Hi! Hi! I'm glad the response was positive although I felt slightly disappointed with myself in that chapter. But! Your reviews helped me push through the writer's block and HERE WE ARE. Updatin time. Big thank you's to the people who made this chapter worth sticking it out and writing: Legal-Assasin-006, sopleaza, Guest, AjmZjm, PrincessLove123, snapdragon17, Miss Ariadne, feelthefreedom, MetroHarbor, latoulousaine

Chapter- Sweet Dreams

Safe and sound again. Another city, another band of adventures. Their layover had been delayed, so it was midnight, Australian time when they landed in Sydney. Ariadne quick changed and crawled straight in to bed, so tired that she barely made it there. Her door left wide open. Eames poured himself a nice glass of wine to wind down and Arthur retired to his room to begin preparations on the next set of passports and backstories. So should anything happen by morning, they would be more prepared then previous times. Eames enjoyed sipping his drink and watching tv on low, he'd fallen asleep on the couch. An hour later he awoke to rustling and mumbling in Ariadne's room. He blinked his eyes rapidly to help them adjust to the darkness and tried to peer into the Architect's dark room. Then her voice, clear as day gave a firm, "NO." And then there was a loud thump and her gasp. Pitter patter, pitter patter. Then she was at her doorway.

"Everything ok?" He asked groggily.

Her eyes darted around the room, looking for something or someone. When she saw no one but Eames was there she visibly relaxed. "Just a bad dream."

"Need to talk about it?"

"No…I'm fine…Goodnight."

The next morning, Eames caught on to something strange. When Ariadne had greeted the men good morning she had not looked the Point Man in the eye nor did she sit in her usual spot in between them. Instead, she took her bowl of Coa Coa Puffs and sat by her lonesome on the couch. By lunchtime, Eames had joined her in the living area. When Arthur surfaced from his room, again Ariadne avoided looking at him directly. She watched out of the corner on her eye whilst clutching her pocket. Peculiar. Further baffling, when Arthur had opened one of the windows to let some fresh sea air in with their lunch, The Architect had jumped. Her eyes grew wide and searched the swaying curtains for what—Eames didn't know—and her knuckles were white with her grasp on the couch arm and her pocket. Eames decided he would wear her down and pry some information from her shaking hands that next night.
xxxxxx

Routinely, Arthur excused himself to his room. It was always understood that the Point Man was doing research or check-ups or spreadsheets or something of the sort. Really you would've thought he'd know everything there is to know by now, he was "doing research" 24/7. That was how he used his free time during the day. But who knows what he really did when he closed himself off in his room. Eames was pretty sure he just sat in the corner and daydreamed about their Architect. He probably had little love poems he'd typed all day on his computer. Documents with the different variations of her name after she married Arthur: Mrs. Ariadne Nolan, Mrs. Ariadne Grace Nolan, Mrs. Ariadne Bourgeois Nolan, Mr and Mrs. Nolan, Mrs. Arthur Nolan…He probably also had files of children names that he liked, and pictures of kids he pictured theirs would look like and a house picked out. And how he would figure their income on spreadsheets. His research everyday probably included finding the perfect honeymoon spot and where their second vacation home would be located. The Point Man was a pansy unlike The Forger. If Arthur was like Eames, he'd have all the ladies. But alas, no one could be as witty, charming and chiseled as he. Eames really pitied the other men of the world…

He watched the cooking channel on low volume for a spell when he heard her mumbling again. This time, however, he wasn't half asleep but prepared to listen. "What are you going to do to him?...Please don't…Stop. Arthur! Arthur! I don't know…I swear I don't. I don't. Because—Because-you'll be—you'll be togetherrrrAGH!"

And then came the thump. And the pitter patter. And there she was at the doorframe with wet eyelashes. "Pet, what's wrong?" Eames stood and glided to stand in front of her. The girl tried to look over his shoulder and then around him with the same worry he saw on the helicopter. "Where's Arthur?"

"He's in his room." He brushed the hair on her shoulders to rest on her back.

