l'appel du vide [Arthur/Ariadne]
title comes from # 17
I thought it apropos.
done for this prompt over on inception_kink
also Rest In Peace (and Play With Fire) Dan Gordon-Levitt. My ♥ goes out to JGL who lost a brother and a hero.
I was going to code color like the yang half but I'm sick and lazy.
1.
[ralph lauren]
Am I going to have to upgrade my wardrobe to keep working with you? asked Ariadne, examining the jacket slung over the point man’s chair.
She probably shouldn’t have said ‘yes, please’ to drinks with Eames after getting off that aeroplane. But she didn’t know if it was Eames being Eames and a prick, or Eames being Eames and trying to help her out. She didn’t figure on Arthur turning up at any point, which was poor judgment on her part, but she had been in limbo five hours ago. It was reason enough to get a very large Cosmopolitan. The arrival of the point man was the cause for Cosmos #2 and 3. Cosmos #2 and 3 were why she couldn’t tell she was babbling as many young women with three Cosmos and not much else in them are wont to do. Because clearly you don’t have this problem, but I’d feel really weird wearing DKNY to a warehouse and sitting on yard sale furniture with shady characters who don’t ever shave.
There is no dress code for mind crime, Ariadne, Eames protested with amusement.
There should be, Ariadne insisted, draping as much of herself as she could over Arthur’s shoulder. Who wouldn’t want to dream of this? She gestured vaguely with her free hand. She noticed Arthur’s jaw tighten, very visibly from her position, and pat it with a giggle.
Yusuf, the point man began with ominous calm.
Oh no, this has nothing to do with me, the chemist was quick to signal for another glass.
Don’t be such a plonker, Artie. Let the girl enjoy her fruity red drinks. And just think, when she’s finally done sucking them down, you get to play knight in shiny armor. Eames cocked a brow meaningfully before laughing in Arthur’s irritated face.
[calvin klein]
Ariadne understood that Arthur belonged to the subset of men that didn’t feel comfortable in casual. He was the very definition of sharp, and he probably had been ever since he could spell GQ. She was fully aware that he was wearing tailored suits well before she fell in love with them specifically him in them.
Still she can’t help but think, when he straightened his tie for the tenth time since sitting down, that maybe he was paying more attention to his appearance than usual. Because really, unless the tie was actively trying to strangle him, he shouldn’t need to adjust it quite so often. Hell, on a plane from Los Angeles to Paris, he’d be justified taking it off entirely, undoing his top button and making himself as comfy as allowed by the Tenets of Dreamy Well-Dressed Men.
Are there paparazzi I’m not seeing? she asked with a smile when he reached for his tie again.
Considering how much you had to drink last night, would it surprise you? He returned his hands to his lap, though.
Was I very embarrassing? she asked with a groan. I never drink that much, but yesterday deserved it.
You’ll have to tell me what happened down there. He gave her a measuring glance. Whenever you’re ready to.
[giorgio armani]
She ended up inviting him on a walk through le Bois de Vincennes. She planned to tell him what happened in limbo, about the dreams she was and was not having, to ask if she could work for him, if maybe he would kiss her again. All of it went out of her head when he came to pick her up.
All she could think was she should shut the door in his face and hope he would be so offended he would never talk to her again and she would eventually settle for some blonde musician that didn’t make her feel like a peasant. The man was wearing Acqua di Gio. She had two swipes of Lady Speed Stick and had forgotten to wash her hair this morning because she couldn’t decide on a skirt.
Arthur must have caught something on her face because he asked What’s wrong?
You’re wearing Armani, she pointed out dully. To walk in a park.
He glanced down at his dark blue jeans and leather jacket and shrugged. I think it’s Kenneth Cole. But I was hoping to impress you, he admitted, just a touch sheepishly.
Oh.
[valentino gavarani]
She’s poking through his suitcase trying to find a nail clipper.
Arthur walks in to see her laughing her cute little ass off because his hair gel is Valentino.
[alfred dunhill]
Arthur, she thinks, would look perfect even if someone set his pants on fire. He rolls up his sleeves absently, and anyone else could calculate thirty decimal places of pi with that kind of mathematical precision. She kind of wants to take her ruler and measure the cuffs of material at his elbows, just to confirm they are the exact same width.
