~ Hey guys! Thanks for the reviews I've gotten, it's been wonderful! Bear with me, this chapter is a little sluggish but it's building up to the mystery. Each part I add has a title (example: Part 1: Piano) Each one word title has a meaning that is relevant to the piece. Some may be more cryptic than others, at times. If you know why Part 2: Concealing is called concealing, than awesome :D Good for you. If you don't, just send me a message or something and I'll be quick to respond. Also, next part will hopefully be in Eame's POV-wish me luck! Love all of you who read.-MsArtemis~

There were no warm tendrils this time around, no wrap-around assurance that she was waking up. All there was a long darkness in which various noises echoed and then, finally, clarity.

Ariadne's eyes finally fluttered open, her breath hitching in her throat as everything within her vision cleared. For a few moments she stared uncomprehendingly at a blank expanse of whiteness-her eyes traced the arches and cracks several times-before she realized it was a ceiling-her bedroom ceiling. It was immediately recognizable-and without moving a muscle she studied the rest of the room in silence. She was on the bed-(she could feel the sheets beneath her) and the rest of the room was bare, the walls a baleful yet matching white. Sliding her eyes over to the right she saw the dark cherry-wood door open a crack, sunlight pouring out unto floorboards beneath her bed. Having finished her assessment, she came to an absolute solution: This was her room, she was safe, and with that, she began to move. The first thing she became aware of was that the slightest twitch of her muscles seemed deadened- as if she had slept for a long time under the influence of some drug. She fought past her weighted limbs, her curiosity peaking, stinging across her skin. It was a little bit of a struggle, but eventually her head was up, and she was able to look down on herself. Carmel-brown eyes widened, the dark lashes framing the lilac eyelids. Her lips popped open as she gaped down at her shirt…covered in blood. Vermillion brushed on the white blouse, which had once been so crisp and fresh, now looked as if it had been through a war zone; desperate for answers her hands flew down to the red, her fingertips kissing the stained fabric with barely contained horror. It was such a powerful color-it caused her chest to heave, her heart to race in pure panic. Snatching her fingers away from the awful sight she pulled her hands up to her neck, letting them rest against either side, her fingers tracing the place where her pulse thundered away. And the panic, the pure fear, lit up her memories like a match set to a house of cards. With the inferno set, and with the ironic scent of paper aflame, she evoked the memories of the events before she had awoken.

She'd been dreaming, put to sleep with a strong sedative off the black market.

She'd been at the train station she had built; but the gold was wrong.

Everything had crumbled because of…something? She didn't have time to remember what.

Then she woke up…a man, gun aimed at her. She could see his mouth moving, speaking, her mouth gasping out a response-

A frightening sound, and then someone somewhere was screaming, crying as he ran out the room…

Breathing, in-out, flipping open her phone;

Under 'A' Arthur,

"I've been shot…at my apartment."

Click. Breathing, in-out.

Then darkness.

The images flashed before her eyes, the emotion in them thicker than any charcoal upon canvas-they were real. She had been dreaming, and she had been shot. And she had called Arthur. The thought of him made her calm-she allowed herself to relax, (for she shouldn't move much with this injury) laying her head back on the pillows, her gaze facing the ceiling once more. Arthur had been a co-worker on the Inception job-she remembered him well. He was an intellectual, one of the best she'd ever met. He had taught her just about everything she needed to know about dreaming. His name dredged up several snap-shots of him, the things she liked about him best. Dark eyes, dark hair, sharp features…calm, thought out retorts, a taste for the good in life, and a bit of patience sprinkled in. "Quick, give me a kiss." The words were recalled with a slap, as if they'd been in wait to surprise her. She remembered kissing him in the second level of the Inception job, the smoldering look he'd covered up with ice so quickly she wasn't even sure it was possible. "They're still looking." She'd said, honest worry filling up her voice. She'd thought this would work. He merely shrugged. "Worth a shot." It made her strangely dizzy to think of him in that way, at this moment, and it bothered her. Shifting uncomfortably at the direction her thoughts had taken she cautiously followed them, keeping her gaze locked on the cracks and arches of her bedroom ceiling. He was a co-worker she hardly knew anything about, let alone trusted. True, she had been in close contact with him for about a month for several hours a day, creating things, checking details under Cobb's watchful eye… They both took their jobs seriously, each one playing professional 24/7. Except for the rare times she slipped up, in which she had nothing to do but waddle through her embarrassment as coolly as possible.

