Ariadne stayed flopped on the couch for most of the night, rising at about three in the morning to do the dishes that sat in the sink from the night before. She couldn't manage to stay asleep for more than about two hours, as was the norm since she returned to Paris from the Fischer job. She usually read or sketched when she couldn't sleep, but tonight she couldn't stop pacing around her small apartment. She almost couldn't stay still. The dishes were drying on the counter, the rest of the apartment imaculate from her sleepless nights over the past week, when cleaning at least became something to do other than laying in bed, trying to fall asleep.
Passing her bedroom, Ariadne flicked on the light and peered inside at the made bed, frowning at the thought of messing it up for no reason. She flicked the light off and walked back into her living room, glancing at her wrist watch. 4:15 am. She flopped back onto her couch and covered her face with a pillow.
It seemed like she had only just closed her eyes when they opened again. Ariadne glanced at her watch - 5:33 am - and looked out her window at the pale, fresh light in the sky. The new day was here, so Ariadne gave up the endless battle against insomnia and had a shower. By the time she was clean and dressed and ready for the day, it was just past 6 in the morning. Pouring herself a cup of coffee, Ariadne stood by her front window, where Rook had perched himself on the ledge. Looking out over the city in the early morning never got old to her, as it was the only time when the streets were quiet. Parisian business men and women did not start their day until 10 am, and the only people in the streets were setting up their markets for the day ahead of them. Scanning through her neighborhood, her eyes landed on the bench, 5 floors down, that sat across the street from her building. It was not unusual for old men to claim the benches lining the road as their own at peak people-watching hours, but it was far too early now. The man sitting there now, she realised, was Arthur. Strange, she thought to herself - Why aren't I more surprised?
She put her coffee down and wrenched open the old window. It stuck feircely, but she got it open enough for her to lean out of. Sticking her thumb and forefinger between her lips, she breathed a short, sharp whistle down to the street. Arthur's head shot up immediately and he stood up, raising a hand in salutation.
'Stay there,' Ariadne shouted, before Arthur could make his way to the door. 'I'll be down in a mintue. Want a coffee?'
'Please,' was the soft reply from below.
Ariadne pushed her front door open with her shoulder a few minutes later, dressed for the chill morning, and clutching two plastic travel mugs.
Arthur was dressed more casually today. Well-fitting dark slacks, a neutral checkered shirt and a brown leather bomber jacket, his hair familiarly slicked back. Ariadne pressed a mug into his hand, trying not to think about last night's kiss.
'Good morning,' She said, mock-cheerfully. 'Sleep well?'
Arthur raised an eyebrow and grinned, close-lipped. 'As well as ever. Are we going somewhere?'
Ariadne was already walking. 'Sacre Coeur is always nice at this hour.' She glanced back at Arthur, who was now following her. 'No tourists are out this early!'
The walk up the butte Montmartre was refreshing, the cold air pumping through their lungs, and the grounds of the Basilica were, as expected, mostly empty. Ariadne led Arthur to the front of the huge catholic church, where they leaned on the low railing that looked over the city. The huge city sprawled in front of them, sunlight spreading through the clear sky and lighting the millions of buildings in their view. They were silent for a while - comfortably so - as they sipped their coffee and enjoyed the view. They stayed there for a few hours, relocating to a bench to finish their coffees until the tourists started pouring in at around 9:30.
Ariadne found her time spent with Arthur to be quite effortless, and surprisingly organic. In the few relationships she'd had, she'd always felt the pressure to be doing something - dates consisted of activities, going to the cinema or out to dinner or to the discotheque, always having drinks and getting at least a little intoxicated. While calling what she had with Arthur a relationship seemed silly and premature, there was no pressure with him. Despite the usually strict order he seemed to live his life by, today he seemed to have shed the emotionless mask he often wore, smiling slightly as they talked in the early morning light. He looked younger now, his face free of the plague of guilt, anger and seriousness.