She leans over and walks two fingers up his bared skin.
You were the kid who ate alphabet soup alphabetically, weren’t you.
No one shared their M&Ms with me either, he adds with a quiet laugh.
2.
[singapore - paris]
She was curled up with Notre-Dame de Paris when the phone rang. Caller ID displayed a jumble of numbers she didn’t recognize so she picked it up without a second thought.
Where are you?
Singapore. Arthur’s voice was tinny and louder than she was used to. Everything alright?
When are you coming back?
Job’s going smoothly, so I should be done in a week. Have to go now. Sweet dreams, Ariadne. The phone beeped at her, so she put it back slowly.
How does anyone have sweet dreams after reading Victor Hugo? she asked it with a small smile.
[seville]
She stares at her phone expectantly, even though Arthur is 35,000 feet above sea level and is not going to call. Still, she stays up later than usual, just hoping. She knows he’ll be here in the morning and she should get to bed now because she doesn’t plan to spend tomorrow night sleeping.
Finally, she gives in and turns off the light. She slides her hands under the puffy pillows and relaxes one muscle at a time. She shifts to get more comfortable and her fingers encounter cool, crisp parchment. She smiles into the pillowcase and pulls it out. She can’t read it in the dark, but she knows she doesn’t recognize the handwriting. She hopes he didn’t pay housekeeping too much-
She falls asleep.
[over the PASIV]
Arthur checks the lead in his wrist and glances at Ariadne and Lev. They both nod. The architect catches his eye as Lev reaches for the injection trigger.
Sweet dreams, he whispers before they slide into another world.
[workshop - nightstand]
They fought. More specifically, they disagreed forcefully. Ariadne had an attack of moral conscience and decided she couldn’t steal, especially not ideas because those couldn’t be insured or duplicated. Arthur would have accepted the loss of a brilliant architect, but then she said she couldn’t take the running and hiding, the not hearing from him for days, the fear that they could be caught. She said she couldn’t date a thief. He looked so stricken she’d stopped short and tried a different approach.
If it’s about the money, you have-
It’s not about money, he’d interrupted, looking offended and slightly hurt she could think such a thing. I thought you understood when you came back to do the Fischer job.
I understood that it was amazing what I could do, and it didn’t really hit me what I was doing ‘til later.
So this is an ultimatum? His voice was tinged with disbelief.
Maybe? I don’t know, unless you have a less illegal job opportunity lined up.
Arthur gave her a look she couldn’t fathom and took his jacket from the closet. There aren’t many ‘acceptable’ ways to use shared dreaming, Ariadne. And I wouldn’t risk my life for them.
He left her clutching a kitchen chair, white-knuckled and tight-lipped.
Her phone buzzed a little after midnight, and she successfully ignored it for an hour. It was a two word text, and she wondered briefly if he could be so underhanded. Then she remembered what he’d said, heavy and absolute, and realized that wasn’t it at all. A man who would invest so much of himself in a partner and friend, in dream sharing, in her, was a man who would bid her pleasant dreams and mean it.
Unfortunately, she didn’t sleep at all to enjoy them.
[left pillow - somewhere near his neck]
She tucks herself into him, nose fit imperfectly in his clavicle, hand resting on his waist. His fingers brush sensuous little patterns on the skin of her back. She licks a stripe under his jaw, feels his pulse flutter salty on her tongue, and burrows deeper into his embrace with a tired murmur.
He smiles into her hair and whispers his good night.
I love you.
3.
[mandarin/cantonese]
She listens with unrestrained delight when he slides easily from the crisp standard Mandarin to the thick syllables of Cantonese. It doesn’t matter that he’s gone from negotiating a job in Beijing to asking a street vendor how to get to the MTR station from here she thinks, it sounds perfect coming from him.
She wraps herself around his arm and asks if he’s always had such a talented tongue. The glint in her eyes is cause enough for him to wave down a taxi rather than bother with public transportation.
[italian]
Really? she asks with interest. So those infomercials weren’t completely stupid?
I suppose not. But I didn’t learn the language by sleeping with a cassette player.
You learned by sleeping with an Italian, she finishes solemnly, the corners of her lip fighting to stay still. She busies herself with her sorbet as if that will evidence her innocence.
In one month, I had the equivalent of a two year immersion program inside her head.
