Let Me Count the Ways [Arthur/Ariadne]
You know the drill. this prompt over at inception_kink.
Guess what, no alleys! *insert Bruce Wayne reference* This is entirely too many words.
[edit:Oct 14] there is now a yin half because kore_rising is a big cheater and I love it
1.
[∞]
If he didn’t notice the first time, it’s because she gave no indication anything less than the whole of her attention was on his Penrose stairs.
[∞+2]
He does notice when she’s showing him the paradox she built into the hotel staircase. Since it’s a personal observation, he doesn’t need to formulate an explanation why he was looking at Ariadne’s lips. He just notes her mouth moving and lip-reading is a useful skill in his line of work.
[38]
He discovered she always starts with her right foot. Puts the size 7 boot on the first step and starts counting as she goes. It doesn’t matter that this is her apartment building and she knows how many steps it takes. Up or down.
He reasons creative geniuses probably all have their little quirks. God knows Cobb’s weren’t nearly as harmless.
[142]
He carries the foam core masterpiece for her while she negotiates a wide enough path in front of him. A pack of rainbow-haired idiots catch sight of her, and start rattling off numbers, presumably to distract her from her well-known habit.
Fifty seven, twenty three, nineteen, two, thirty one-
Shut up, Kimball, she takes a swipe at the closest one with the fringe on her scarf. Crazy comp-scis, rotted their brains with Twinkies and Cup Noodles… she explains to Arthur pointedly.
Arthur ignores the looks the Kool-Aid brigade is giving him. If they assume he is using this as an opportunity to ogle Ariadne’s (admittedly distracting) ass, that’s their problem.
[5]
It’s not practical laced-up leather on her feet, but strappy black stilettos with Swarovski crystal buckles that she wobbles just a little in. They have to unlink their elbows so the coat check girl can take Ariadne’s (very expensive, very white and easily stained, very much not something she paid for) wrap and Arthur’s jacket. She’s quite proud she doesn’t fall down without Arthur to hold her up.
The penguin behind the podium summons one of his minions to lead them to their (specifically reserved because it has an excellent view of Wayne, party of five) table. There’s a short flight of stairs involved to get to the VIP seating and Arthur feels her tense for a split second before she relaxes.
He glances around and then down and deduces it’s because her left foot is on the third step.
Were you always so obsessive? he murmurs with lilt of laughter lightening the question.
Le bon dieu est dans le detail, she shoots back, even though it’s not really an answer.
[329]
They escape the projections (for now) and approach the roof exit. Arthur pulls out his gun and she cautiously pushes the door open.
There is no hail of bullets, no thudding footsteps. They race to the edge of the building. The city is endless below them, grey and distant. She thinks of another city, another dream, another man, and she wonders if dreaming will ever become too much.
I don’t know if I’m going to get out and sleep for a week straight, or never sleep again, she mutters. I don’t know if I can keep doing this.
Ariadne.
She meets his eyes, and has no idea what he sees.
You won’t get lost.
If this is some reference to my namesake that’s meant to be comforting, it’s kind of crap. That Ariadne didn’t get lost because she never entered the labyrinth.
You won’t get lost.
Because you’ll find me?
He shakes his head. That implies I would leave you to begin with.
He climbs onto the ledge, right foot first.
One.
She takes his outstretched hand and awkwardly hops up next to him.
It still counts as a leap of faith.
[0]
His flat is on the twelfth floor. She ignores him when he asks if she would rather take the stairs. (She knows he smirks just a little bit when he sees a staircase. She knows he smiles when she adjusts her stride so her right foot goes first. She thinks it’s kind of sweet that he thinks this is cute.)
She simply takes the lift up, allows him to escort her inside, and while he runs a bath for them, she hides all his cufflinks in his shoe.
She sleeps easily, curled against him. She wakes ten hours later, because Arthur is stroking her hair. Actually, the point man is arranging the wavy locks by curl size.
She thinks she’s figured out why the dreams weren’t enough for Cobb.
2.
[stars shining bright above you]
She’s swaying around her desk, managing to combine rhythm with purposeful determination. Closer observation reveals she misplaced her hot glue gun (it’s under the chair) and she’s singing under her breath.