Strolling down the streets of Paris, they spoke of their families, where they grew up and where they went to school, finding common ground in that they both earned their undergratuate degrees at Colombia University, just separated by more than a half decade, and in completely different feilds. Arthur breifly explained to Ariadne his estranged relationship with his parents, and his existant, but very formal relationship with his brothers and sisters. He had 6 siblings, which Ariadne was shocked to hear - he was the second oldest, younger than his older brother by 15 months. Arthur was politely interested in Ariadne's own upbringing in Detroit, but she suspected he already knew it all; she had never seen her own file, but she was pretty sure if Arthur had gotten his hands on it, he knew the fundamentals of her upbringing.
By the late afternoon, they had returned to Ariadne's apartment in Montmartre. Having traversed most of the downtown core of Paris by foot, the two of them hauled themselves up the 5 stories of stairs with the fruit, bread and wine they had picked up on the walk back. Bursting back into her flat, Ariadne kicked her shoes off and leaned backwards on her couch's arm rest and collapsed onto the cushions with a huff. Arthur, removing his jacket, grinned at the comfort she obviously had with him and poured two glasses of the red wine they'd just purchased, joining her in the living room.
'Tired, are we?' Arthur asked, a slight teasing tone to his voice.
'You forget how much shorter my legs are than yours,' Ariadne said, stretching the words around a wide yawn, gesturing half heartedly at Arthur's legs, which he had crossed on the coffee table. 'These babies had to work double-time to keep up with you.'
Arthur laughed a short laugh, getting up and moving from the chair to the side of the couch where her feet lay.
'Move your legs, whiner.'
'Oooh,' Ariadne cooed from behind her wine glass, which she was slowly draining. 'Am I getting the spa treatment?' She lifted her legs as the Point Man took their place, and tried unsuccessfully to cover up a grin as he took her feet into his hands.
'Just drink your wine.' Arthur remarked, faux-disgruntled, taking a swig from his own glass before beginning to knead her feet in his fingers.
Ariadne relaxed, her feet in Arthur's lap, as the long day and the drink caught up with her. Not even 24 hours ago, Ariadne had successfully and comfortably eradicated the charming point man out of her mind. She hadnt seen him in months, she hadnt even thought about that kiss in months. And now, he was rubbing her normally extremely ticklish feet, and she was speaking to him as easily as she does her brother.
'How did this happen?' She asks, looking directly at Arthur, waiting for him to turn his gaze to hers.
He did, a smirk curling his lips. 'You were complaining, thats how it happened.'
'Oh, shut up,' Ariadne kicked one of her feet playfully out of his hands. 'Really though. Why did you come to Paris? How did this - ' Ariadne paused, searching for words 'this whole thing happen?'
Arthur looked down at the foot in his hands, silent for a moment.
'I'm not really sure.' Arthur replied slowly. Arthur's face closed into it's sheet of indifference for a moment, and his hands stopped kneading the balls of her feet. A moment later, and the mask was slipping away again, the easy expression easing back onto his face.
'When I was with Miles in California, he kept mentioning you, he reminded me of where you were.' he continued, not looking her in the eye. 'I guess that planted the idea of coming to see how you've been.' Arthur smirked up at her.
Ariadne was swishing her wine around, watching the legs form and fade on the slopes of the glass. 'It's strange,' she murmured, 'How comfortable I am.' Arthur looked up at her again. She shook her head quickly. 'Not just now, even though you're pretty great at that.' Ariadne wiggled her toes slightly, and Arthur grinned again.
'I've never been this...' she dragged off, searching for words. 'It's easy being myself around you.'
Arthur's fingers continued to move as he studied Ariadne, swishing that wine in its glass. Her skin was vibrant and clear from a day outside, and the low sunlight pouring in from the windows lit the apartment with warm, golden light. Ariadne's hand stopped swirling the wine, and instead tipped the glass towards her mouth. She drained it completely. 'Time for food,' She said, with an air of finality, 'Or I might just get a little drunk.'
She pulled her feet from his hands and stood up from the couch, bringing the bottle of wine and the bags of fruit, bread and cheese back with her from the kitchen and spreading it on the small coffee table.
The sun had long since set, and Ariadne was curled on the couch, Arthur still at her feet, remnants of cheese, bread and fruit skins and seeds littering the coffee table in front of them. He sat and listened to her breathing slow, one hand still resting just at the ankle of her right leg, which was covered by a pale grey sock. The wine had relaxed him just a bit, and Arthur basked in the simple contentedness of the moment. He wondered if she was dreaming already, if her dreams had become as vivid as his were when he first started working with Cobb. He hoped they hadn't.