She swallowed, "Are you sure?"

Eames sauntered across the living area and knocked on the Point's door, "Arthur?" No reply. "Arthur!"

"Yes?" They heard from the other side of the wood. Eames turned around and smiled at the girl, "See?"

"WHAT do you want, Mr. Eames?" Arthur's voice droned agitatedly. The Forger's smile grew even wider, "He's very much there." Then he called through the crack once again, "Oh nothing, just wanted to say your name."

Condescendingly, The Point ordered, "Go to bed."

Eames rolled his eyes and made his way back to Ariadne, "Now tell me what all this is about. You've been having trouble sleeping the past few nights now."

"It's nothing significant." She wiped the drops from her eyes.

"So you always wake up crying?" She stared at him. "I know something's wrong. Arthur usually keeps his distance from you not the other way around."

Ariadne picked at her shirt, "I don't want to talk about it…I want to forget it."

"Alright then." Eames sighed and returned to the couch. If she wanted him to leave her be, he would. He wouldn't push and pound the info out of her like Arthur would. Then her timid figure stood in front of him, blocking the tv and she asked, "Is it alright if I sit here with you for a while?"

"I would never object to that." He patted the cushion and slung his arm on the back of the couch and she gratefully took it. She eventually fell asleep on him. He could tell when Arthur came through for a glass of water that he was suspicious of the sight. But he'd said nothing.
xxxxxx

The next night, Eames had fallen asleep early. He hadn't woken until he heard a soft knocking on his bedroom door. He pulled on some pants and opened it. No one was there…oh—Ariadne was when he looked down further. She was clutching her totem. No tears were falling but he saw the tracks from where they had. She didn't have to say anything, Eames opened his door wider and stood to the side, "Come on."

The next morning when Arthur woke and surfaced, Eames was already strewn across the couch watching morning talk shows. Arthur paid him no mind and poured himself some coffee. Two creamers, one sugar. While he was mixing, he thought he'd check on the Architect since her door had been left wide open. He could just glance in and see if she was still sleeping or not. When he did, her sleeping figure was missing. "Where's Ariadne?"

"Asleep, genius."

"She's not in her bed." He countered.

"Oh." Eames twisted around to reply, "She's in my bed."

"She's where?"

Bad choice in words and/or bad order of explanation. He should've explained how she got there and then said she was there. No doubt it sounded as if they'd—well Eames wouldn't even go there in his mind. If there were ever a time he could recall Arthur's face and neck reddening like a cherry tomato it would pale in comparison to this. There really could've been steam coming from his ears like in those cartoons for kids and if he didn't watch it, he'd probably break that mug he was holding. "Now don't get your panties in a twist, Artie. I slept in the-uncomfortable as sin-chair in the corner. Quite frankly, my spine shall never recover."

"Why would she even be in your room in the first place?" He was less ready to murder Eames now but still suspicious and glaring.

"She just knocked on my door and said she was scared."

"Of what?"

Eames pursed his lips and shrugged like he had no clue. But he did have a clue…Ariadne had opened up and relayed her nightmares to him last night. After hearing them, who wouldn't have let her stay in their room and give up their bed if it would make her feel better? But it wasn't his place to explain it all to Arthur. Not yet anyway.
xxxxxx

It was nice to have quiet moments to himself. Ariadne had gone to bed shortly after dinner. Her and Eames were watching a movie and she'd been falling asleep during it, so when it went off they suggested she rest. Eames had gone to take a shower. He took longer than women did in there…

It was natural for her to be on his mind. The whole situation revolved around Ariadne. He was working on her passport, looking at her picture, reading her file. He'd known her medical history from the reconnaissance he'd had to perform pre-Inception. He'd known that her parents were divorced and her father had died in surgery but until the other day as he overheard her explain it to Eames, Arthur hadn't known what her life really had been like. On paper, sure. To hear how broken her family was, how hateful and pressuring her mother was, how neglected she must've felt. How could someone with every reason to be flawed be undeniably immaculate? Ariadne had grown up creative, intelligent, intuitive. She had all the confidence and faith you'd expect she'd been stripped of. Her trials had only made her more passionate, more determined, more successful. She'd flourished despite her mother's arrogance, received a scholarship across the globe to study in Paris, France and became the protégé of the infamous Professor Miles. She was witty, she was beautiful, she was talented…Ariadne was perfect. As a perfectionist, Arthur was drawn to perfect. Arthur admired very few people but that girl was one of them.