He thinks it telling she’s gotten so comfortable with a group of criminals that she’s not at all abashed when Yusuf points to the bright blue plastic and comments she has a nice voice.
She thanks him and then asks if he’s by any chance seen the glue sticks.
[night breezes seem to whisper I love you]
They pass a café that happens to be playing Louis Armstrong. She sings along. He discovers she only knows the first verse. She hums the rest anyway and Arthur ends up buying her a cup of coffee.
They end up talking until midnight, and Ariadne doesn’t understand how Arthur can find her so interesting.
[birds singing in the sycamore tree]
He hears her iPod crooning the Mamas & the Papas as the PASIV flashes insistently. She blinks sleepily at him, mouthing the last lines absently.
I think I’m just about done with this level. You want to look? She stifles a yawn.
It can wait. Let me take you home.
I’m going to forget something if you wait, she warns, rubbing her eyes.
Thus proving crime doesn’t pay. Specifically, it doesn’t pay architects who don’t do their jobs.
Fine, it can wait and you can take me home. But only because I can’t argue with two of you. She yawns again.
Give me two minutes.
She’s asleep before he even gets to his desk.
He carries her carefully and deposits her in the passenger seat.
(He has to go around the luxury vehicle to get to the wheel, so he can’t see her eyes flutter open and her lips curve into a naughty grin.)
She wakes up when he turns a little too sharply onto her street, but she looks pleased.
Sweet dreams? he asks.
Like candy. She leaves his car humming to herself.
[dream a little dream of me]
He remembers what Mal was like in real life. Lovely doesn’t even begin to cover it.
The die warms in his hand, but he already knows he’s dreaming.
He’s discovering what Ariadne is in real life. He doesn’t know where to begin.
The projection is cold (it sings, sultry sweet, like Ella Fitzgerald). He has no qualms about shooting it.
[hmm mmhmmhmm mmn kiss me]
You really should know more to the song than that, he mutters, coming up for air.
I know enough. She buries her fingers deeper in his hair and pulls him back.
[j’reve les yeux ouverts ca m’fait du bien]
She’s washing the rice for the risotto when he hears the first strains. He looks up from cutting mushrooms because she’s singing a familiar tune in French.
The Beautiful South version, she explains. It was in French Kiss. I have the Sylvie Vartan somewhere, but I never got around to putting-
He kisses her. Because there are twenty million versions of this song and she likes them all, even if she can’t remember the words.
3.
[august, paris]
He learns, after they sleep together, that she is not a morning person.
She bolts upright at six in the morning, completely oblivious to the fact that she is not alone. Arthur goes from asleep to alert and armed in three seconds flat. (She never noticed and he never let her.)
She stares uncomprehending at the clock for a full minute, declares eat me Chevalier, it’s Saturday triumphantly and flops back down into her pillow.
She wakes up ten seconds later because something heavy, hard and shaking is caging her in. It turns out to be Arthur’s (deliciously muscled) arms, shaking because he’s laughing.
She isn’t too offended, because he’s hugging her, even if he is chuckling like a schoolboy.
She is fully aware she has a history of making interesting decisions. Of course her boyfriend is one of them.
[september, hong kong]
She coughs wetly. Arthur winces sympathetically as he shuts the door behind him. You’re awake.
I hate this place, she rasps miserably.
You were having fun yesterday.
I wasn’t dying yesterday.
You’re not dying today.
She sniffs. Why are we here again?
I’m here, Arthur explains patiently, spooning congee into a bowl, because I’m trying to get us a job. You’re here because you didn’t want to wait in London. You’re sick in bed because you caught something while you were enjoying the Mid-Autumn Festival. Or at the Peak. Or running around the city looking at buildings.
There’s more to Hong Kong than I. M. Pei. I had to find it, she defends, refusing to look at ‘breakfast’(even though he can’t have found it anywhere near the Peninsula).
The clock says it’s after three in the afternoon. She had been planning to go to the Bird Market today. She huddles under the blanket despite the heat and the way it sticks to her (stupid subtropical city). Anything is better than inconveniencing Arthur (and then having to face him).
He slides into bed next to her and she latches onto him like a limpet, not caring that she is wrinkling his suit.