His eyes were beginning to slide shut, tiredness finally taking him far enough to at least be half asleep, when the slightest twitch from the ankle under his hand shook any of it away. His head turned quickly to the far end of the couch, where Ariadne's head rested. Her expression was tight, her brows drawn together. Her hands, which she held close to her body, were shaking slightly, fingers closing into tight fists. A sound then wavered from her, a moan that turned into a whimper. Arthur curled his fingers, closing his hand over her ankle.
'Ariadne,' he half-whispered, 'It's alright, come on.'
Her fingers were beginning to turn white, the blood pushed from them by the tight fists she made. He noticed her toes curling within her socks, and the fetal position she was in became more closed. The sound that emerged from her then was closer to a sob.
Arthur stood then, moving to the other end of the couch were her head was and kneeling in front of her. He put a hand on her knee, which was now drawn very close to her face, and spoke a little louder. 'Ariadne.'
Her eyes remained squeezed shut, the darting behind her eyelids evidence that she was in a deep sleep.
'Don't-' She said, choking the word out. '...don't touch him. Don't - !'
'Hey, hey, come on now.' Arthur said lowly, now setting a hand on her head, smoothing her hair from her face. He tried to keep his voice calm, knowing from experience that waking a natural dreamer up in a startling manner can do more harm than good, especially when the dreamer is immersed in a traumatic dream, which Arthur was quite sure Ariadne was.
A small shriek then burst from her, followed by a sob, and a haunting mantra from her lips - 'Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up - '
Unexpected panic shot through Arthur. 'Ariadne!' He tried again, much louder.
Her eyes shot open, looking directly into his. The air flew out of her shakily, and she choked some back in, her eyes darting around the room, tiny tears sliding from them.
'You're alright,' Arthur said, quieter, calmer. 'Hey, hey look at me, you're alright.'
Her eyes met his again and she shot up, sitting on the couch now. Arthur watched her, still kneeling in front of her as she dug in her jeans pocket, her hand emerging wrapped around a bishop. She set it down on the coffee table, eyes still wild, and flicked it gently. It tipped, thudding heavily as it did. Arthur flicked his eyes back up to hers, which slid closed. Her face seemed to break, all tension gone from it, replaced by anguish. She covered her face with her hands, elbows resting on her knees.
Arthur rose and sat next to her, listening to her gradually steady her uneven breaths.
'I'm sorry,' She finally muttered, hands still covering her face.
Arthur didn't reply, still waiting for her to compose herself somewhat. When she finally straightened, hastily wiping the tears from her cheeks, he spoke.
'What were you dreaming of?' He was too curious - and in a strange way, too jealous - to resist asking. It had been so long since he could enjoy a dream on his own, and even though he knew hers had been a nightmare, the envy still crawled in him.
She was shaking her head, still wiping her cheeks. 'The people -' catching herself, she backtracked. 'My projections were so rough. You only changed one street -' She stopped herself again.
Arthur's eyebrows rose. 'I was there?'
Ariadne coughed a sharp, dark laugh. 'I guess I thought you were.' She flopped against the back of the couch, her head resting against the wall behind them, eyes squeezed shut. 'Shit,' she breathed.
'Where were we?' Arthur asked gently, inwardly eager to hear of her dream.
'Spain. It looked a bit like Barcelona. We were just walking, my projections didn't bother us at all at first. I think...' Ariadne trailed off, shaking her head and coughing out another short laugh. 'I think we were looking for ice cream.'
Arthur grinned, imagining the scene as it might have unfolded in her mind.
'I knew it was a dream, I was lucid, so I let you make a new street, one with a damn ice cream shop.' She said the last three words darkly, incredulously. 'The projections lost it. Shit...they're usually quick, right?' Ariadne's eyes met his, dark and still shiney with unshed tears. 'Quick about killing intruders. They werent this time...fuck...'