It takes Ariadne a little longer to digest that Arthur essentially spent two years living with a woman at the mercy of her mind.
I had to study the written language and how to read it before going under, but I think it was money and time well spent. Especially since it wasn’t all that much time. He gives her the little smirk that says ‘aren’t I clever?’.
You’re like, right out of a Dan Brown novel, she says flatly and throws her napkin at him.
[french]
Arthur was waiting downstairs, and she was honestly hurrying, but she couldn’t find her left shoe and she had bought this pair specifically for this dress and she’d bought the dress specifically for tonight and the shoe was nowhere to be found.
Fuck it. She had to remind herself not to touch her hair in any way, even to tear it out, because it was up apparently Arthur liked it that way. Please let this be a dream. I will accept the ‘showing up naked for a test’ dream or ‘discovering David Hasselhoff is my father and this makes me somewhat German’, just please let me not be awake.
It hit her suddenly that she had needed the shoe to match with a purse, and dammit she hadn’t put her lipstick in the purse yet because she hadn’t decided on a purse when she was holding the lipstick but at least she knew where her shoe was.
Ariadne finally managed to leave her apartment looking like a girl on a date and got herself to the ground floor without dying. Arthur was contentedly conversing with Madame Jeanine about wines and her grandson the vintner nailing the articles too, and she probably shouldn’t have been as turned on as she was by his pronunciation, but the words trickled to a sharp sweet stop when she entered his line of vision.
Enchanté, Madame. He gave her a slight bow which made Madame laugh and gently push him at his lovely companion.
Sorry I made you wait. Ariadne flushed to her ears as he pressed a kiss to the back of her hand.
It was worth it.
Yeah, Jeanine is pretty hot, isn’t she? she teased.
[japanese]
Saito only had to correct Arthur twice, amused rather than offended by Arthur’s imperfect keigo. Ariadne was still stuck on the fact that Arthur’s keigo was imperfect.
Let me explain why I arranged this meeting. Saito gestured slightly and his secretaries refilled their tea cups and exited quietly. I have a job for you.
[russian]
They’re in St. Petersburg because it’s St. Petersburg and if it’s a trifle cold that’s part of the experience.
They go into the pub because Ariadne wants to know what it looks like inside. Also, her eyeballs are frozen solid.
It’s not her fault the mildly-attractive muscular blond thinks she’s making eyes at him. It’s certainly not her fault he’s had enough good vodka to convince him that she’s going to ditch the man of her dreams for him.
And when she doesn’t, he goes over but he doesn’t get any farther than a hand on her shoulder.
Arthur smiles politely and delivers a short speech that sounds downright musical to a girl who doesn’t know any Russian. Pietor doesn’t see it the same way and when Arthur releases his hand, he beats a hasty retreat to the other end of the room.
You had a brief fling with a matryoshka too? she asks with a fair imitation of his skeptical face.
She appealed to my curiosity. He raises his eyebrow so she can admire the original look. You don’t think I like layered women?
4.
[ossobuco]
Had she still been living with Annette in that cramped little closet from first year, she knows this would go differently. For one thing, it would never have been a surprise.
Ariadne is so surprised to find she is not alone in her apartment she tries to attack Arthur with her bookbag.
When she discovers the candles and the roses and the music and the little chocolate torte chilling in her fridge, she attacks him again, but this time he doesn’t stop her.
[soup]
She had three blankets spread neatly one on top of the other and she was still cold. Everyone and their mother told her she needed fluids, and swallowing actual food hurt, so she accepted the need for soup.
She told Arthur she’d be fine with the Andy Warhol menu, but naturally it didn’t fly. Either because he had no use for pop art or he didn’t trust her with a can opener or he was one of those people that read nutrition labels.
Whatever the reason, Arthur had to break into her apartment again to start a pot of chicken stock on her stove, because she was sleeping too deeply to hear his knock. In the afternoon, he returned with more ingredients and she was awake enough to let him in.
She watched with interest, and although she had to blow her nose every two minutes, it was totally worth it to have Arthur in an apron.
[sandwich]
Fuck, she hisses, shoving her finger into her mouth. She spots Arthur’s head out of the corner of her vision and rolls her eyes. Yes, I can’t even make us a brownbag without supervision.
Would you like some help?