He tells her that despite wearing out the soles of three pairs of shoes, several unique dining experiences, one close encounter with the Triad and setting fire to a paper lantern, he is very glad she’s here and not waiting in London.
She mumbles something into his tie. (She has to stop after two seconds because her throat hurts, but he knows she’s glad too.)
[december, london]
Waking up is always interesting when it’s cold because Ariadne believes in sharing body heat but not blankets.
What time is it? she asks his neck.
Ten in the morning. Can I have my arm back?
Her arms, locked loosely around his, tighten. Stay with me.
Is my elbow truly more important than your café au lait?
She considers and nods, the point of her chin digging into his clavicle. Coffee means no bedwarmer and you expect us to be in the warehouse before 11. No coffee means we stay in bed until I decide it’s too late to go out and we should just have lots of sex.
That would be a much more convincing argument if I hadn’t heard it three times this week.
Well, you didn’t let me convince you properly those times. She grins impishly up at him and he reconsiders his position on workaholism.
[february, new york]
Sometimes he thinks she only wants sex early in the morning so they will both be too tired to get up on time. (Vixen.)
She knows he has no real objections to her brilliant machinations. Especially not when she clearly has the better hand (between his legs).
[july, naples]
Arthur wakes to the smell of burning bread, and a noticeably empty space under his arm.
He finds Ariadne in the kitchenette, trying to salvage the toast while figuring out the coffee machine. His apron (black, shiitake happens, gift from her just because, unfortunately appropriate right now) is much too big on her.
Happy birthday? she tries hopefully.
It’s not my birthday.
Her smile compresses into a rosebud of annoyance. I’m going to hurt Eames. I didn’t think Cobb would remember if you ever told him, but I probably should have tried, even if he is ten timezones away…
You woke up early to make me breakfast?
That was the plan, she growls.
He unplugs the coffee machine (which is bubbling like no coffee pot should), hangs the apron on its peg and returns her to bed.
She’s too irritated to go to sleep, so she lets him rub soothing circles into her back even though it’s supposed to be his birthday.
4.
[receipt]
Yusuf brings the stray out of the rain. Ariadne fusses over it, bemoaning how young it is, the awful people who left it in a box, how she doesn’t have anything to give it. She actually puts her tools away and runs out into the rain with twenty euros.
The chemist warns him that he can’t try to guard the models or the bottles, because even if the feline is less than a kilo, it will get to the ‘toys’.
Arthur refrains from comparing it to a certain thief he knows. He pointedly ignores it, and naturally it assumes they are soulmates. Even when Ariadne comes back with a cup of coffee and a tiny thing of milk, it repeatedly returns to shed on his pant leg.
Eventually it finds something to do, knocking over Ariadne’s bin to get at the discarded papers. It bats half a dozen wadded up balls in twenty different directions and chases a slippery scrap all the way to him.
He glances down at this agent of chaos, and sees a quick sketch of the suit he is wearing (presumably it is his head under the paw).
[napkin]
Ariadne, it turns out, always has a pen on her, and even though she shouldn’t, she uses it without reservation. Usually it’s buildings or skylines. Sometimes it’s people, but I do lines better than life, on paper she demurs and crumples up whoever it is.
He watched her drain her coffee while he tried to negotiate with an excitable Italian, and she got bored quickly. When he hangs up and tucks his phone away, she isn’t paying attention.
He slides the napkin she is defacing closer. She starts and snatches it back, but Arthur is quite familiar with his reflection, so she can’t deny who she was trying to draw.
She doesn’t speak to him for the rest of the day.
[sketchbook]
She waves absently at her desk when he asks to see her base designs. Somewhere in the middle she instructs and goes back to her plywood.
He turns the pages with care; cognizant he is flipping through her thoughts. There’s the maze rendered in simple black and white, the street corner with the bank, a doodle of Yusuf as a mad scientist cuts into the teller windows.
Then there are crisp, tailored lines, a dark head bent over a spread of newspaper, a figure tilting in his chair…
The book slams shut.
I uh… I-
Get quite a lot done with your time? he finishes playfully.
[wrist]
The white gold watch her mother gave her is much looser than it was last year. She might be worried about what she’s doing to her body (and her mind), but she knows what she’s doing (and who). So she pushes it further up her arm and watches the second hand travel.