Arthur had feelings for very few people and irresponsibly, he'd let it get to the point where Ariadne was at the top of that list. You could say that his admiration during Inception turned to infatuation during the jobs following. And after he'd parted with her that last time, after that day in park when he—let's say, until this all had happened she had become an obsession. One he tried to repress with every fiber of his being but no one could deny that ever since she went missing, every thread and every cell in Arthur's body had been focused on her. At times, he would get so jealous that Eames was able to open up to her in ways he couldn't (wouldn't) allow himself to. Her and Eames had a close connection, a special bond that was obvious to any onlooker. She'd chosen Eames as her confidante and had chosen to keep all things hidden from Arthur that she could.

And Cobb. He wasn't even here. But in the back of his mind, Arthur knew that she and Cobb had shared something as well, though he couldn't put his finger on it. Sure he'd introduced her to dreams, he was her first extraction leader but Arthur had been her tutor, her mentor. Ariadne wasn't even supposed to go into dream but Cobb had insisted she come with them. Cobb and Ariadne had often spent late nights at the warehouse together. She'd stuck close with him in the dream, constantly worried about his whereabouts, what he was doing, even going down into limbo with him. Cobb had been the one to call Arthur about Ariadne going missing, Cobb had been the one she called for help.

And then there was Arthur. They shared one dream peck on her first job. They worked well as a team, headed up one job together and then she tutored him in Architecture for another. He'd thought he'd been the only one to keep up contact with her but Eames had showed him up in that. They'd gone to lunch a few times and had two or three nice talks. Great. Big connection there…it was all so stiff and awkward and at arm's length, their relationship. There would be times where he'd notice a certain sparkle in her eye, there would be moments he felt were signature for the two of them. But what was his role in this situation for her? Cobb was the person she wanted to talk to, to help, to hear. Eames was the person she felt comfortable to do all of that with in Cobb's absence. Arthur was…the person she fought with. The overbearing man who thought he was closer to her than he was. The robot that did nothing but hurt her feelings and order her around. It was so hard for him, to want to be that person for her. To want her to trust him and need him and want him there and then be labeled as the bad guy. To watch her laugh and hug and let Eames in right in front of him. He cared too much. And Arthur knew that by caring too much he'd made it impossible for her to care for him.

Care for him in the way he wanted her to. The way he shouldn't want her to.
xxxxxx

"Well if it isn't Miss Ariadne…we've been looking for you everywhere."

The man stood in her suite, looked at her like he would devour her. Ariadne breathed calmly, looking to the door and hoping Eames and Arthur were quietly sleeping. "Come with us, won't you?"

She stayed in her spot. The man leapt across the room and had her up against the wall in one fluid motion. He licked her ear, "That wasn't a question."

Bravely, she pushed him off, "Where is my sister?"

"Dead."

Her eyes widened, he continued, running a hand up her leg, "We had to show you what happens when you disobey us…"

Tears prickled her eyes, giving the man too much enjoyment, "Don't worry we have Ganymede now."

She tried to push passed the man and get to the door but pain erupted in her foot and she toppled to the ground.
xxxxxx

"AGHH!"

"Ari?" Arthur called. He thought he heard someone in her room.
xxxxxx

She looked at the culprit, the smoke still rising from the barrel. He stepped over her and opened the door of her bedroom, "Look who else we've found."

Arthur was being held down on his knees, hands restrained behind him and one of her scarves gagging him. She sucked in a breath, guilt ripping through her.

"It's quite a coincidence that Arthur would be here with you, right? Tsk, tsk, Ariadne. You don't know how to follow orders…"

The man turned around, grabbed her by the collar and pulled her up, slamming her against the doorframe and revealing a knife, "We'll fix that."