No. I can handle sandwiches and an apple by myself. It might take me a while, but I will do it. At least we don’t need to clock in for mind crime. She applies herself industriously to the loaf of bread once assured she’s not bleeding any more. Arthur gently pries her hand away to examine the cut.
Only some parts of the workshop are sterile. Go clean it properly and bandage it.
She grumbles in irritation but obeys, knowing their lunches will be wrapped and packed by the time she comes back. They are.
Eames calls you a hausfrau. I’m starting to see his point.
Eames has yet to forgive me for making better scones than his mother. Besides, I like to cook.
You just like being good at following directions, she teases while he shines an apple.
I like that it makes you smile, corrects Arthur mildly, tucking the fruit away and offering her his hand. Let’s go.
[hot chocolate]
Arthur, she discovers when they arrive on the doorstep, is wildly popular with Cobb’s children. They insist on sitting next to him at the dinner table. Ariadne feels a little out of place here, with Arthur explaining how soaking the bird in salt water before shoving it in the oven is the easiest way to prevent tragedies like this and Cobb baldly ignoring him to ask James and Philippa what kind of dessert they should get. She pokes at her dry chicken and soggy asparagus and wonders if she’s really awake.
She decides she is when Arthur gets dragged into the kitchen to make hot chocolate. He does something magical to the mugs involving butter and nutmeg and she demands to know why he’s never made this for her.
[waffles]
The fifth time they visit the Cobb family, together, the children know exactly what they want Ariadne to draw for them and Arthur is quite content to watch his architect lying on Cobb’s throw cushions with her sketchpad while blonde children swarm her head with plastic barrettes. She tapes the castle to a little tower of blocks and they play pretend with a rabbit, a fairy Barbie, a horde of toy soldiers and a shark.
Do you want to play?
He finds it difficult to say no when her hair is going in twenty directions at once on a good day, but the allosaurus Ariadne offers him has a half-Windsor of purple yarn around its neck. He adjusts it and gets on the floor to help defend the castle from the very rare and deadly banana-shark.
It’s after three in the afternoon when James makes it known he is hungry and Philippa suggests waffles and Ariadne turns her best puppy dog face on Arthur.
He mutters something about bedroom eyes and goes to ask the patriarch if Belgian waffles are an appropriate afternoon snack.
5.
[in the second dream level]
Quick, give me a kiss.
They’re still looking at us.
Yeah, it was worth a shot. We should probably get out of here.
[at the library]
Arthur, she learned, is one of those critical thinkers that solves puzzles, not by thinking outside the box, but by understanding every aspect of it. And stealing was apparently the best vocation he could come up with.
He’s very good at it, admittedly.
She was going through the mess of notes and printouts for Moore’s class when she felt sparks skitter up her spine. She turned and felt warm lips against her own, slightly chapped and tasting faintly of spearmint.
When she opened her eyes, there was the point man, easily balancing on two legs of the crappy wooden chair next to her. She found it exceedingly difficult to focus on the Flavians after that.
[by the dairy section]
She always says she goes with him to pick out dessert, but that’s less than half the truth. While Arthur carefully handles the apples, looking for the best ones, she casts a meaningful glance at artichoke-girl and pulls him toward the pears next.
She ignores the slight flush creeping up his face as she weighs the choices for feminine products and condom brands with equal consideration, at her ever-so-slightly coy reminder they need more whipped cream and her very cheeky suggestion that he pick up a dozen bleach pens while they’re here.
She’s not paying much attention by the time they get to the end of the shopping list; she has an idea for something growing in her mind, he thinks it came from one of the greeting cards they passed. So she yelps a like kicked puppy when he snakes an arm around her suddenly and slides his tongue into her mouth.
[behind Eames’ back]
Eames is absolutely delighted Arthur and Ariadne are together his exact words are ‘regularly having sex’ and he teases them mercilessly, workplace courtesy be hanged.
Arthur is used to ignoring him, so he spends the greater part of his efforts on the architect. Ariadne is sorely tempted to stick him in a hedge maze with no exit by the end of the first day.
The second day, Eames makes pointed comments to no one in particular that the desks are kind of wonky, that he’s going out for lunch and will be back in exactly one hour, that doing the squelchy with your coworker is completely unprofessional.