Before she quite realizes, her ball point is in her hand and the unconscious Arthur covers her skin, from her knuckles past the jutting bone of her wrist.
The steady tick reminds her why she’s still awake and she checks the PASIV. Two more minutes.
The ink is already bleeding in, but she can’t bring herself to just wipe it away.
She tugs her sleeves down as far as they go and adjusts the headphones over Arthur’s ears. She presses ‘play’ (she can’t remember if it’s Vivaldi or Wagner) and waits for him to come back to reality.
5.
[before]
Before they did the job (her very first), he found her looking at him sometimes, sneaky little peeks that changed direction once she noticed he was looking back. She tried to cover up her blushes by asking questions, mostly about shared dreaming (because he’s the expert), occasionally about Cobb (because she’s more than a little concerned about him) and one time about himself (she didn’t have an excuse prepared then). Arthur knows distraction techniques when he sees them, so he answered all her questions and waited for the real one.
Eventually she’ll tell him why she can’t keep her eyes off him.
Eventually he’ll admit that he enjoys it.
[during]
The first level, seeing the unflappable Arthur lose his calm shakes her more than she wants to admit. He doesn’t look at her, even to answer.
In the second level, after he kisses her (she gave it to him), she can’t help being completely aware of him. But if he catches her staring more often than usual, it’s because he’s looking.
Third level down, what Arthur was explaining about kicks penetrates the cold swell of panic, and she tries to convince the other two to keep going. There are many reasons she doesn’t want to be stuck in someone else’s mind for the rest of her life. The most prominent of which is a dream away, trusting that Dom Cobb knows what he’s doing.
[after]
Now she doesn’t pretend she wasn’t. Now she looks at him as often and as freely as she wants to. And when she does, she holds his gaze long enough to see the smile curve his lips.
&
When he kisses her, he doesn’t pull away.
When he kisses her, she knows she’s not dreaming.
When he kisses her, she doesn’t need the impossible.
When he kisses her, she knows what it is to be a lover.
She can’t help smiling when he kisses her.
(He can’t help kissing her when she smiles.)
Guess what, no alleys! *insert Bruce Wayne reference* This is entirely too many words.
[edit:Oct 14] there is now a yin half because kore_rising is a big cheater and I love it
1.
[∞]
If he didn’t notice the first time, it’s because she gave no indication anything less than the whole of her attention was on his Penrose stairs.
[∞+2]
He does notice when she’s showing him the paradox she built into the hotel staircase. Since it’s a personal observation, he doesn’t need to formulate an explanation why he was looking at Ariadne’s lips. He just notes her mouth moving and lip-reading is a useful skill in his line of work.
[38]
He discovered she always starts with her right foot. Puts the size 7 boot on the first step and starts counting as she goes. It doesn’t matter that this is her apartment building and she knows how many steps it takes. Up or down.
He reasons creative geniuses probably all have their little quirks. God knows Cobb’s weren’t nearly as harmless.
[142]
He carries the foam core masterpiece for her while she negotiates a wide enough path in front of him. A pack of rainbow-haired idiots catch sight of her, and start rattling off numbers, presumably to distract her from her well-known habit.
Fifty seven, twenty three, nineteen, two, thirty one-
Shut up, Kimball, she takes a swipe at the closest one with the fringe on her scarf. Crazy comp-scis, rotted their brains with Twinkies and Cup Noodles… she explains to Arthur pointedly.
Arthur ignores the looks the Kool-Aid brigade is giving him. If they assume he is using this as an opportunity to ogle Ariadne’s (admittedly distracting) ass, that’s their problem.
[5]
It’s not practical laced-up leather on her feet, but strappy black stilettos with Swarovski crystal buckles that she wobbles just a little in. They have to unlink their elbows so the coat check girl can take Ariadne’s (very expensive, very white and easily stained, very much not something she paid for) wrap and Arthur’s jacket. She’s quite proud she doesn’t fall down without Arthur to hold her up.
The penguin behind the podium summons one of his minions to lead them to their (specifically reserved because it has an excellent view of Wayne, party of five) table. There’s a short flight of stairs involved to get to the VIP seating and Arthur feels her tense for a split second before she relaxes.
