found Yusuf easily in Mombasa, showing up at the man's dream lab with a scowl to the Chemist's attempt at pleasantries.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" the nervous Chemist asked, sitting at his desk among amber jars and containers.

Arthur stood erect, summoning all of his calm into one business demeanor as he told him about Ariadne missing.

Yusuf looked surprised, then uncertain.

"I told you to stay away from her," Arthur said, his voice heavy with warning.

"I have! I haven't heard from her," Yusuf insisted. "The last time I spoke to her was maybe a year ago. It was also the last time I spoke to you too." He said this with a meaningful look at the Point Man. Arthur had taken it upon himself to make Yusuf disappear, to Ariadne anyways, changing his contact information from phone number, online accounts, even his wifi and identification in certain databases. The Chemist underwent it like a form of punishment, knowing that he overstepped his bounds when he called Ariadne.

But even so, he wasn't one to just take it. "She's a grown woman, Arthur."

"She's impulsive."

"She can handle herself."

Arthur shook his head, his teeth baring in a semblance of a smile, but which appeared more like a wince. "I know she can," he said, his eyes meeting the Chemist's. "But she is just like Cobb. The dream world has a lure on her. She sees it just as provocative and encapsulating as Cobb and his wife did, and it destroyed them."

"Cobb's back with his children," Yusuf pointed out weakly.

"But he not the same as before," Arthur insisted. "Not the same Cobb I remember, who created and was passionate and didn't walk around like he had to always look over his shoulder. Cobb's impulsiveness cost him the woman he loved. I want to save Ariadne from that. Can you understand?" And as the Point Man's eyes met the Chemist's over the desk, the Chemist gave a stiff nod, saying he understood.

Months later, Arthur heard about Ariadne taking on a job with some firm. She moved out of Paris for good. She was living the life he wanted for her without him.

"Technically," Eames said as Arthur navigated the city streets, careful to avoid the populated main thoroughfare because of the growing hostility. Once Eames found the warehouse, Arthur took the car, telling him he knew the layout at least better than the hijacker. "Yusuf didn't lie to you when you visited him," he continued.

Arthur's jaw was set as he swiftly turned the wheel one way and then the other. He didn't reply to the Forger, but he felt his eyes as Arthur turned the wheel down a small alleyway.

"When we approached him about the serum after the job in Greece two years ago, I was the one who spoke to him. He never knew that Ariadne was part of the jobs until much later."

"But he still knew that you two were working with one another," Arthur replied. The car zoomed through the city.

Eames sighed. "Yes."

"And neither of you never thought to bring her to me?" Arthur demanded, scowling.

"From what I understood you abandoned her."

"I owed Trevor a favor."

"All you did was leave her a letter of apology with no promise of a return, and she waited for months."

"She could've waited longer." And even Arthur knew that that was not a leg to stand on, and the Forger spoke the Point Man's own thought aloud as he went on.

"You've said for years how hard it was to get out of dream con. What else was she supposed to think?" Intimate words from his and Ariadne's most heated arguments, thoughts and arguments that sounded like her own. The pair talked about it, clearly. Ariadne confided in the Forger further than made Arthur comfortable. Eames used to tease him about the young architect, pushing Arthur into a black mood for the rest of the afternoon.

Maybe because the Englishman was naggingly right, though Arthur was loathe to admit it. "I wasn't going to come back," he admitted finally, feeling a slight strain off his chest. "But I also didn't think I would regret the decision as much as I did." Which was why he did his best to leave the job, find her again. He was frantic to undo it.

And either the Forger took pity on the Point Man or he was just tired of being in the middle of this, he sighed. "She did wait," Eames rebutted calmly.

Arthur scoffed, only mildly ticked off. "Yeah, because that's what it looks like from my perspective."

The unease with which the Forger spoke next made Arthur feel somewhat relieved. "I think you need to speak with Ariadne about this."

Arthur thought the same thing, but even attempting to talk to her was a Sisyphean struggle. Because while it was easy to mess with her and to bask in her presence, she was loathed to be near him. She was ready to run if necessary, putting the job before him. She turned into a regular Arthur, if Arthur was honest.