Ariadne throws a ball of paper at his head. It misses.
Oh come on, sweet pea. You could have made that. Or are your late-night activities affecting your vision? He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.
She chucks a wad of masking tape next, and that sticks to the hair above his ear. He pulls it off with a pout and goes back to plotting the escape route. So he doesn’t notice the point man stroll over to the architect and bend her over the table for a full-on snog session.
[when she wakes up]
Her eyes flutter open and then crash shut, an unintelligible whine escaping her throat. She hears a soft laugh and the slither of the blinds. She opens her eyes a chink and determines the room is not so offensively bright and sits up muzzily.
She doesn’t register the quick peck until Arthur’s long gone, one more victim to his primping protocol. She shuffles into the bathroom to brush her teeth and demand a proper kiss.
&.
She skirts around ledges and limits, shies away from balconies and bridges, and doesn’t look down any more.
Don’t tell me you’re afraid of falling. Arthur looks concerned, worried he might be losing her, as Mal was lost.
Not afraid of falling, she corrects. She takes his hand and walks them to the edge of embankment. The bullet train rushes below them, a screaming streak of silver. She waits until it disappears into the horizon to continue. Do you know what it is to be a lover?
The words tug at Arthur’s memory, an echo from years ago. Mal had asked him the same thing once, laughter ringing in her voice, when he’d asked how she could let Dom spout such stupidly insipid fluff. I do now.
She smiles up at him, bright-eyed and alive, like she hasn’t done in days.
He smiles down at her in return, like he always does.
And Inception, all the characters and ideas therein, belong to Christopher Nolan.
'do the squelchy' is from the TV series Coupling (oh Jack Davenport)
Moore was my Roman Art and Architecture professor. She was awesome.
I think anything else that deserves a disclaimer is pretty obvious... mostly because they're mentioned by name.
I thought it apropos.
done for this prompt over on inception_kink
also Rest In Peace (and Play With Fire) Dan Gordon-Levitt. My ♥ goes out to JGL who lost a brother and a hero.
I was going to code color like the yang half but I'm sick and lazy.
1.
[ralph lauren]
Am I going to have to upgrade my wardrobe to keep working with you? asked Ariadne, examining the jacket slung over the point man’s chair.
She probably shouldn’t have said ‘yes, please’ to drinks with Eames after getting off that aeroplane. But she didn’t know if it was Eames being Eames and a prick, or Eames being Eames and trying to help her out. She didn’t figure on Arthur turning up at any point, which was poor judgment on her part, but she had been in limbo five hours ago. It was reason enough to get a very large Cosmopolitan. The arrival of the point man was the cause for Cosmos #2 and 3. Cosmos #2 and 3 were why she couldn’t tell she was babbling as many young women with three Cosmos and not much else in them are wont to do. Because clearly you don’t have this problem, but I’d feel really weird wearing DKNY to a warehouse and sitting on yard sale furniture with shady characters who don’t ever shave.
There is no dress code for mind crime, Ariadne, Eames protested with amusement.
There should be, Ariadne insisted, draping as much of herself as she could over Arthur’s shoulder. Who wouldn’t want to dream of this? She gestured vaguely with her free hand. She noticed Arthur’s jaw tighten, very visibly from her position, and pat it with a giggle.
Yusuf, the point man began with ominous calm.
Oh no, this has nothing to do with me, the chemist was quick to signal for another glass.
Don’t be such a plonker, Artie. Let the girl enjoy her fruity red drinks. And just think, when she’s finally done sucking them down, you get to play knight in shiny armor. Eames cocked a brow meaningfully before laughing in Arthur’s irritated face.
[calvin klein]
Ariadne understood that Arthur belonged to the subset of men that didn’t feel comfortable in casual. He was the very definition of sharp, and he probably had been ever since he could spell GQ. She was fully aware that he was wearing tailored suits well before she fell in love with them specifically him in them.
Still she can’t help but think, when he straightened his tie for the tenth time since sitting down, that maybe he was paying more attention to his appearance than usual. Because really, unless the tie was actively trying to strangle him, he shouldn’t need to adjust it quite so often. Hell, on a plane from Los Angeles to Paris, he’d be justified taking it off entirely, undoing his top button and making himself as comfy as allowed by the Tenets of Dreamy Well-Dressed Men.