He glances around and then down and deduces it’s because her left foot is on the third step.
Were you always so obsessive? he murmurs with lilt of laughter lightening the question.
Le bon dieu est dans le detail, she shoots back, even though it’s not really an answer.
[329]
They escape the projections (for now) and approach the roof exit. Arthur pulls out his gun and she cautiously pushes the door open.
There is no hail of bullets, no thudding footsteps. They race to the edge of the building. The city is endless below them, grey and distant. She thinks of another city, another dream, another man, and she wonders if dreaming will ever become too much.
I don’t know if I’m going to get out and sleep for a week straight, or never sleep again, she mutters. I don’t know if I can keep doing this.
Ariadne.
She meets his eyes, and has no idea what he sees.
You won’t get lost.
If this is some reference to my namesake that’s meant to be comforting, it’s kind of crap. That Ariadne didn’t get lost because she never entered the labyrinth.
You won’t get lost.
Because you’ll find me?
He shakes his head. That implies I would leave you to begin with.
He climbs onto the ledge, right foot first.
One.
She takes his outstretched hand and awkwardly hops up next to him.
It still counts as a leap of faith.
[0]
His flat is on the twelfth floor. She ignores him when he asks if she would rather take the stairs. (She knows he smirks just a little bit when he sees a staircase. She knows he smiles when she adjusts her stride so her right foot goes first. She thinks it’s kind of sweet that he thinks this is cute.)
She simply takes the lift up, allows him to escort her inside, and while he runs a bath for them, she hides all his cufflinks in his shoe.
She sleeps easily, curled against him. She wakes ten hours later, because Arthur is stroking her hair. Actually, the point man is arranging the wavy locks by curl size.
She thinks she’s figured out why the dreams weren’t enough for Cobb.
2.
[stars shining bright above you]
She’s swaying around her desk, managing to combine rhythm with purposeful determination. Closer observation reveals she misplaced her hot glue gun (it’s under the chair) and she’s singing under her breath.
He thinks it telling she’s gotten so comfortable with a group of criminals that she’s not at all abashed when Yusuf points to the bright blue plastic and comments she has a nice voice.
She thanks him and then asks if he’s by any chance seen the glue sticks.
[night breezes seem to whisper I love you]
They pass a café that happens to be playing Louis Armstrong. She sings along. He discovers she only knows the first verse. She hums the rest anyway and Arthur ends up buying her a cup of coffee.
They end up talking until midnight, and Ariadne doesn’t understand how Arthur can find her so interesting.
[birds singing in the sycamore tree]
He hears her iPod crooning the Mamas & the Papas as the PASIV flashes insistently. She blinks sleepily at him, mouthing the last lines absently.
I think I’m just about done with this level. You want to look? She stifles a yawn.
It can wait. Let me take you home.
I’m going to forget something if you wait, she warns, rubbing her eyes.
Thus proving crime doesn’t pay. Specifically, it doesn’t pay architects who don’t do their jobs.
Fine, it can wait and you can take me home. But only because I can’t argue with two of you. She yawns again.
Give me two minutes.
She’s asleep before he even gets to his desk.
He carries her carefully and deposits her in the passenger seat.
(He has to go around the luxury vehicle to get to the wheel, so he can’t see her eyes flutter open and her lips curve into a naughty grin.)
She wakes up when he turns a little too sharply onto her street, but she looks pleased.
Sweet dreams? he asks.
Like candy. She leaves his car humming to herself.
[dream a little dream of me]
He remembers what Mal was like in real life. Lovely doesn’t even begin to cover it.
The die warms in his hand, but he already knows he’s dreaming.
He’s discovering what Ariadne is in real life. He doesn’t know where to begin.
The projection is cold (it sings, sultry sweet, like Ella Fitzgerald). He has no qualms about shooting it.
[hmm mmhmmhmm mmn kiss me]
You really should know more to the song than that, he mutters, coming up for air.
I know enough. She buries her fingers deeper in his hair and pulls him back.
[j’reve les yeux ouverts ca m’fait du bien]
She’s washing the rice for the risotto when he hears the first strains. He looks up from cutting mushrooms because she’s singing a familiar tune in French.