Arthur drove on in silence for a few minutes, before he turned to the Forger. "You said Greece."

"Yeah?"

"You had a job in Greece two years ago?"

"Yeah."

"For Christ's sake," Arthur said, shaking his head as he matched up the timelines. "I didn't know."

Eames was again calm and rational, odd coming from him. "From what I understand, she was looking for you at the time."

Arthur shook his head again.

"Now's my turn to be demanding."

"Isn't that what you've been doing this entire time?" Arthur asked.

Eames looked out the windows around them, before turning to Arthur. "You lied to her back at the mansion, Arthur."

"What are you talking about?"

"I was with Trevor for a long time. I know what you did."

"What?"

The two men looked at one another dead in the eye. Both of them unsmiling. The Forger didn't hesitate. "You're the dreamer."

xxxxx

Arthur didn't understand himself in that instant.

He made the decision to leave. He was never one to just back track. He made decisions and stuck to them, loyal to his team, loyal to his convictions, but he needed to make this right.

He couldn't just leave her a note and just accept that she would trust his decision.

He told himself that he was going to come back for her eventually. He convinced himself later on that this was truth, when in reality—

He walked up the winding staircase and back to their apartment. Quietly he opened the door and peered inside to see if she was up, it was dawn—Arthur made the decision to come back as soon as he saw light and he made his way through the arrondissements to make it as if he didn't let it happen. An apology was on his lips.

But he saw her. Through the crack of the door, he saw her already awake, her eyes bleary, dark circles underneath. She already held the letter.

"It sounds like you're ready to leave this," he had said. Her cold, distant voice, the discomfort as they laid together in bed the other night came upon him. He watched, rather than made a move.

xxxxx

"What are you wearing, anyway?" Micah asked as he drove the hijacked—well, wasn't she on a roll—catering van down the road.

Ariadne noticed that the projections were missing. She looked around, wondering.

"Ariadne?"

"Oh, um," she looked down at her ensemble. "The dress was heavy." While that was true, Ariadne felt as if she was racking up more silly points with the heir.

He didn't seem to care though. "Right."

This had to be the weirdest extraction ever. Well, besides the fact that she was dueling her ex-fiancé for the mark's information and the fact that she was wearing a janitorial uniform, this was a weird extraction. Mostly because Micah knew more about her than was comfortable or necessary. She meant to just clue him in, tell him just enough to gain his trust, but once she started, she couldn't stop. Arthur was that elephant in her mind, sitting on all of her plans to get this extraction going. She might as well acknowledge that he was there, right?

But seeing as Micah kept asking questions and Ariadne kept answering, she knew that she was overstepping a line somewhere. She was just thankful that the heir would forget all of this once he woke up. Hopefully, Yusuf's serum, slowing down the projections, affected the long-term affects of the dream training Micah had.

She knew it was risky but he knew about her relationship with Arthur, how everything blew up from that, how she didn't mean to run into him, let alone go after the same job as him. She didn't mean a lot of things.

And Micah drove through the city, listening and handing out advice as if this was normal. Sped up Stockholm Syndrome.

He promised her that he would give her the plans already. He said it pretty decisively after her story about how her and Arthur were bother after these plans. She felt slightly suspicious and also adamant that he not do it out of pity.

"It's a power struggle already," Micah told her in the bathroom. "I think giving you the plans would balance it out."

Ariadne looked at him doubtfully, ready to argue that it still sounded like a pity handout.

Micah continued to squash those reservations, assuring her that in no terms was he being condescending to her skills, but acting on his own will. "And," he added a little glibly, "I may cater to that not so exclusive cliché that I want to screw the old man over."

"But he trusted you with it." What was she saying? Hell, give her the plans now.

Micah apparently found this outburst odd too but only acknowledged it with a lifted eyebrow, before they both dissolved into laughter.

