Complexity
A/N: Have you guys, like, voted? You should. 3. Thank you, reveiwers! I 3 you! All! OMG, one of my favourite arcs in the story ALREADY. This is like a dream.(inadreaminadreaminadream INCEPTION) I'm crazy today. And I might not update as much 'cause I have this performance on Friday, and I'm crazy worried. Oh well. Has anyone gotten the name so far?
Chapter Four: I Can See You On The Other Side
Soundtrack: Glitter In The Air- P!nk
'Have you ever held your breath and asked yourself will it ever get better than tonight?'-Pink-Glitter In the Air
.Arthur.
They've finished the hotel, finished the bank, and now Arthur is pacing, worried, back and forth, in front of Professor Miles' desk, waiting him to come back from talking with another teacher outside. He wonders what controlling his dreams will feel like. Like if he can see his mother again...
He's distracted from this particular train of thoughts when Professor Miles enters the room again, face red. He smiles at Arthur and tells him to sit down in the lounging chair, encourging him to relax. Arthur fights a snort without much sucess, and accepts the needle. "Put it in your wrist," Professor Miles advises,then mutters, "Five minutes should do it," and as soon as Arthur does he hits a button. The world spins a little (spinswhirlscareens) and then turns a steady greenish-black. Arthur is dimly aware that this is the back of his eyelids- should it be this colour?- and then he's in a hotel.
He has to give her credit.
It's amazing, a blend of autumn colours, brown, black, red, and gold, with soft angles and sharp curves that wrap him in a cocoon of wamth and light, the sunlight falling in throught the window glittering exactly so; she's done a fantastic job.
But even more shocking from the building itself is the girl sitting next to him, dangling her feet her feet off the dark red futon and chatting animatedly with him, holding his hand and looking so relaxed that Arthur knows it is a dream, like waking up one mornig and simply knowing it's Christmas- that feeling that starts in his gut and works it's way into your throat but doesn't really know how to make itself into a sound. But this is a bad feeling, reversed, because Arthur wants this in real life even more then simply just dreaming, wants to hear more about her and talk with her and hold her hand, because it's what he can never have- it's Ariadne. Talking with him, laughing with him- he wants to know her. To talk with her freely, to not have to worry about what he says and the results. That's what he wants.
Because the alternative is just as possible as him suddenly sporting a unicorn horn.
He stands up (nomatterhowmuchhewantstositdown), and leaves the hotel room without so much as a 'goodbye', snapping the door shut behind him; it closes with a bang and he hears a slight gasp from in surprise- he's startled the dream- Ari. With a sigh he continues down the hallway, slightly tense in case anything less welcome shows up, but nothing does, and he makes it down the beatuiful hallway with his mind intact. He lets out his breath too soon, for when he makes it to the ground level to check around he sees Ariadne again- for all the dream- people all resemble her in one way or another- with one wearing a checkered scarf like she was wearing when he was awake, and another wearing her dark red nail polish (he hasn't yet the prescence of mind to wonder how his mind has latched on to these little details and store them away), and yet another wearing her signature Converse: black, with drawings on the sole of the shoes and little notes from Carol and herself, some saying "Finally killed that spider", and another with "icanseesomethingonthehorizon" inking with spattered liquid- Arthur's willing to be that her hand was shaking. Probably after an encounter with Kyle, he thinks wryly. The different handwriting (Carol's) reads "goin' clubbin', or "slept with Andrew again".
Arthur finds it very difficult not to laugh. Holding his ribs, he walks quickly out of the hotel, ignoring all the stares the not-Ariadne's are giving him.
He crosses the street into the bank (after glancing uneasily at a fog surrounding that particular street),grinning at the neatly polished tile floor and the aura of cleanliness that surrounds and permeates it. Here they don't look like Ariadne as much (although some have a suspicious spattering of freckles), but they are still staring at him, so he consiously slows his pace and tries to appear non-chalant. But it's not working even as he heads to the back to see the employee room: one roughly shoves him backwards and their glares turn evil, they're coming closer. Feeling something isn't quite right, Arthur freezes (juststopsbreathingforasecond), and then they pounce.
