Fleet Foxes – Sim Sala Bim

Arthur was a gentleman, there was no question of that. It was so obvious. He was also old-fashioned. An old-fashioned gentleman. Arthur.

"And," Arthur thought to himself, "Old-fashioned gentlemen do not, under any circumstances, dream of their co-workers." He shook his head as his eyes spanned the world he had unconsciously created tonight. "Ah, but she's so much more than a co-worker, Arthur," His mind taunted him in a voice that flowed like water over ice, so soft but then sharply cracking and shooting painful, beautiful images into Arthur's keen mind.

He was on a balcony, high above what he assumed was a city – he was up so high that the clouds had enveloped the lower floors of the building. Arthur leaned against the cool railing, breathing in the morning air. The sun was rising over the ocean, sending shooting rays of purple and yellow light, bouncing off the water and blinding him. It reminded him of when the sun would leak through the high windows of the warehouse, the Parisian day seeming to conspire against him and sending slight beams of its afternoon and landing softly on her hair, catching his eye and causing him to stare. Arthur found himself imagining what it would be like to run his hand through it – feel the soft brown curls wrap invitingly around his fingers. He thought of what it would smell like if he buried his face in her hair. What would she smell like? What would she taste-

Arthur visibly shook himself out of that particular reverie, knowing it would only cause trouble. He could hear a shower running in the background, behind the cavernous room that held the unmade bed, his tie, shoes, jacket, vest, and – curiously enough – a pale scar precariously thrown over the bedpost. He wondered why he only imagined the after.

He had gained the PASIV-induced consciousness on the balcony, the room already in disarray behind him and Ariadne already in the shower.

He knew it was Ariadne that was in the small marble-covered bathroom. He could sense her presence, could see her stereotypical red sweater and grey shoes. A smell lingered in the air, surrounding him, intoxicating him - Ariadne's smell – honeysuckle and a dash of something he couldn't describe in any other way than simply Ari.

Her soft voice floated to his ears, and Arthur smiled longingly, wanting nothing more than to run to the shower, shove the curtain aside and crush her to his desperate form. But he would never. She wasn't the real Ariadne, and even if she was he still wouldn't do it – he was dangerous, the job was dangerous. He wouldn't even be in this situation, not even close. Arthur would not allow it, he wouldn't even allow himself to touch her, hold her hand, kiss-

"You have got to stop these thoughts, Old Man," Arthur muttered to himself.

A soft noise tickled his ear, making him turn from the room back to the horizon. Arthur looked pointedly at the water, at the now-fading sunrise. It came again, this time forming a coherent word, along with a familiar voice. "Arthur."

It was Ariadne. The building shook a little underneath him and he glanced around quickly, his training coming in as a natural instinct. But the voice only grew louder. "Arthur, Arthur, Arthur."

The building began to really quake, the whole earth seeming to shake beneath his unsteady feet as her voice called to him from beyond the ocean. Arthur held fast to the railing, watching as the rays of light dove and cat-cradled, forming the outlines of a face. The ocean rose with a force, reaching unknown heights as Arthur stood, calmly watching the spectacle before him. "Arthur. Arthur?" The waves curled softly around the now-known face, running down her cheeks and curling up at the ends. The water went from blue to a light brown, and Arthur was thrown from the balcony as the earth rumbled around him one last time and he fell, watching her face still forming above him as he hit the ground with a jolt, eyes snapping open and returning to reality.

Ariadne's face was extremely close to his, her hands on his shoulders - she must have been shaking him back and forth. One of her curls fell loose and brushed against his cheek. Arthur visibly shivered at the tiny touch but immediately gained back his Point Man façade, body draining of emotion.

She smiled and backed off, going to sit on the chair beside him. "You sleep like the dead, Arthur. The PASIV ran out and you were still under. It took me a good five minutes to actually wake you."

Arthur sat up in his chair, legs swinging around to come to rest on the floor, facing her. "It was a good dream."

"Ah," Ariadne said, eyes looking elsewhere, not wanting to pry. "Well, I'm off, I think. It's late but I just didn't want you to wake up alone." She blushed at her comment, seeming surprised that it had popped out. Ariadne, stood up awkwardly, the blush still lingering on her face, and went to her workstation to gather her things.

Arthur chuckled to himself as she walked away. She must have put a curse on him, bewitched him – something. Because it was not normal to be this fixated on someone. "After Fischer, I'll tell her," Arthur thought to himself, a small smile forming on his lips. "After Inception."