This wasn't right. She wasn't supposed to be getting along with him or attempting to garner understanding, let alone laughing and developing jokes. Ariadne was already too close to the mark. She was already telling him too much, though she didn't talk about dream sharing when she spoke about Arthur. She made it sound like kidnapping and conning.

That probably didn't make it better.

"Patron of the arts, remember?" Micah said, pointing at himself with his free hand. "Con artists count in that sense too, I think."

And Ariadne laughed as they—albeit reluctantly on her side—struck up a deal. Their escape from the bathroom was pretty easy. Super easy really

She pulled a key she imagined from her pocket, taking his handcuff off. Turning to the door, she listened for Arthur's approach. She heard an exclamation, and she figured that the Point was either talking to himself or Trevor. Either way, she didn't have time. She walked over to the spotted window, pushing it up and open, before looking down at the alleyway.

No go.

Micah was right behind her, rubbing his wrist. At her expression, he saw that there wasn't a means for escape. He went to the door. It wouldn't budge. He shrugged, puckering his lips in a what-can-you-do frown that made her laugh again. No. No enjoying jokes with the mark. This was a strict business relationship.

She turned back to the matter at hand. Ariadne scowled at Arthur's thinking. They could shove the door. There were two of them, and it wouldn't take that many tries, but then they would have Arthur to deal with. Micah already picked her to give the plans to, but who knew what the Point was capable of? Well, he was the best at what he did for a reason, she knew, but even so, she had this guilty sensation at that thought.

He used to be best at what he did, she couldn't help but think. A part of her realized that it was her fault. She was his shade, and while she felt guilty that he created this semblance of her, Ariadne started to realize that she had no bearings over this version. This was not her. This was what Arthur had done to them, and while she had her own cross to bear in that circumstance, she could at least say that she wasn't responsible for this.

It went back to that anger she had, because he really did leave her.

"What do we do now?" Micah asked, turning to her.

A part of her wanted to just leave and let the Point Man figure out that he was duped.

Ariadne looked out the window again to see a rickety fire escape—made so to excuse her earlier expression—and she jumped out. She heard a worried Micah whisper her name frantically, but she knew that it was stable, though the metal groaned under her weight.

She popped her head back in, gesturing for him to come on, and though uncertain, Micah followed suit. When he was about to close the window, Ariadne stopped him. She wanted Arthur to know what she did.

Micah drove the catering van deeper into the city, telling Ariadne that he was starting to realize where they were.

Good, she thought. They were almost at the end of this mess she made. She'd just get the information, wait for them to wake up, and she could put Arthur and this job behind her.

xxxxx

A brick hit their windshield, and just like that hell broke loose.

Arthur swerved the car into incoming traffic, which only spurned on more hatred and attention towards them.

"Micah's mind was never militarized, either was it?" Eames asked over the screeching and hard turn.

"No—" Arthur said, shifting the gears and fighting the cars back. "—he never was."

Eames almost laughed at this. "So Ariadne shooting the chandelier was pretty uncalled for."

"Yes."

"But then again, you didn't expect her to do it," Eames continued, ducking as his window was shot. Glass came in on his side, and Arthur looked to see some of the projections glaring at them. Eames popped back up, shot the shooter, and Arthur stepped on the gas to head forward fast, in case the projections started to converge as a unit. Eames was full on chuckling now, shaking his head at his gun. "This is certainly a mess."

"Which you helped create," Arthur couldn't help but retort with a scowl.

"Which you and the dear Architect created," Eames rectified. "Trevor, Micah, and I are just along for the ride."

"Don't psycho-analyze this Eames."

"Arthur, I don't think we need a doctor to even realize that this fucked up plan is the way it is, because you and Ariadne just stopped talking to one another."

"How did this extraction turn into couple's counseling? We're not even together anymore."

Eames had a Cheshire cat look on his face, and Arthur knew that he walked into it. "That doesn't mean that you both didn't stop caring for one another." When Arthur looked over his shoulder at the Forger, he knew he was picking at his word choice from earlier.

He also knew he was right.