It's hard, Arthur admits, the resembalance of Ariadne, feeling as though he is detached from it all, felling as if it's Ari herself grabbing him. They are suddenly violent, and Arthur doesn't exactly understand it...
"Oi. Arthur."
He has difficulty looking up, the crowd seems to be pressing in on him...
Then he sees it's Kyle approaching, a silver knife clutched in his right fist. "This is for Ariadne," Ky says, and lunges forward-
"WHAT THE F-"
"LOWER YOUR VOICE!" says another voice sharply- Arthur blinks open his eyes to find himself in a sitting position. Professor Miles observes him sharply behind his glasses; Arthur is forcibly reminded of Dumbledore. "Someone hacked into your dream," he tells Arthur in what sounds like a shaken voice. "Is that possible?" Arthur questions, and Professor Miles takes off his glasses and stares at Arthur. "Of course it's possible," he says quietly. "Anything's possible when it comes to dreaming... Any way," he adds, seeing Arthur about to leave, "tell Ariadne and the rest there's no more dreaming today, I need to find out who hacked it..." He starts muttering and prodding the PASIV.
Arthur knows, but doesn't want to tell. He'd rather find out Ky's big picture, then a little peice...
And he's a tad bit more worried about what Ariadne's going to say about discovering that she couldn't dream today.
.later.
"Damn. This is a peice of freakin sh-"
"Sorry," cuts in Arthur hurriedly; he's discovered that once you let her get into her stride, nothing can get her back out except for maybe Carol. "He says that someone's hacked into the dreams, so it isn't the safest thing- but the hotel-"
The hotel?
It's like a snake has slithered out of her mouth, hissing thehotelthehotelthehotel all at once, and she all but jumps into Arthur's lap. "The hotel!" She says exitedley, nearly bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, rocking her couch. "How was it? Was the lighting good enough? How'd the paintings come out? D'you reckon the elevator came out nice? What about the carpet? How was that? Did you like the design? Huh?" Arthur's dimly aware that she sounds like a child on Christmas, or rather a child that's cornered Santa and forced him to tell them what their presents were.
"Uh. good. It was. They came out fine, the elevator too. The carpet looked nice. It came out fine, Ariadne, it looked great, please don't choke me," he adds, because she's grasped his tie and her smile has nearly split into two from the force of her smile. She lets go and smooths herself down. "Sorry," she says, but she looks like she's glowing. She clears her throat. "So, um- how was your bank?" she asks.
"Exactly how I wanted it to. I wasn't expecting so much, you know."
She grins. "I know." she says, and there would've been an awkward moment if not for Ariadne's squeals of excitment. "I wanted a fall theme,"she babbles. "Like, you know, the season? And if it came out nice..." She grins some more and folds and twists her hands in her lap. "Then I'm happy." she finishes. Then her smile drops off her face. "Hacked the dream, you said? Is that dangerous?"
Arthur shrugs at her. "I only know as much as you do." He's lying, but still. "I'm assuming it's something dangerous, because he doesn't want the rest of us to dream." She glances at him and it strikes him that she looks vulnerable, but that isn't possible- she's Ariadne, and she tries her hardest to detatch herself from her pain. Then it it passes, and her familiar expression is back- slightly raised eyebrow, arms lifted from her sides- suprised, but disbelieving as well. "Are you okay?" she asks. If it weren't for that flash of something- Arthur doesn't know what to call it- then he would think that she doesn't care at all, and she's asking him because it's the polite thing to do. But he's seen it in her eyes.
She cares.
.Ariadne.