"Please don't," She asked knowing it was futile. Then a woman emerged from Arthur's bedroom. Tall, skinny, short brown curls, piercing green eyes that she recognized from Cobb's subconscious. Mal slowly pulled out a knife of her own from behind her back and stood behind Arthur.

"Tell me. Do you know what it's like to be a lover?" She traced Arthur's collar bone with the tip of the knife and eyed Ariadne treacherously, "To be one half of a whole?" The shade pressed the tip into Arthur's skin ever so slightly at the nape of his neck. Just enough for a drop of blood to trickle down and stain his nice shirt. Her patience crumbled as she stared into Ariadne's disbelieving eyes. "Well, do you?" Mal raised the knife threateningly towards Ariadne and bared what looked like fangs, "Do you?"

The Architect shook her head frantically, breathlessly replying, "No, I don't! I swear, I don't." What was she talking about? Sure Ariadne cared for the Point Man, sure he gave her butterflies and made her skin tingle but they were hardly lovers. Why was she doing this to them?

Mal's eyes gleamed and before Ariadne knew it, Arthur's throat had been slit. The Architect was the last thing he looked at, as blood rippled into his mouth and he toppled over face forward.
xxxxxx

"Arthur! Arthur! Arthur, please!"

It was all he needed to hear. Arthur ran across the room and barged through her door to find Ariadne hysterically bawling. "Ariadne, what's wrong?"

xxxxxx

Mal and the man laughed at Ariadne's screams. "I'll tell you a riddle."

"No!"

The man behind her smushed his face to her ear again and whispered, "You're waiting for a train."

Mal stepped over Arthur's body and smiled, "A train that will take you far away."

Slowly, coming through the front door of their room, from Arthur's room, from Eames' room, coming through the windows, melting in through the air vents, were the suited men that had been chasing her around the globe all joining in. Their faces all twisted into evil grins.
xxxxxx

"Arthur, help!"

"Ariadne, I'm here. Wake up." He knelt beside her bed and forcefully shook her shoulder.

Xxxxxx

One of them walked in front of her, winking, "You think you know where this train will take you…" And another finishes after as he comes through the window, "But you can't know for sure." They all close in on her, closer and closer. She's writhing now to get away, their maniacal eyes smiling at her, "But it doesn't matter."

"Tell us why it doesn't matter." Their chorus of voices hurt her ears. "Tell us why it doesn't matter! Tell us why it doesn't matter!" Louder they scream, "Tell us why it doesn't matter!"

Their voices are hissing too loud for her eardrums to take and they're swarming. They're coming up through the floorboards and flooding through the doors. They're everywhere and their hands are everywhere, groping and pulling at her. Their voices demanding louder and louder. They're ripping at her limbs and pulling her hair, dragging her to the fountain of blood that Arthur's body had become. Holding her face in front of his stained one, making her look into his lifeless eyes. They've stopped tearing at her body and yet making her look at Arthur like this, making her wish she was dead so she wouldn't have to see him like that was tearing her insides—her heart—to shreds. She wants it to be over. And they're screaming has reached a pitch that sounds like nothing but a continuous piercing note. And finally she breaks and screams at them, finishing the riddle for them.
xxxxxx

"Because you'll be together!"

xxxxxx

She sees the sparkle of metal and feels herself earn the same fate as Arthur's. They slit her throat, too, so they can be together. The last thing she sees is Arthur's body in front of her and she attempts to pull herself to wrap around him for comfort as she asphyxiates on her own blood. But at least they're together.
xxxxxx

Ariadne flew forward in her bed, grabbing at her pants to feel her totem, grabbing at her neck to feel the skin there still connected. "Ariadne, you're ok. Ok? Ariadne?"

When she heard his voice, was the first time she registered his presence. Her eyes found his and she stared at him for the longest time in disbelief, tears running down her cheeks.

"What happened?"