He was intrigued by her early on. He was surprised by her when Cobb first brought her in. She was still a student. She was small. She had wide, curious eyes and a furious curiosity to measure up to what Cobb was explaining to her.

"This is Arthur," Cobb was saying as he brought her closer. "And Arthur, this is Ariadne."

She greeted Arthur warily, shaking his hand firmly, but her eyes assessing him quickly, from his shoes to his hair. He took a step back and smiled, shoving his hands into his pockets and doing the same. "Pleasure," she said, unwavering under his gaze, and Arthur couldn't hide the smirk on his face as he realized how innocent she was.

"American?" he asked, a little surprised. He looked at Cobb.

"You are too, I gather?" she pitched back, and Cobb smiled as he stepped away.

"Don't let Arthur bother you, he's just a little timid at what we're taking on." His voice carried with him as he strode over to one of the backrooms. Ariadne watched him, before her eyes flitted back to Arthur.

"And what is that exactly?" she called after him, her hand gripping her bag onto her shoulder.

Arthur laughed, and she looked annoyed at him. He stepped back. "It's something he'd have to show you actually."

"So I've heard," she said, still annoyed. "And as fun as that sounds, I think walking off to a creepy warehouse with a complete stranger—" She stopped, holding her forehead. Her bag slid off of her shoulder and landed at her feet with a thunk. She looked over at Arthur, who rushed forward, grabbing her arm as she lost balance. He called Cobb over, who came back, his sleeves rolled up.

"You're safe," Cobb assured her, helping her into a chair. He crouched to speak to her. "Miles recommended you, and he knows me. He wouldn't put you in any danger."

Ariadne's eyes were still shut as she sat down. Her arm still holding her forehead. "Is that why you drugged me?" she asked, her eyes slitting shut, though she did her best to maintain a sort of dominance over the situation.

Arthur leveled a look at Cobb, who shrugged. "I'm sorry about that," he said. "But you won't be harmed in any way."

"I knew that milk was too good to be true," Ariadne started but she stopped, her breathing coming out less frantically as the drugs took effect. Her head lolled to the side, and she looked at Arthur. "You too, huh?" she asked, and before Arthur could respond, she was out. Arthur tapped her shoulder to check.

Cobb stood up, propping Ariadne onto his shoulder, Arthur on the other side to drag her to a lawn chair.

"Milk?" Arthur asked as they settled her down.

Cobb shrugged. "She didn't want coffee." He went over to the PASIV cases on the nearby worktable and started to fiddle with the timer and solutions.

Arthur arranged Ariadne onto the lawn chair, propping up the back and pulling her legs out on top. He studied how he positioned her, before he decided to take off her jacket. He crouched and pulled her forward, working her right arm out of its sleeve.

"What are you doing?" Cobb asked, and Arthur turned to see the extractor holding two lines of tubing, his expression unreadable.

"Making her comfortable," he explained.

Cobb lifted his eyebrows.

Arthur was patient. "It's her jacket. It's not a big deal."

"I didn't say anything," Cobb said, waiting for Arthur to remove the other side of her red coat.

He threw if over his arm and stood to make way for Cobb. "I just didn't want her to be uncomfortable," Arthur explained, but even he knew that he was talking too much. But to Cobb's credit, he didn't say anything as he leaned forward to attach the IV to her wrist.

He stepped back to attach his own. "How much time will you need?" Arthur asked, walking over to the table with the cases.

"Five minutes," Cobb called, taking a seat and reclining back. "Oh and I left you a present on the table."

Arthur picked up a sketchpad and held it up for Cobb to verify. "What is this?" he asked, picking it up, the bottom side up. He studied a large circle drawn in pen.

"Her maze," Cobb said. "I thought you could work on it while you wait." Arthur studied it, holding it in his hands. "Unless you just want to stare at her while she's asleep," Cobb added lightly, and Arthur looked over his shoulder to glare at him as he pushed the plunger.

"How did you two start working with one another?" Arthur asked, attempting to deliver this coolly, but knowing that he failed. He started to turn down side streets to hopefully avoid the popular areas where projections would be converging. He felt Eames' damnable teasing expression on him as he steered, looking through the cracked glass of the windshield.

