Author's Note: Thank you for all the lovely reviews! Also, thank you for telling me that the centered text was difficult to read. I appreciate the heads-up.
Naturally, she had no idea how she'd gotten there.
It was a small town square, something ancient and elegant. The square itself was simple gray stone, but in each corner were iron light posts blooming from the ground like metal flowers, decorated with small details, curlicues and the like. The sky was a stormy gray, threatening raindrops. Ariadne pulled the collar of her coat up and tucked her hands into her pocket.
The square was completely empty. Wind caused the trees planted at regular intervals to creak and groan in protest. Sprays of brittle brown leaves whipped across Ariadne's vision.
Something darted from the corner of her eye. Ariadne turned. Mal stood in one of the corners of the square, her silver gown the same color as the sky above. She wore no coat, and yet the wind didn't seem to bother her.
Ariadne turned. Fear and adrenaline spiked in her veins.
But she would not run.
Mal approached, a beautiful mercury-clad ghost. Thick, wavy hair–the same color as Ariadne's but much shorter–blew about her face in a silky curtain. Her eyelashes were black spikes, clumped together by her tears. Sad, bloodshot eyes and trembling lips glared reproachfully at the girl with the flowery skirt and the white scarf.
"Please don't," Ariadne sighed, but she was already readying herself for the pain, because she knew she would not put up a fight.
Mal's movements were tender and gentle, slowly placing her hands on the girl's neck and shoulder. Two more tears trailed sluggishly down her cheeks.
And then she splintered Ariadne's neck.
"No! Mal!" she tried to scream, but her mouth was already filled with the silence of approaching death, thick and muffling as cotton wool. She tumbled to the ground, and there was only blackness.
Arthur was sitting at the edge of Ariadne's hotel bed when she awoke. She thrashed about like a madwoman, flailing arms and legs. Arthur pinned her arms to the mattress to keep her from scratching him. Her face was wet with perspiration and tears.
"Ariadne! Ariadne!" he shouted, shaking her firmly. Her body went limp as her eyes slowly focused. She shivered like a wet kitten, fresh tears spilling down her face.
"A-Arthur?" she croaked.
"Don't try to talk. Calm down. Slow your breathing," he instructed her brusquely.
Ariadne took in a deep, gulping breath, and another, until she could breathe without her breath hitching. Arthur grabbed a couple of tissues from the box on the hotel dresser and offered them to her, and she cleaned her face of the tears. She tried to sit up and flopped back down. Arthur slid his arm under her back and helped her into a sitting position, propping her up with a couple of pillows.
"What happened?" he asked.
Ariadne looked down at the white hotel bedspread, too timid to meet his eyes. "Just a…nightmare."
Arthur stared at her for one long moment with expressionless dark eyes. She tucked her hair behind her ears nervously.
"Well, you can still dream," he murmured, looking away and standing up. "That, at the very least, is good news."
"Do-do you still dream?" she asked before she could stop herself.
He paused. "Sometimes," he replied finally. "Just sometimes." Then he continued on his way out of the hotel room. "Meet me and the rest of the team in the hotel lobby in fifteen minutes. Bring your designs."
When the door closed, Ariadne slumped down on the bed for a moment. Then she got up and hurried to the hotel bathroom. A quick, hot shower washed away the last of the dream's terror, and as she pulled on fresh clothes, she felt as though she could forget what had happened. She hadn't been hooked up to any machinery, she reasoned. So why would Mal appearing in her dream be a threat at all? It was to be expected.
Down in the hotel lobby, Arthur, Eames and Yusuf waited for her. Arthur, she was pleasantly surprised to see, was wearing civilian clothes, a brown leather jacket and black jeans.. The sight of him standing there, jacket and jeans cut close so as to show off how long-limbed and muscled he was, would have wet the panties of any woman nearby.
Stop it, Ariadne chided herself. This is no time to be thinking about your panties.
"Morning." Eames grinned. "You're looking awfully cute, darling."
"Am I?" she asked, a smile finding its way onto her face anyway. Being around Eames always calmed her down.
"I'm afraid we don't have much time to exchange pleasantries," Yusuf cut in, his expression grave. "We have to get right to work."
Eames fake saluted. "Yes, sir."
"Ariadne." Yusuf tossed her a plastic vial. She managed to catch it out of the air and held it up, examining its contents. A thick, white liquid filled the tube halfway.
"What is this?"
"A sedative. Nothing terribly powerful, but enough to buy us about two hours of Browning's dream-space. Have you brought the layouts?"
"Yeah." Ariadne pulled the rolled-up white papers out of her bag.
"Good. Now, go with Eames to the hotel's restaurant. Browning will be breakfasting with Fischer there. Eames has a waitress' uniform in your size stashed in the supply closet across the hall from the restaurant entrance. You will put it on and take Browning's order. Whatever he orders, make sure the sedative gets into it. You know where to go from there."
Ariadne's body pulsed with adrenaline. This feeling, this nervous, stomach-clenching thrill, was something she hadn't felt since the last job. "Alright."
