Once again, to those who reviewed (including my wonderful anonymous crew!): thank you, thank you, thank you. I hope you all enjoy this next update. It's a bit late, because I just travelled back from Japan. Sorry for the wait! Also, because I want to churn out the best work I can, I'm going to slow down these updates to about an update every three or four days. I'd love to update every day, but I want you guys to read something better than marginally good. Thank you for understanding!

Colliding Clocks

The old-fashioned diner they had stepped into seemed uncharacteristic at first, and yet, as their conversation unfolded the walls they were mutually (desperately) keeping up, it seemed more fitting than any other setting they could have chosen. Five star restaurants were typical of him; small cafes of her. Somehow, this diner was a change for the both of them. A good one.

The coffee was intriguingly delicious and tasted more like warmth than caffeine. They sipped casually and by their third refills, they were wired. The questions that stirred within them seemed to dance in anticipation as they waited to get them out. Answers and questions flew across the table in a furious stream. Strangers and acquaintances. They were caught somewhere in the middle. And it was hard to figure out where they stood.

In this real world, where nothing bended at their prompting, where nothing changed as they wanted things to...straddling the middle ground was as difficult as planting an idea into someone's mind. Entirely possible, but challenging nonetheless.

Arthur found himself intently listening to the stories she told. He found himself laughing at her misfortunes; found himself furious for her pain. These emotions he hadn't allowed himself to express were flickering back and forth in his eyes and deep down he knew this. And he couldn't lie to himself and say that it didn't bother him; it did. It disturbed him to realize that she could affect him this way. It scared him.

"Things changed a lot after Sam died. We couldn't bare to go into her room. We just didn't want to be reminded of her. She was - she was everything I ever wanted to be." Ariadne stared intently into her mug, emotions and memories and straight up pain tugging at her. "But then, she was also everything I never wanted to be, too."

Frowning, rather than subtlety, his follow-up question fell out of his mouth. "What do you mean?"

She half-smiled; not so sweet, but keen. "Sam was all about honesty and trust. Positivity. She practically radiated optimism. I admired her, y'know. But she was so...boxed in, if you know what I mean. She wasn't really about spontaneity. She liked structure and 'following your set path.' She didn't like change. And I wanted to see the world. I wanted to climb mountains and build bridges. Create. She just wanted to live in the suburbs and drive a volvo."

His curiosity only heightened as she continued to reveal her different shades to him. "Is that why you went to Paris?"

A nod. "I wanted to see the world. And after Sam died, I knew that I had to get out and do something with my life. I had to live for her, too," she told him intently. "Even if she didn't want anything more than the simple things, I like to think that she would have liked it. Not just Paris, but everything." She sat back against the cherry red booth, exhaling the tension that had built up within.

"I have a brother," he told her, an admission that he never expected himself to hand out. He didn't trail on, like she did, but left the sentence hanging. It was almost as if he wanted her to ask him the follow-up questions. He wanted her curiosity to really shine. He wanted her to want to know him, just as he wanted to know her.

Her head tilted against the window as she blinked back at him. "You don't get along with him, do you?"

He was taken aback by her almost accusation. "Why would you say that?"

"I didn't. I asked it."

A slight pause in his answer. "I haven't said anything to him in almost nine years."

"Why not?"

This time, no response at all.

She persisted. "What happened?"

"Our parents died when we were eighteen." The remorseful, sympathetic look fell upon her, but he quickly waved it off. "Don't. I got over it along time ago. Anyway, after they passed, we only had each other. It had sort of been like that for most of our lives anyway; we were your typical outcast twins. But that was okay, because we had each other."

"Why'd you stop talking?"

"It was our eighteenth birthday. Our parents knew we were going to the same school and they bought us a car. I thought it would be..." he had trouble settling on a word. "...nice to go for a drive, with everyone. I grabbed the keys, my parents jumped in the back. Will called shotgun."

She could feel the end of the tragedy coming before the words came.

He breathed in abruptly and looked down. "He hasn't exactly forgiven me."

"He can't possibly blame you for - "

"Would you?" he cut in, looking straight into her eyes for the truth. "Could you forgive me?"

She stumbled with her response, trying to be as honest as she possibly could. "I - I don't know."

He nodded, accepting the answer. "The thing is, I don't blame him. I've just learned to accept it."

"Are you sure about that?" she asked him, a simple question that verged on the most personal thing she had asked him yet.

He nodded again, a slow up and down gesture. "No."

"Can I ask you something about Cobb?" she blurted out after a beat of silence.

His dark eyes penetrated her own with an almost defeated look, before he briefly shrugged his shoulders, prompting her to continue with whatever it was she wanted to know. He had so many answers, but these he didn't want to give. Part of it was loyalty. Much of it was jealousy.

"Do you think that his memories of Mal, the way she is in his dreams...is it real?" The question didn't come out at all the way she intended it to; in fact, to her it sounded quite stupid. But he knew what she meant and he wanted to appease her gnawing curiosity.

He leaned forward on the table, and suddenly she was only too aware of his presence. "Ariadne," he began, her name tasting so intimate as it rolled off his tongue, "we never see things as they are, but as we are. Even our fondest memories never quite match up to how things truly unfold. They are as we felt at the time." He paused. "Dreams, reality, memories. In the end, it's all the same tangled web of dysfunction."

Her eyes flickered with disappointment. "That's a depressing way to look at it."

"We're as dysfunctional in reality as we are in our dreams. Our memories are lies; they're fraudulent. We take things for granted and we put people up on pedestals, places where they don't belong. They take over our dreams and they change our perception of everything that we think about."

"I wouldn't call it a web of dysfunction," she admitted, "so much as I would call it a...catharsis. Life is messy, Arthur. That includes all of it - dreams, reality, and our memories. It's all tangled, you're right about that. But, dysfunctional? I don't think so."

He sighed, almost comically. "You're more of an optimist than I pegged you for."

"Good thing or bad?" she asked, eyebrow raised in defense of herself.

"Neither." He finished his coffee as the natural light protruding in slowly died out. "But I like it."

The admission changed the atmosphere once more, but unlike the earlier beginning of their conversation, it didn't bring on an awkward silence. Instead, both colleagues, strangers, and potential lovers sat in a stilled acceptance of the unspoken truth. The most important of all the admitted ones.

There was an attraction budding between them. One that wouldn't be ignored. Acknowledgment was pending on both sides of the fence. It was only a matter of time. Time and a dysfunctional, tangled web.

Or was it a catharsis?

I look forward to updating again and I hope most of you are, too! Thank you for tuning in!