Arthur turned to face him, which only made Arthur scowl and Eames shake his head, complacently. "She called me."

Arthur didn't state the obvious that the Point Man was always more than willing to come to her aid, and the Forger seemed to pick up on this. "The circumstances about it were complicated," he added, apparently throwing the Point Man a bone. "You couldn't be reached."

"In what circumstance would that be?" Arthur asked with his jaw set in anger.

"You'll have to ask darling Ariadne sometime," Eames said, continuing to evade the answers artfully.

And while Arthur knew that this conversation was meant for Ariadne, that he should be asking and demanding these things from her, he couldn't help the next question that came from him as he drove. "How long have you two been working together?" He was aware of how he held his breath at this, almost hating the answer that the Forger gave.

"Pretty constantly for the past two years." It meant that she immediately went to work since he left her.

Remove temptation. That was his plan. A break, he figured, was what they needed or so he justified with as he debated his decision to leave her.

He would come back, he told himself.

Okay, well, he'd come back eventually. He just thought that she would be there when he did.

More than half of him wasn't surprised to hear Eames' response, though. Hadn't he thought of it when he came back that morning? Numb. She looked numb as she sat there on the edge of their bed, the yellow sheet of paper in her hand. She didn't look distraught or angry or hurt.

She wasn't going to make the decision, he realized. He'd make it for her.

"And that's all it has been?" Arthur nerved up to ask.

He turned to challenge any joking answer from the Forger, whose smile failed him when he replied. "I was always a gentleman."

Arthur didn't seem convinced as he turned back to the road.

Then that casual, "Oh didn't you hear? We're lovers now."

And Arthur punched it. He started to gas the car forward, ignoring Eames' heeds of warning. The sound began to build. The images beyond the car windows whirled into one another. Beyond the web of cracks on the windshield, they looked towards the side of a brick and mortar building. Arthur pushed further on the gas, and Eames gripped the arm rests. "Arthur."

Arthur wasn't listening. He continued calmly, his foot becoming lead.

"Arthur!" Eames said over the thunder of the acceleration.

That building was awfully close now, and still Arthur pushed forward.

"Arthur, dammit!"

Suddenly, Arthur achieved a deft right turn out of the alley and back onto the street. He threw a smirk at the Forger.

"Fine. No lascivious jokes about the Architect," Eames muttered, relaxing somewhat in the seat.

Arthur hid his smirk as he faced the road, when he heard his phone ring. He looked over at the Forger, who shrugged. Arthur pulled his cell phone from the middle console, expecting to hear Ariadne's voice on the following end.

"Hello?"

"Arthur," the terse voice said. "What the hell is going on?"

xxxxx

In the same way that Arthur scrutinized over details. When he cared for someone, he filled that role accordingly.

At her age, Ariadne had never been in love. She was the right age to be a vocal cynic, if not a wishful dreamer that it would be possible, but he was infectious in how gung-ho in accepting this new role as lover.

And she couldn't help but smile at the thought that he would be meeting her down the block or that he would be there waiting at home. She loved having him so close and near, rather than on eggshells and in secret, like during the inception job.

But there was something about being able to stay and not worry about timelines which showed her a different Arthur, one who was willing to accept whatever this was and just go with it, no agonizing over details, just going with the flow.

Wow. She wondered if that phrase was ever used to describe the meticulous Point Man, and she laughed at herself to be analyzing him so much.

But she was happy. Truly. She never realized that she needed him with her, until he ingrained himself into her everyday, until their walks became so in-step that she didn't have any other answer to his question, but yes.

Ariadne sat on top of Micah's couch, patiently waiting as any guest would, for the proprietor of the house to return. Micah, not knowing that this was a dream and that Ariadne had broken into his apartment before to recreate it for her own planned extraction, asked her to wait in the living room as he went to get the plans for her in his office.