"There should be an alternate exit." Arthur's slim fingers pointed out the only exit on the far side of the building, something she had only seconds before prided herself upon. Heat rushed to her face at this comment-she'd stayed up all night the before and it was just like her to make such an error that was so easy for him to identify. But rather than succumbing to the self-wallowing she'd favored when she was a child, her feelings quickly took a turn towards annoyance. "Why do you say that?" She asked tightly, straightening from where she'd been bent over the 3D model of Level 3, placing her hands on her delicate hips. Arthur, who was currently bent over the model, running his eyes over it again, looked up, his gaze catching hers. He had the nerve to smirk at her, his white grin reaching his chocolate brown eyes with a twinkle. This only pushed her into the realm of further irritation; her cheeks flushed further and she raised both of her eyebrows high in order to regain the composure of one who was annoyed. Logically, she was annoyed more at herself, but she'd never been really one to follow the rules; she tended to bend them to her will. At her expression his grin visibly fell and he straightened, hands stuffed in the dark slacks he wore. There was one light that hung perilously over the model, and it illuminated his rather lank figure. His crisp white shirt sleeves were rolled up past the elbow, the top button undone in an attempt to be casual. He wore a tan vest (both buttons buttoned) and a scarlet tie that dipped down into the vest. The colors seemed to make him more shadowy-his slicked back hair appeared midnight black, and his eyes, the ones looking down on her from across the model, seemed to be too deep and ebony for words. Her breathing constricted slightly within her chest, looking up at this dark, mysterious figure; she crossed her arms self-consciously, refusing to break her gaze with him. At her lack of a response he cleared his throat, his voice coming out soft. "A safety precaution of course. We wouldn't want to find ourselves trapped." Ariadne only seemed capable of gaping up at him-was it just her, or was the air charged? He continued to stare down on her, hands in his pockets, a statue of casualness and all things composed; she couldn't breathe-it was getting too much for her. Looking down she blinked a few times-she heard him shift his weight to another foot awkwardly; it did not ease her exasperation , but only make her more cross, for she had surely embarrassed herself further. Without warning she swooped up the model, her fingers gripping the edges tighter than necessary as she turned her back on him and walked over to her desk. Placing it gently on all the papers she breathed in deeply, trying to clear her mind-and then she felt a hand on her shoulder. Her muscles tightened, and she froze-so, so smoothly he turned her around so that their eyes could meet once again. "You're a great architect, Ariadne. I'm sure another exit will prove not too difficult for you." His chocolate eyes were filled with branded sincerity as he peered down on her-she couldn't answer, her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. Two seconds passed before he dropped his hand, turned around, and began heading for the ware-house exit. She did not move as he finally reached the door, as he paused before gripping the handle. Turning back to look at her he smiled tenderly before calling out: "Goodnight, Ariadne." She merely nodded-he accepted this graciously, heading out the door with hardly a sound. As the door swung shut he could vaguely hear her response: "Goodnight, Arthur."

Though sometimes the embarrassment was clearly palpable-she wrinkled her nose in distaste of the past humiliation for a brief moment; and it was only then, on looking back on past embarrassments, that she remembered the call she had made hours earlier. As if to side with the direction her thoughts were taking, her stomach seemed to contract, tightening around the wound with an awful twinge-she bit her lip, slamming her eyes shut as she held back a moan. The call had been stupid, yes. Her eyes snapped open as she regained control-but was important right now were three things. How was she alive. How did she brush with death in the first place- And did Arthur do anything about her call. The last one was the one that haunted her most-her wide eyes stared at the ceiling, pain rippling through them in a flash at the notions that presented themselves. If he were to forget about the call or, worse, assume it was a prank, she'd be forever humiliated and would never see him in the same light… Negativity never was her cup of tea-and so she put her moody thoughts energy into her legs. It was a struggle but she eventually sat up somewhat, (it hurt white-hot but she only hissed slightly) and swung her feet onto the floor. Lurching upward like a renewed Frankenstein she hobbled to the open crack of a door, her bloody blouse immediately loosening and falling out around her figure as she stumbled. The light that splayed away from the crack in the door was a siren call to her curiosity-a sure route to answers that she couldn't possibly ignore. Gripping the door frame with white knuckles she pulled herself up straighter, leaning against it as she pulled it open with her other hand to see what lay beyond. The living room expanded before her-the walls were white, much like her bedrooms, except…the walls had a voice, a life. Hundreds of architectural drawings and abstract paintings artfully decorated the wide space that ended at the far right, where the wall led to a sliding glass door that had a view. Beyond the living room she could see her rounded kitchen, which was adjoined to the living room. And in the midst of her kitchen, at her sink, scrubbing dishes: was Arthur. The light cutting through the glass of the sliding door lent illumination to the kitchen, creeping across the black marble until it touched Arthur's dark figure with tentative fingers. His white button-up glowed, highlighting the rolled up sleeves that lay above his elbows. His slacks were dark, which was usual. His hair was slicked back like normal as well, the unusual ebony sliding seamlessly against his pale skin. What wasn't usual was that he wasn't wearing a vest or tie…not that she would care. If he knew she was there, he didn't acknowledge her presence-rather; he continued to work tirelessly, up to his elbows in bubbles. Dizzy from her walk to the door she leant her head on the door-frame, staring at him, completely stunned by this sight. Frankly, he looked like he had hardly changed since the Fisher job-as if the whole thing hadn't bothered him in the slightest. The thought stung her like some furious bee-so she was the only one who's dreams (when she had them, which was rarely) were nightmares of being stuck in Limbo like Cobb? That she only could get to bed at 3 in the morning when she had to get up at 5? How she'd drawn more than she'd ever drawn in her entire life these 2 months after the Fisher job. She'd stay up 24 hours on Saturdays, sketching and painting buildings that made her hands grew numb… She'd never stopped wanting , not once. The clatter of china and porcelain whisked her attention away and back to what lay before her. Displacing her weight onto one leg she made two, snap decisions that she swore she would keep.

One, she would not show how much the first Inception job had affected her. And two, she would not show the slightest of hint of anything to Arthur; she would be calm and businesslike around him at all times so as to save them both from humiliation and shame. Taking these quick promises into her heart she locked them up tight, silencing them into secrecy. And with these two ever-heavy promises on her mind she called out:

"Arthur?"