She shook her head, refusing to tell Arthur the nature of her dream. She hid her face in hands and continued heaving, the feeling of the dream still sucking on her mind like a leech. She saw a suited man in the doorway out of the corner of her eyes and jumped back against the headboard before she realized it was Eames in fresh clothes, with a wet head. The forger came in and did what Arthur would never feel comfortable doing. He sat on her bad, "What's going on?"

Arthur shortly replied, "Nightmare."

"Which one?" The older man looked at Ariadne.

She pointedly looked at Arthur and then back at Eames. Understanding, Eames took a deep breath and smoothed her hair down, "Everything's fine. She's not here. They're not here. And Arthur is." He took her chin in his big hand and turned it to look at The Point Man, "Not a scratch on him, see?" He turned her head back and released it. "Shake it off." Ariadne nodded and forced herself stop crying and breathe normally.

Arthur felt that familiar feeling of distance between them. Annoyed for a brief second that it was his name she had called for but Eames who calmed her down, Eames who knew (with one look) exactly what was going on. It affected him before he was consciously hit with the notion.

Ariadne felt a warm hand running its way down her arm and capturing all her attention. It stopped at her wrist and held it…gently. Rubbing circles on it. She looked down at Arthur, bewildered. Sneakily, she felt in her pocket for her totem again. It was so unlike Arthur to make personal contact like that. He was rubbing a hole in her wrist, smiling at her with dark eyes and it felt so good. "Would you like it if I made you some hot chocolate? Help you get back to sleep?"

She nodded dumbly. "Ok" he smiled and squeezed her wrist before standing. "Eames?"

Eames knew what Arthur wanted. He, too, got up after asking Ariadne if she would be ok and followed Arthur out to make her drink. "What was her nightmare about? Apparently she'd had it before and she's told you."

"In the strictest of doctor-patient confidence..."

"She was screaming my name." He stated with a worried expression.

Eames sighed and looked to her door before lowering his voice. "All I can say is that they are less than savory…and they may or may not involve Cobb's lovely wife."

Arthur stirs the chocolate into her mug, "I need to get her out of here, I suppose."

"I don't think rushing her out of another country is going to ease the anxiety."

"No but letting her explore the city for once might."

Eames raised his eyebrows, "You won't go through with it."

"I will. I'll check all the airports and trace those bastards down. If we're clear this evening, I don't see how taking her out for dinner and letting her see the lights would hurt. You'll finally be able to exert your sightseeing skills and help get her mind get off of this all for a while."

Cheekily, Eames grinned and sauntered off to his own room, "I don't think I'll join you. I think I'll let you two have a mighty good time, alone." He winked and was gone.
xxxxxx

Arthur padded into her room again and pulled a chair to bedside. She was sitting against the headboard twirling her totem around him her palms. He sat, stirred the mug a few more times, blew on it and then handed it to her, "Careful, its hot."

"Thank you."

"Anything for you, Sweetheart."

Ariadne half smiled, half laughed and then took a sip of the hot chocolate, "I suppose I have you wrapped around my finger now, don't I?"

He chuckled, "You're not the only one helpless to good looks." She rolled her eyes…The Point waited for her to finish her cup before he inquired, "What was your nightmare about?"

Ariadne stilled. "I'd rather not talk about it."

"Eames knows…" Her eyes met his apologetically but they were unwavering. She trusted the Forger more; that's all there was to it. He relented, "I just want to understand." She dropped her eyes, her voice also took a free fall. She murmured mostly to herself, "I just want to forget…"

Arthur pushed a bit further, sure he could get her to disclose the events of her dream. Besides if he didn't learn anything else he needed to know—"Was I hurting you? In the dream?" She avoided his eyes and shook her head no. That was a relief…"Were those men hurting you?" She avoided his eyes and shook her head no. Evidently, he wasn't going to get much out of her. He would pry no further. The last thing he wanted was to force her into talking and have her upset with him. Crestfallen, he retrieved her empty mug and started to leave her room.