And Ariadne plopped down on the couch, not really savoring the cushions, but leaning forward with her hands resting in her lap, smiling at Micah's attempt at playing host—"Are you thirsty or hungry?"—before he went to get the plans for her.

"You again."

That voice sent a shiver down Ariadne's spine. She looked over her shoulder at the kitchen area to see a tall man with buzzed hair pointing a gun at her.

"Trevor," she said, trying her best to gain her heart rate back. She never met Trevor head on. She'd seen a few pictures of him, especially since he became a target for Cobol, and she had heard plenty of stories. But she never met the men in the flesh, so to speak. And while Arthur shared a few pleasant, laughable anecdotes, and Cobb recalled the name fondly, Ariadne didn't feel the least bit safe or friendly as the extractor continued to advance on her with his gun brandished.

"You cause enough trouble as it is," he was saying, his voice low.

Ariadne's eyes were wide, and in the back of her mind, she hoped that Micah would have the thinking to stay in his office. "Trevor," she said as reasonably as she could, her heart rate escalating quickly. "What are you doing?"

"Arthur told me he had you under control," he muttered. "But he's gotten worse. A projection attacked me earlier on."

"He's real," she insisted, her eyes never leaving the barrel of the gun. She forced a calm she didn't feel entirely. "Eames is real. We're hijacking your dream."

Trevor gave her an odd look, before sighing, almost bored with this situation. "I'm sorry, but this is what's best for Arthur."

He's going to do it, she realized. The man was calm about all of this as she sat there trembling. It was a situation she was never prepared for. It was a situation she didn't really think would come up, and that veneer of control she attempted to maintain slipped away quickly. He'd do it. He'd shoot her for sure.

"Trevor!" she said with a slight panic. "I'm real! Eames is real! We're hijacking—"

Trevor was shaking his head in such a way that already told her that he wasn't going to listen to anything else she might say, and Ariadne grappled for a solid truth to pose to him. But she didn't know this man. They knew nothing of one another but rumors and hearsay. She was here in the flesh but he didn't know her in the real world, and she certainly had no way of reassuring him of her authenticity. Only Arthur did.

"Call him," she suggested, hiding the plea in her tone as best she could. "Call Arthur. He'll tell you." She remembered Arthur's cell phone in his pocket when she knocked him down.

Trevor looked doubtful, but there was that incremental flinch at her tone. And Ariadne scrambled towards it. "I'll sit right here," she promised. "Just call him."

Her request must have been out of the blue if he was even considering it, but Trevor kept his eyes glued on her as he pulled a phone out of his pocket. Her heart started to beat fast as she watched him dial and wait for Arthur to pick up the phone. Trevor kept his gun low, positioned at the floor as he waited.

In the silent room, she heard Arthur's voice. He sounded confused.

"Arthur," Trevor said. "What the hell is going on?"

And Ariadne held her breath, almost as if that would get in the way of hearing Arthur's response. "Trevor. Where are you?"

Trevor's eyes landed smack dab on her, and she looked at him, her eyes wide. "I'm with your Shade."

She heard a gruff curse from Arthur's side, profuse apologies.

"Save it," Trevor interrupted. "I'll take care of it for you."

It. She riled at that word and tried her best to contain her audacity, knowing that any form of aggression could easily be mistaken as Shade-like behavior. She remembered how Mal acted. She remembered how cold hearted and single-minded she acted.

She heard Arthur apologize again, profusely, and she knew that Trevor wasn't going to tell him the whole truth. She sat up. Her heart in her throat. Trevor lifted an eyebrow at her at that small, incremental action. He was testing her.

She didn't give a fuck. "Arthur!" she yelled, hoping her voice would carry. "Tell him! I'm real! Please!"

She couldn't hear Arthur's response on the phone, but she heard a flurry of responses. She heard her name. She heard Trevor's. She bit her tongue so that Trevor could make sense of all of this himself.

"Trevor! Trevor, where are you?" She heard Arthur demand.

Trevor was shaking his head again, almost reluctantly. "I don't know what's going on," he said a little dismally. "But, I'm going to try to salvage this."

"Trevor!"