He looks at her for a second before focusing back on the dust motes floating throught the air; she watches him watch them, telling herself that the question is mandatory. "Yes," he says, and she relaxes a little. Only lets out a little breath of air, and all her concerns that he'll see through the veil that even she can't see properly through fly away with it. I need something to drink, she suddenly thinks, and makes her way to the kitchen and pours herself a glass of Pepsi. She can feel Arthur's eyes on her back, and it slightly unnerves her. Only when she turns around to inquire if he wants anything, it's with a gasp she finds him leaning against the doorway. He hasn't made a sound, yet he looks like he's been there for ages. In fact, he only looks surprised that she looks so shocked. Hands shaking, she places the cup to her lips and takes a sip. "D-do you need anything to drink?" she asks, and he blinks almost lazily at her. It makes her want to smack him, until she sees the worry lines on his forehead. Those'll become permanent, she thinks, smirking. But he's worrying, and she can tell. She doesn't want to press it though, not now.
"No, thanks," he says to her, and she smiles a little before placing the soda bottle back in the fridge.
He's worrying about the hacker. She revokes her earlier descion.
"Did you see him?"
Her words echo around; Arthur pushes himself off the wall and comes closer. She takes another sip and watches him over the rim of her glass. He leans back against the table and crosses his arms. "What?" he asks flatly. She raises a eyebrow. "You heard me," she cuts back. "Did you see the hacker?"
"No."
The colour of his eyes have gone flat, and he's watching her with a sharp intensity that makes the hair of the back of her neck rise. With a desperate prescion, she turns around and rinses out her cup. She places it in the rack. "Are you sure?" she says to the sink, and she hears the creak of the floor boards as Arthur walks away. She can almost hear his mind working, the cogs twisting and turning. "I have to go," he says, and she gives a non-commital grunt and the door shuts behind him. She feels that, in the silence of her dorm, that maybe this is the first secret that he's hiding from her. And she's going to wrestle it from him. And something else.
That something has splintered in the air between them, and she can't exactly tell what. Because she's pretty sure that there was nothing to begin with.
.later.
"He's leaving, you know," Carol says conversationally. "He's going on that architect retreat that you turned down. In three weeks."
Ari nods, mind on her potholder. She adds another stitch, frowns at the garbled mess in her hands and dumps it on the floor, fuming. Carol makes a face at it. "You're not a typical housewife," she sniggers, and picks up what doesn't even resemble a potholder.
"So it doesn't even matter," sighs Carol. "Whether today, or tommorow. Something's going to happen."
Ariadne looks up, confused."What are you talking about?" she demands. Her patience is done with for the day- not even her emergency stores had any. She wasn't in the mood for Carol's riddles.
"You'll see. And you'll know," says Carol cryptically, and takes apart Ari's twisted stitches and starts to put it to the right shape.
.later. Carol
Carol's about to drop off to sleep when she hears the timid knock- quiet, just a fist falling against wood- but it echoes around the apartment and jerks Carol out of the icy shores of Dreamland. Cursing, she stumbles to the door, careful not to wake Ari.
She pulls the door open.
"You!" she whisper yells, and is about to slam the door shut (quietly, quietly) when Eames wedges his foot in. "We need to talk," he says hoarsly. Carol looks him over- he looks gaunt, skin hanging off his bones, and his eyes sunken into his head. Defeated.
"I can't help you," she whispers to him, a bit more sympthetically. "If Arthur left, he left. And as for me- I can't help. I don't- I, you-" she breaks off, flustered. "You know why we broke up, right?" she says. He closes his eyes. Carol notes that he's close, closer then she would believe possible for him, but she doesn't move away. She isn't sure why.
"Enough to know it isn't right."
She sighs. "I'm a farm girl. I don't speak this I'll- woe- you-over-'cause-we're-in-France bullshit."
He moves even closer, and Carol can smell him- alcohol (but he certainly isn't drunk; he holds his liquor well) and leather and freshly cut grass and baked bread. She's missed that smell, only she hasn't realized it until now.
She steps backward, pushing him out.
"Goodbye, Eames," she says.
"For what it's worth, I still love you," he says right before she slams the door in his face and climbs back into bed.
She hasn't cried in four years straight and she isn't about to break the record now.
A/N: Oh shoot. I hadn't meant for Eames to come so early, but this is the second arc and some action has to start soon while Ari, Rachel, Arthur, and Eames unravel everything. REVIEW LIKE A BEAST. And who checked out my tumblr? Anyone guess the name of the song yet?