Disclaimer: Inception does not belong to me.
Ariadne sat up in bed, and rubbed her eyes. They felt slightly swollen - the result, she grimaced, of crying until late at night. Getting out of bed, she plodded through to the bathroom, and turned the faucet on full blast.
As she splashed her face, she tried to piece together the events of the previous night. She'd let Eames comfort her, crying on his shoulder. She'd tried to snuffle back her tears as Arthur had walked past, leaving. She'd insisted that she would be all right, then proceeded to go home, and crawl into bed, dropping her clothes carelessly on the floor. As she'd closed her eyes, all she'd see had been Arthur's face.
She shuddered. He'd looked so smug, so arrogant. A far cry from the formerly caring and protective man she'd known. Turning over, she'd tried to sleep.
Her alarm had startled her awake. She'd spent most of the night looking at the red digital numbers, and suddenly, it was morning. As she splashed her face, she decided to shower.
Stretching her arms out into the warm, steaming, rain, she decided she would have to be as calm and as professional around Arthur as possible. They were still colleagues, still co-workers. They had to try and behave properly.
She began to climb out, reaching for a towel. As she rubbed herself dry, she swallowed. Getting anxious, she decided, was pointless.
Arthur turned over, and grinned. The woman he was lying next to was still fast asleep. He began to crawl out from under the covers, searching for his clothes.
She'd been very persistent. Going to the bar that night - all he remembered, he mused rubbing his forehead, was drinking a few vodkas, and then a woman approaching him - and then, somehow, ending up at her apartment. He frowned, slightly. Then grimaced, as his hangover began to hit him with force. Getting up, he moved towards the bathroom, looking for water. As he turned on the faucet, picking up a tooth mug, he heard her stirring.
"Arthur?"
He blinked. He hadn't realised she'd actually remembered his name. "Yes?" he called out, his voice suddenly shaky.
"Arthur?" Suddenly, she appeared in the door way. She'd managed to tie on a robe, her hair loose. He swallowed, feeling taken aback. "Are you coming back to bed?"
"I-" he blinked, shocked. "I - I should be going to work-"
"Forget work." She smiled, and her nails, painted a dark red, suddenly reminded him of talons. "Are you coming to bed, or not?"
He looked down at himself. He was clad in his boxers, and, he though defensively, no-one ever dictated to him about when he had to be in work.
"Why not?"
As they fell back onto the bed, pressing their lips against each others, he had a sudden thought. Going to a bar, picking up a random woman - he frowned, and began to sit up. She looked at him, her expression suddenly transmuting from delighted to annoyed.
"I just..." he blinked, swallowing. "I don't think this is me."
"Arthur?" she was visibly annoyed now, beginning to get up. "Arthur, will you-"
"No, I'm sorry," he said, hoarsely, grabbing his clothes and pulling them on. "This isn't me. Please, let me leave."
To her shock, and anger, he hastily finished dressing, and hurried for the door.
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