Ariadne then stood, rising quickly from the couch. She paced quickly about the room. 'I knew I was dreaming, but I thought...' She trailed off again, rubbing her hands over her face. 'I thought you were gone. I couldn't find my bishop, I couldn't prove my mind wrong. And you were... God, they were just ripping at you, you were in so much pain...'
Arthur glanced at the bishop, still tipped on the coffee table, and pulled his own die from his pocket, casting it onto the table with the toppled bishop. Ariadne's head whipped around at the sound of it.
'Six,' Arthur muttered, rising from the couch. 'As always. It was a dream, Ariadne. We're both here, we're both fine.'
Ariadne stopped pacing, glancing at the red die. She looked apologetically into Arthur's eyes.
'And I thought Cobb's unconscious was bad.'
Arthur smiled a sad smile at Ariadne. 'We can't control the projections. It's not your fault.'
Ariadne nodded. 'Yeah, I know.' She didn't sound entirely convincing.
Ariadne and Arthur both then started gathering up their light dinner's garbage and took it through to the kitchen. Ariadne quickly did the few dishes; Arthur dried.
When they had finished, the man straightened his shirt and quietly mentioned the time. 'Thank you for today,' He said, very politely. His footsteps towards her door were not the smooth, confident strides she was used to from Arthur, but were slightly staggered. Even reluctant.
As he pulled on his jacket, Ariadne's mind rushed to think of a reason to make him stay. She could play up her nightmare, or the sad about Cobb thing, or she could just do the mature thing and ask him to stay. And yet, she couldn't bring herself to say a word.
She stepped outside into the hallway with him this time, leaving her door open. He turned again, hands in his pockets, standing a foot or two from her. Acting upon instict, Ariadne reached toward's Athur's right pocketed hand, slipping her hand around his wrist. Her eyes had been shyly focused on his feet, and looking up she was surprised at how close he was. Naturally, organically, like the rest of the day had been, he took a half step closer, now almost pressing against her, and raised his other hand to her chin. He tipped her face up gently, and brought his lips down to hers, a shadow of a grin on his face. His kiss was soft and short, as it had been last night. Ariadne looked up at him, unable to control the tiny frown that graced her lips as he pulled away. Arthur's eyes lit up as he breathed out a short laugh, and his lips were suddenly on hers again. Firmer, this time, and moving against hers.
It was like someone flicked a light switch. As soon as his lips parted, ever so slightly, her mind was flooded. It became her prime directive to ruin his order - to mess up his perfect dark hair, to wrinkle his pristine clothes, to make him let go of that feirce control he was so defined by. She had spent the entire day with this man, behaving herself perfectly. But now, every moment from the last fifteen hours when she'd noticed the sharp edge of his jaw, the lean lines of his body or the easy cadence of his deep voice rushed at her, in concentration. She deepened their kiss, pushing her body flush against his. He staggered forward in response, hands suddenly at her hips, until her back was pressed against the wall. She snaked her left hand into his suit jacket, pressing it to the thin fabric of his shirt against his back, and her right hand moved to his neck, just under his ear. She felt his jaw go slack, and heard the low rumble, a raw, deep sound from the back of his throat.
He pulled his lips from hers, allowing her time for her eyes to flutter open. His face was no more than a foot from hers, his eyes were squeezed shut, his mouth hard, his forehead creased and serious. He looked almost angry, and muscles were jumping on his jawline. Ariadne, anxious she had done wrong, began to slide her hand slowly from his neck, but stopped cold when the sound of deadbolts sliding from locks echoed from across the hallway.
Arthur's face remained hard and angry, but his eyes flew open, blazing with - something. His hands on her hips pulled her flush against his lean form, his legs deftly shifting them both to the side. One hand left her body for a moment, and she felt a woosh of air as her front door opened from behind her. A smile then tugged at Arthur's lips, and with a smooth step they were back in her apartment, and he let the door close behind them. Moments later, her eyes still on Arthur's, she heard the creak of the door across the hall opening, and the voices of a man and a woman conversing in French, fading as they descended the stairs to leave the building.
Arthur's eyes continued to burn, and Ariadne couldn't help but smirk. 'Nicely done, Point Man.'
His grin widened, one eyebrow lifting in a cocky way for a moment. 'I was never a big fan of public displays of affection,' he murmured, his voice deep.