"They were hurting you." She called when he was fixing to turn the knob on her door. The Point sat down again soundlessly, letting her continue. "They were everywhere. Coming up from the floors, in from the windows…and then Mal showed up." His eyebrows furrowed. "And she had you on your knees…and they made me watch her slit your throat." His eyes widened…through the darkness he could see the glistening of water on her lashes. Her voice started to quiver, "They dragged me over to sit in front of you and watch the blood dribble out of your mouth and down your chin; I had to watch it pool and bubble at your throat—"

"God…" he breathed. She paid no mind and kept going, "You tried to ask me over and over again why I let it happen and I couldn't give you an answer and they shoved my face to yours and made me listen to you choke on your blood—they made me watch your eyes glaze over." Her voice finally broke. Arthur could hear the ache in her throat that she tried to keep at bay but he could see the drops of water running down her cheeks, now. He had an intense urge to wipe them away but kept his hands to himself. "I don't remember much else except that it hurt. It hurt so much and they weren't even touching me. I just wanted to be dead." Her eyes suddenly found his again and the connection, the rawness of her emotion reaching out to him was severe. Arthur fought to keep his own eyes from watering. It was like somehow her agony had been transferred to his body, somehow when he looked in her eyes he could feel what she felt. "I wanted to be dead like you. And it was like she read my mind because she walked over and slit mine too." The tears bubbled over with more fervor as she remembered, "It was the worst, piercing pain…and I could feel it filling my lungs and I coughed and coughed and I knew I was drowning in my own blood-"

"Ari…" Finally his hand tentatively but consolingly rested on her shoulder.

She left his eye contact again and stared at her lap. Ariadne whispered, halfway hoping he wouldn't be able to hear her revelation, "But when I looked at you and saw you lying dead next to me, I stopped fighting it. It stopped hurting. I wanted to die…like you…"

He had heard it and it meant more to him than anything she'd ever said had. It meant that losing him had hurt her; in effect, he meant something to her. But it also unnerved him…because he knew he felt the same. That if he had to watch someone slit her throat…if something happened to her he would want to die too. It brought him back to the thoughts he'd had in the airport at the wedding. If he cared for her that much and their relationship was barely that of friends…what would it do to both of them if they gave in and let themselves be more. Be each other's everything. She interrupted his thoughts with another whisper, "That's what scares me the most."

He should've found a way to end the conversation and bid her goodnight. But he softened his face for her and offered, "Would you like me to sit in here with you for the night?"

"That chair would be too uncomfortable for you."

"I'll manage. Or I'll make a pallet."

She agreed sheepishly then. He left to get a pillow and some sheets, as he made a spot on the floor near the foot of her bed he brought the outing up, "I have a proposition for you."

"Hm?"

"If I can trace all those tickets that followed us to Brazil and find that none of them are here yet…How would you like for Eames and I to take you out…have a nice dinner for a change, let you explore Sydney?"

She crawled to the foot of the bed to stare him down excitedly, "I would love it! We absolutely have to see the Opera House! Could we walk along the harbor, I've always wanted to see the boats lit up at night…I wonder if Australia has a significant style to their cuisine like Mexican and Chinese and Italian food. Maybe its-"

"On one condition," He Point Man voice ordered and she silenced, looked at him expectantly. He broke the façade and laughed, "You get some rest."

After one last pearly white flash, she dashed back to the head of her bed, climbed under the sheets and got comfortable on her side, eyes shut. Arthur finished preparing his pallet—shaking his head and letting his dimples show- and laid his head on his pillow. In an ecstatic, half asleep drawl Ariadne murmured, "Goodnight,Arthur."

It sounded so angelic when she murmured it in semi-consciousness. Her voice soft, sweet and far off. Arthur couldn't help but reply, "Sweet Dreams, Ari."

xxxxxx

Hmm…so they're (or at least Ariadne) is getting closer and closer and falling a lit bit more for Arthur at least subconsciously. Isnt it sweet that losing him in the dream hurt her that bad? Le sigh…Ooh lala…I forsee a little AxA alone time next chappie.

Pretty pretty please leave a review so I can make that happen. ;)