Fischer acknowledged her briefly when she walked in. She gave a tiny smile, and his light blue eyes sparkled almost playfully, with a guarded mischief they seemed to hold whenever they looked at her. Ariadne's smile widened before she could stop it. She didn't know Fischer very well, but the handsome entrepreneur seemed like a nice enough guy.
She tried to slow the thudding of her heart down as she approached the table. Her name tag said SHELLY on it, and hopefully Browning didn't recognize her.
"Good morning," she chirped, forcing her voice into a higher, sugarier octave. "I'm Shelly. I'll be your waitress this morning. Can I start you off with something to drink?"
"Coffee," Fischer said, looking up at her with a more polite, calculated smile. Browning didn't look away from his menu.
"Same," he ordered.
"Right away," she bubbled. She turned and hurried into the kitchen and quickly filled two cups with black coffee. When none of the regular waitstaff seemed to be looking, she ducked out through the kitchen's other swinging door, to the employees only restroom. Locking the door behind her, she set the coffee cups on the rim of the sink and pulled the vial of sedative out of her trouser pocket, tipping the contents into one of the cups.
Looking up, she stole a glance at herself in the mirror. She had hoped she looked natural and convincing, but her cheeks were pink with nervousness, and her hair had dried before she'd gotten to brush it out completely, the moisture making it slightly crazier than usual.
Relax, she told herself. You look fine. Browning won't suspect a thing. Everything'll go smoothly.
Ariadne took one more deep breath and grabbed the coffee cups, hurrying out into the dining area. She gave a big smile as she set the coffee in front of the two men, careful to remember which one was the drugged one.
"Here you go. I'll be back in a minute to take the rest of your order."
Then, as Eames had instructed her to do on the way up, she grabbed her normal clothes from the supply closet and changed back, before heading back down to the hotel lobby to wait.
Arthur and Eames came down first, with Browning's weight supported between them and Fischer trailing behind.
"Yusuf is waiting for us at the Fischer building," Arthur told her as they lugged Browning towards the hotel entrance. "We'll be done in a few hours. Wait for us here in your hotel room."
"Hey, no fair!" she called, jogging after him. "I'm the one who had to knock him out. Why can't I come?"
Arthur slid out from beneath Browning's arm and took her by the shoulder, leading her a few feet away from the rest of the team.
"Ariadne, we don't need your architecture skills for this particular phase of the plan. Besides, you've never done an Extraction before. It could be dangerous."
"Oh, and Inception wasn't?" she demanded, arching her eyebrows. "In case you've forgotten, Arthur, I had to go into Limbo last time, and I came out perfectly fine. I'll be okay. Just trust me on this."
She paused for breath, heart pounding, as she watched a flash of anger pass over Arthur's dark eyes. Her heart was pounding; she had never confronted him about anything before. Things between them had always been smooth.
"Fine," he said at last. "I don't like it, but I suppose you have a point." He turned and rejoined the group, Ariadne hurrying to catch up to his long-legged strides. She walked behind Eames, Arthur and Browning, next to Fischer.
"Nice job," he murmured. She turned, and Fischer tipped his head to the side, smiling.
"Huh?"
"You're a very strong-willed person. It's refreshing."
"Thank you." She knew her cheeks were bright pink. Fischer's smile widened and he turned away.
Browning's dreamscape was a beautiful villa in the countryside. The house was butter yellow, with white windowframes and columns, Colonial-style. Ariadne tipped her head back so as to be able to see all three stories from where she stood in the front yard. The white dress Browning had dreamed her into whipped about her knees in the light breeze, and the tall grass surrounding the house tickled her legs.
Someone's hand brushed against the small of her back, and she jumped. Arthur stood behind her, clad in gray slacks and a white shirt. The first few buttons were undone, and Ariadne hoped her eyes didn't linger too long on his Adam's apple, on the exposed hollow of his throat and the swell of his collarbones.
"You look nice," he said, a small smile on his lips.
Ariadne raised her eyebrows. "So do you. Browning dreamed us up out of an L.L Bean catalogue."
Arthur's smile morphed into a grin. "Let's go in. The safe has to be in there somewhere." He offered her his hand, and she took it, marveling at how much longer his fingers were than hers, and how warm his skin was.
The whitewashed double doors led into a long, narrow dining room. Fischer, Yusuf and a beautiful redhead woman Ariadne didn't recognize sat at one end of the oak table, their faces thrown in shadow by the sunlight streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
The woman looked up. "Look who decided to join us." Something in her eyes and her smirk sent a wave of recognition through Ariadne.
"Eames?"
"Who else?" the woman stood up, and the architect saw how short her pale blue dress was. "I am rather enjoying this one. Browning's wife. Former beauty queen."
"I can see why," Ariadne replied.
"We should get to work," Yusuf interrupted.
"Don't rain on my parade, darling," the redhead cooed, gliding past them. "Browning's on the back porch. I'll keep him distracted while you search for the combination."
"Lead him into the upstairs study. That's where the safe is," Arthur instructed. "If the projections begin to attack, we'll all re-group in there."