The Beautiful South version, she explains. It was in French Kiss. I have the Sylvie Vartan somewhere, but I never got around to putting-
He kisses her. Because there are twenty million versions of this song and she likes them all, even if she can’t remember the words.
3.
[august, paris]
He learns, after they sleep together, that she is not a morning person.
She bolts upright at six in the morning, completely oblivious to the fact that she is not alone. Arthur goes from asleep to alert and armed in three seconds flat. (She never noticed and he never let her.)
She stares uncomprehending at the clock for a full minute, declares eat me Chevalier, it’s Saturday triumphantly and flops back down into her pillow.
She wakes up ten seconds later because something heavy, hard and shaking is caging her in. It turns out to be Arthur’s (deliciously muscled) arms, shaking because he’s laughing.
She isn’t too offended, because he’s hugging her, even if he is chuckling like a schoolboy.
She is fully aware she has a history of making interesting decisions. Of course her boyfriend is one of them.
[september, hong kong]
She coughs wetly. Arthur winces sympathetically as he shuts the door behind him. You’re awake.
I hate this place, she rasps miserably.
You were having fun yesterday.
I wasn’t dying yesterday.
You’re not dying today.
She sniffs. Why are we here again?
I’m here, Arthur explains patiently, spooning congee into a bowl, because I’m trying to get us a job. You’re here because you didn’t want to wait in London. You’re sick in bed because you caught something while you were enjoying the Mid-Autumn Festival. Or at the Peak. Or running around the city looking at buildings.
There’s more to Hong Kong than I. M. Pei. I had to find it, she defends, refusing to look at ‘breakfast’(even though he can’t have found it anywhere near the Peninsula).
The clock says it’s after three in the afternoon. She had been planning to go to the Bird Market today. She huddles under the blanket despite the heat and the way it sticks to her (stupid subtropical city). Anything is better than inconveniencing Arthur (and then having to face him).
He slides into bed next to her and she latches onto him like a limpet, not caring that she is wrinkling his suit.
He tells her that despite wearing out the soles of three pairs of shoes, several unique dining experiences, one close encounter with the Triad and setting fire to a paper lantern, he is very glad she’s here and not waiting in London.
She mumbles something into his tie. (She has to stop after two seconds because her throat hurts, but he knows she’s glad too.)
[december, london]
Waking up is always interesting when it’s cold because Ariadne believes in sharing body heat but not blankets.
What time is it? she asks his neck.
Ten in the morning. Can I have my arm back?
Her arms, locked loosely around his, tighten. Stay with me.
Is my elbow truly more important than your café au lait?
She considers and nods, the point of her chin digging into his clavicle. Coffee means no bedwarmer and you expect us to be in the warehouse before 11. No coffee means we stay in bed until I decide it’s too late to go out and we should just have lots of sex.
That would be a much more convincing argument if I hadn’t heard it three times this week.
Well, you didn’t let me convince you properly those times. She grins impishly up at him and he reconsiders his position on workaholism.
[february, new york]
Sometimes he thinks she only wants sex early in the morning so they will both be too tired to get up on time. (Vixen.)
She knows he has no real objections to her brilliant machinations. Especially not when she clearly has the better hand (between his legs).
[july, naples]
Arthur wakes to the smell of burning bread, and a noticeably empty space under his arm.
He finds Ariadne in the kitchenette, trying to salvage the toast while figuring out the coffee machine. His apron (black, shiitake happens, gift from her just because, unfortunately appropriate right now) is much too big on her.
Happy birthday? she tries hopefully.
It’s not my birthday.
Her smile compresses into a rosebud of annoyance. I’m going to hurt Eames. I didn’t think Cobb would remember if you ever told him, but I probably should have tried, even if he is ten timezones away…
You woke up early to make me breakfast?
That was the plan, she growls.
He unplugs the coffee machine (which is bubbling like no coffee pot should), hangs the apron on its peg and returns her to bed.
She’s too irritated to go to sleep, so she lets him rub soothing circles into her back even though it’s supposed to be his birthday.
4.