She felt her eyes bulge as Trevor raised his gun at her. "You can't," she insisted. "You can't do this. You don't understand."

"Trevor!"

Trevor looked at the cell phone in his other hand as if he just realized it was there. "She's real!" Arthur's voice corroborated. "Don't do it. I can explain—"

Trevor was dangerously calm as he watched Ariadne and spoke to both of them. "Even if what you're saying is true, she's just going to wake up."

Ariadne was shaking her head furiously. Simultaneously, she heard Arthur insist with her, "No."

She felt her heart thump maddeningly in her chest. "No you don't get it—it's the serum," she said with a rush. "The serum—it's different." Her mind spread out in an attempt to reach for an explanation, but the more wildly she scraped, the more scattered her thoughts became.

When Trevor closed the phone, she knew that his decision was made up. She imagined where Arthur was. She looked at the living room. She felt her instincts kick in. She was a fighter. She knew how to defend herself against some of the biggest opponents. She had been in this situation before.

Guns to her head. Bullets to her chest. She had been shot, strangled, drowned in dreams before. Drowning was the worst. At least a shot in the head made it instantaneous. But it also meant that she would end up in Limbo without anything to hook onto. She wouldn't remember anything.

She'd lose herself for sure.

There was no way out of this. She just had to prepare herself.

"Trevor," she tried in a last ditch attempt, her heart and all of her feeling in his name. She scraped for something in her, willing herself to push for life, to push for making it out of this.

Trevor had a hard look on his face. The gun still pointed at her. "This would be the third job you've thrown for us. I can't let that happen."

It was ironic that she took this job to escape this life, and, maybe, in a way, she would be.

He raised the gun, and Ariadne's heart stopped as she heard the click as he prepared to pull the trigger. "I'm sorry."

They never said that to one another before they went to bed that night.

She knew she had said terrible things to Arthur, throwing his age in his face, talking about a life without him. Guilt racked her conscience into a sleepless night beside him. That was a good sign, she remembered thinking, that they were at least in bed together, rather than avoiding one another.

She thought he was asleep as she did her best to tousle just slightly. She didn't give up on attempting yet, though her feet told her to be considerate and just go to the living room and find something to do. And the more she tried to make herself doze off, the harder it became, the more apparent her conscience weighed, and the bigger her regret grew. She exhaled sharply, before turning to face him, only to be scared shitless that his eyes blinked back at her.

He apologized for being creepy, and she tried to make light of the situation with a nervous laugh. Arthur, on the other hand, pulled the comforter over her shoulder, looking at his own hand as he hesitated, before it dropped back to his area of the mattress.

"I love you," he said, and Ariadne felt a smidge of her conscience lighten because of that reassurance. "You know that, right?"

Ariadne nodded, her heart hoping he'd say it again if only to wreck this wall of over thought she built up in these dark hours.

"And I would do anything to make you happy," he went on.

And Ariadne found herself saying the same things right back, feeling that security again and comfort. Inexplicably, she pulled herself across those incremental inches to rest her head on his pillow and bring his body against hers. "I know," she knew she kept saying, and this statement led nowhere but housed in the fact of him. Stalwart, dependable, stick-in-the-mud Arthur. Just Arthur being there. She knew that she wanted to be with him too.

And she must've fallen asleep amidst her reassuring him, breathing him in, because the next thing she knew, her eyes were fighting through the mushy depths of sleep to pull herself against him. Even asleep, he knew her need for him, and he wound his arms around her waist in a comforting tightness that allowed her to bring her lips to his ear. "You," she whispered. "I'm choosing you, you dork." And Arthur murmured something sleepily right back, which Ariadne took to be gratitude as she snuggled back into her own shoulders and Arthur's arms.

The next night was just the same, as Ariadne fell asleep without the work of tossing and turning. It was better because she fell asleep with the consolation that they were past arguing.

Until she woke up without him there.

xxxxx

A/N: Thank you very much Lauraax for your super review! I hope you enjoyed this update! Thank you anyone who's still reading too! And happy October!