Ariadne's hand was still at the base of Arthur's neck, and she found herself silmultaneously sliding it up until her fingers were in his hair and pushing him backwards until his back hit the closed door behind him. His head hit it with a soft thunk.
'Ow,' He breathed, before she stood on her tip-toes, pulling his lips down to hers.
It was dizzying, the intoxication that filled her when their lips met. The breif goodnight kiss from last night paled in her mind as she drank him in, her tongue pushing against his, his hands snaking across her back, slipping under her cardigan, lingering at the small area between the waistline of her jeans and the hem of her cotton shirt where a sliver of skin peeked out.
Ariadne took advantage of her position and wedged her right leg between his, pressing her body flush against his. Their hips met and Arthur's mouth dropped open again. His breath rushed from his lungs, hotly decorating her face. She pushed her fingers into the hair on the back of his neck and guided his head down, capturing his lips with hers once more. His fingers fanned on her hemline, exposing more of her pale skin, and his warm hand was quickly pressed against her back, travelling up and over her ribs. He pushed himself from the wall now, firmly holding Ariadne against him.
'Where's your bedroom,' He stated more than asked between kisses.
Ariadne leaned him in the direction of the hallway, and he took the innitiative, guiding them down it dextrously, his lips never leaving hers. Passing through the threshold into her room, Ariadne flung her hand out to hit the lightswitch and missed, her hand smacking against the wall, leaving the room lit only by the dim yellow-orange lights of Parisian street lamps from outside. Her bedroom was small, and she felt the backs of her knees collide with the edge of her mattress, and they were down.
Arthur was pressed onto her, but only for a moment before looping his arm around her waist and pulling her up, higher onto the bed. She was pushing at his coat before she knew it, and he straightened from her for a moment, slipping it from his torso. He was all over her again, his mouth now on her neck, at her pulse point under her ear, his hand dancing on her ribcage under her shirt. Her fingers danced along the collar of his shirt and towards the buttons that held it onto this body. Fumbling blindly at them as Arthur's lips pressed against her neck distractingly, she finally got one undone, and then two, and then a third and a fourth. She frowned when her her hands met another shirt, a cotton, likely long-sleeved shirt. Arthur laughed against her neck and then brought his lips back to hers.
'Sorry,' he mumbled, his words muffled by her lips.
Drinking in his lips again, his hand pressed agaist her bare ribs, she slid her hands down towards the waist of his slacks and instead started tugging at his tucked-in shirt. He laughed gently against her lips. Ariadne shifted her hips as she tugged at his shirt, and felt hardness rub against her thigh. Arthur's laugh dissapeared instantly, his breath sucking in sharply. Opening her eyes, she saw his squeezed shut, his forehead lined in concentration. She tested him again, rolling her hips against him, and his eyes shot open, burning still. Giving up on pulling his shirt from the waist of his pants, she slid her hands back up to his chest, scrunching her fingers into his shirt and trying to pull his lips back down to hers. He obliged, kissing her much more gently. The kiss ended quickly, and Arthur exhaled, his hot breath gracing her cheek.
'We've got to stop,' He whispered, resting his forehead against hers, breathing heavily.
Ariadne was quiet for a moment, catching her breath. 'Why?' she whispered, her eyes still closed.
Arthur shifted, pressing one more quick kiss against her lips. He slipped a hand around her waist and shifted his weight off of her, moving to lay next to her while pulling her along with his movement so that she was curled on her side against his body. Her head rested against on his shoulder, his arm tucked along her body. She slid her hand onto his chest, slipping three fingers into the gap between buttons on his shirt. Their breath was slowing together, calming, and she could feel the gentle pounding of his heart under her hand.
Neither of them said a thing for some time, and after about an hour Ariadne noticed, her own eyes growing heavier and heavier, that Arthur's breath had slowed enough that she was quite sure that he himself had fallen asleep. Not daring to lift her head to see if his eyes were in fact closed, Ariadne smiled to herself, and let her eyes slide shut in the easiest attempt to fall asleep in the last four months.
hey chapter two whaddup!
This was fun to write, although it took me quite a while. If you guys are still digging this, I'll keep writing.
Reviews are kind, good or bad.