"Yes, Master." Curtsying briefly, "she" exited.
"There should be a master bedroom directly above us," Arthur noted. "I'm going to comb the room."
"I'll come with you," Ariadne volunteered hastily. She felt that her inclusion in the operation called for participation.
Arthur motioned for her to follow him up a set of white stairs to the second-story hallway, where he took the first door to the left. Inside, a gorgeous bedroom held a white canopy bed, a dark oak vanity, a desk and a dresser.
"You think the combination's in here?" she asked.
"I'm almost positive." Arthur strode towards the vanity and began opening silver-handled drawers, moving aside old-fashioned perfume bottles and mirror-backed hairbrushes. He held up a slip of paper a moment later. "This could be important."
He turned and saw Ariadne staring outside the window, leaning against the wall. The early evening light made her skin luminous. He followed the line of her throat with his eyes, down to where the low-cut bodice of the dress gave way to the merest hint of cleavage, and imagined that dress rucked up around her waist, her legs locked around his hips and her face buried in his shoulder.
Ariadne turned to meet his eyes, and he swallowed, hastily dismissing the fancy.
"Important for what?" she asked.
Before he could answer, the door crashed open, and a man in a butler's uniform stormed in, clutching a large kitchen knife. The man lunged at Arthur, knocking him to the ground before the point man had time to react. The projection sat astride Arthur's chest, and raised the knife over his head.
Ariadne darted forward and grabbed his wrist, yanking his arm away, and the knife clattered to the floor. Arthur rolled out from beneath him and pulled his gun out of his belt holster.
The man hurled Ariadne off his back and reached for the knife, but Arthur fired a frighteningly precise shot to the man's forehead, the gunshot only making a soft snick sound because of the silencer. The projection fell dead instantly.
"He's had training," Arthur muttered, kicking the knife under the canopy bed. His lip was busted from when the projection had knocked him down, and blood coated the corner of his mouth.
"You're bleeding," Ariadne said, coming forward to inspect the wound. Arthur turned away, and she took his chin in her hand, turning his face to hers so she could see the injury.
When she looked up from his lip, she saw he had been watching her. As usual, reading whatever expression dwelled in his dark eyes was near impossible, but Ariadne knew simply enough what he was thinking when he ducked his head down so their lips were less than an inch apart. She leaned forward, and a crashing noise sounded.
They broke apart and turned toward the door. Two women in maid uniforms rushed at them, one of them clutching a heavy-looking brass candlestick. Arthur dispatched them both hastily and leaned down, pulling his right trouser leg up to reveal an ankle holster with another gun in it. He took it out and handed it to Ariadne.
"You walk around with two guns?" she demanded, voice shrill with nervousness.
"Always prepared," he answered, smiling grimly. "Come on." He headed out the room, paper tucked safely inside his pocket, and Ariadne followed.
There were loud crashing noises coming from the downstairs of the house as they ran across the second floor hallway. Yusuf, and Fischer hurried to join them,Yusuf clutching a small plastic gun in one hand.
"What is that?" Arthur asked him as they rounded a corner in the corridor.
"Tranquilizer gun," the chemist panted.
"Tranqs?" Arthur demanded. "These are projections, Yusuf. We shoot to kill."
"They're not for the projections," came Yusuf's reply. "They're for us."
"Why?" Ariadne queried.
Yusuf pursed his lips. "Let's hope you don't have to find out."
A splintering noise filled the air. Arthur muttered a curse under his breath as they reached the end of the hall. "They've broken down the front door."
The sounds of running feet, bodies thundering through the downstairs sent waves of panic through Ariadne. "We have to get to the study!" she cried.
"That's where we're headed." Arthur knocked on the door at the end of the hallway, and the redhead popped her head out.
"Let us in. They'll be coming up soon."
Silently, she let them inside. Arthur dragged the heavy oak desk in front of the door and turned to Browning.
"Excuse me, but I think I have a right to know what's going on!" the businessman ranted, flustered.
"Normally, I would concur," Arthur replied. The disguised forger crept up behind Browning and grabbed his hands, pinning them behind his back and locking them with silver cuffs. "However, we have a job to do, and we don't have time to waste with explanations."
"A job? What do you mean?" Browning demanded. Arthur grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him back, so that he staggered and fell into an armchair. Browning turned to Fischer, who was watching the action unfold with a grim expression on his face, his eyes focused on the ground.
"Robert! Won't you tell me what's going on?"
"I'm sorry, Uncle Pete," Fischer sighed, fidgeting uncomfortably. Ariadne felt a stab of pity.
Ariadne heard a series of clattering noises and turned around. Arthur and Eames, who was now back in his regular form, were yanking out drawers, pulling books from the shelves and overturning stacks of papers, silently destroying the quaint room in search of the safe.
Closing her eyes, the architect listened to the cacophony of sounds overwhelming her and prayed for some semblance of logic, even in the most twisted crevices of the dream.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, here's chapter 2. I'm glad so many people wanted more, 'cause I am prepared to give.