[receipt]
Yusuf brings the stray out of the rain. Ariadne fusses over it, bemoaning how young it is, the awful people who left it in a box, how she doesn’t have anything to give it. She actually puts her tools away and runs out into the rain with twenty euros.
The chemist warns him that he can’t try to guard the models or the bottles, because even if the feline is less than a kilo, it will get to the ‘toys’.
Arthur refrains from comparing it to a certain thief he knows. He pointedly ignores it, and naturally it assumes they are soulmates. Even when Ariadne comes back with a cup of coffee and a tiny thing of milk, it repeatedly returns to shed on his pant leg.
Eventually it finds something to do, knocking over Ariadne’s bin to get at the discarded papers. It bats half a dozen wadded up balls in twenty different directions and chases a slippery scrap all the way to him.
He glances down at this agent of chaos, and sees a quick sketch of the suit he is wearing (presumably it is his head under the paw).
[napkin]
Ariadne, it turns out, always has a pen on her, and even though she shouldn’t, she uses it without reservation. Usually it’s buildings or skylines. Sometimes it’s people, but I do lines better than life, on paper she demurs and crumples up whoever it is.
He watched her drain her coffee while he tried to negotiate with an excitable Italian, and she got bored quickly. When he hangs up and tucks his phone away, she isn’t paying attention.
He slides the napkin she is defacing closer. She starts and snatches it back, but Arthur is quite familiar with his reflection, so she can’t deny who she was trying to draw.
She doesn’t speak to him for the rest of the day.
[sketchbook]
She waves absently at her desk when he asks to see her base designs. Somewhere in the middle she instructs and goes back to her plywood.
He turns the pages with care; cognizant he is flipping through her thoughts. There’s the maze rendered in simple black and white, the street corner with the bank, a doodle of Yusuf as a mad scientist cuts into the teller windows.
Then there are crisp, tailored lines, a dark head bent over a spread of newspaper, a figure tilting in his chair…
The book slams shut.
I uh… I-
Get quite a lot done with your time? he finishes playfully.
[wrist]
The white gold watch her mother gave her is much looser than it was last year. She might be worried about what she’s doing to her body (and her mind), but she knows what she’s doing (and who). So she pushes it further up her arm and watches the second hand travel.
Before she quite realizes, her ball point is in her hand and the unconscious Arthur covers her skin, from her knuckles past the jutting bone of her wrist.
The steady tick reminds her why she’s still awake and she checks the PASIV. Two more minutes.
The ink is already bleeding in, but she can’t bring herself to just wipe it away.
She tugs her sleeves down as far as they go and adjusts the headphones over Arthur’s ears. She presses ‘play’ (she can’t remember if it’s Vivaldi or Wagner) and waits for him to come back to reality.
5.
[before]
Before they did the job (her very first), he found her looking at him sometimes, sneaky little peeks that changed direction once she noticed he was looking back. She tried to cover up her blushes by asking questions, mostly about shared dreaming (because he’s the expert), occasionally about Cobb (because she’s more than a little concerned about him) and one time about himself (she didn’t have an excuse prepared then). Arthur knows distraction techniques when he sees them, so he answered all her questions and waited for the real one.
Eventually she’ll tell him why she can’t keep her eyes off him.
Eventually he’ll admit that he enjoys it.
[during]
The first level, seeing the unflappable Arthur lose his calm shakes her more than she wants to admit. He doesn’t look at her, even to answer.
In the second level, after he kisses her (she gave it to him), she can’t help being completely aware of him. But if he catches her staring more often than usual, it’s because he’s looking.
Third level down, what Arthur was explaining about kicks penetrates the cold swell of panic, and she tries to convince the other two to keep going. There are many reasons she doesn’t want to be stuck in someone else’s mind for the rest of her life. The most prominent of which is a dream away, trusting that Dom Cobb knows what he’s doing.
[after]
Now she doesn’t pretend she wasn’t. Now she looks at him as often and as freely as she wants to. And when she does, she holds his gaze long enough to see the smile curve his lips.
&
When he kisses her, he doesn’t pull away.
When he kisses her, she knows she’s not dreaming.
When he kisses her, she doesn’t need the impossible.
When he kisses her, she knows what it is to be a lover.
She can’t help smiling when he kisses her.
(He can’t help kissing her when she smiles.)