Are there paparazzi I’m not seeing? she asked with a smile when he reached for his tie again.
Considering how much you had to drink last night, would it surprise you? He returned his hands to his lap, though.
Was I very embarrassing? she asked with a groan. I never drink that much, but yesterday deserved it.
You’ll have to tell me what happened down there. He gave her a measuring glance. Whenever you’re ready to.
[giorgio armani]
She ended up inviting him on a walk through le Bois de Vincennes. She planned to tell him what happened in limbo, about the dreams she was and was not having, to ask if she could work for him, if maybe he would kiss her again. All of it went out of her head when he came to pick her up.
All she could think was she should shut the door in his face and hope he would be so offended he would never talk to her again and she would eventually settle for some blonde musician that didn’t make her feel like a peasant. The man was wearing Acqua di Gio. She had two swipes of Lady Speed Stick and had forgotten to wash her hair this morning because she couldn’t decide on a skirt.
Arthur must have caught something on her face because he asked What’s wrong?
You’re wearing Armani, she pointed out dully. To walk in a park.
He glanced down at his dark blue jeans and leather jacket and shrugged. I think it’s Kenneth Cole. But I was hoping to impress you, he admitted, just a touch sheepishly.
Oh.
[valentino gavarani]
She’s poking through his suitcase trying to find a nail clipper.
Arthur walks in to see her laughing her cute little ass off because his hair gel is Valentino.
[alfred dunhill]
Arthur, she thinks, would look perfect even if someone set his pants on fire. He rolls up his sleeves absently, and anyone else could calculate thirty decimal places of pi with that kind of mathematical precision. She kind of wants to take her ruler and measure the cuffs of material at his elbows, just to confirm they are the exact same width.
She leans over and walks two fingers up his bared skin.
You were the kid who ate alphabet soup alphabetically, weren’t you.
No one shared their M&Ms with me either, he adds with a quiet laugh.
2.
[singapore - paris]
She was curled up with Notre-Dame de Paris when the phone rang. Caller ID displayed a jumble of numbers she didn’t recognize so she picked it up without a second thought.
Where are you?
Singapore. Arthur’s voice was tinny and louder than she was used to. Everything alright?
When are you coming back?
Job’s going smoothly, so I should be done in a week. Have to go now. Sweet dreams, Ariadne. The phone beeped at her, so she put it back slowly.
How does anyone have sweet dreams after reading Victor Hugo? she asked it with a small smile.
[seville]
She stares at her phone expectantly, even though Arthur is 35,000 feet above sea level and is not going to call. Still, she stays up later than usual, just hoping. She knows he’ll be here in the morning and she should get to bed now because she doesn’t plan to spend tomorrow night sleeping.
Finally, she gives in and turns off the light. She slides her hands under the puffy pillows and relaxes one muscle at a time. She shifts to get more comfortable and her fingers encounter cool, crisp parchment. She smiles into the pillowcase and pulls it out. She can’t read it in the dark, but she knows she doesn’t recognize the handwriting. She hopes he didn’t pay housekeeping too much-
She falls asleep.
[over the PASIV]
Arthur checks the lead in his wrist and glances at Ariadne and Lev. They both nod. The architect catches his eye as Lev reaches for the injection trigger.
Sweet dreams, he whispers before they slide into another world.
[workshop - nightstand]
They fought. More specifically, they disagreed forcefully. Ariadne had an attack of moral conscience and decided she couldn’t steal, especially not ideas because those couldn’t be insured or duplicated. Arthur would have accepted the loss of a brilliant architect, but then she said she couldn’t take the running and hiding, the not hearing from him for days, the fear that they could be caught. She said she couldn’t date a thief. He looked so stricken she’d stopped short and tried a different approach.
If it’s about the money, you have-
It’s not about money, he’d interrupted, looking offended and slightly hurt she could think such a thing. I thought you understood when you came back to do the Fischer job.
I understood that it was amazing what I could do, and it didn’t really hit me what I was doing ‘til later.
So this is an ultimatum? His voice was tinged with disbelief.
Maybe? I don’t know, unless you have a less illegal job opportunity lined up.
Arthur gave her a look she couldn’t fathom and took his jacket from the closet. There aren’t many ‘acceptable’ ways to use shared dreaming, Ariadne. And I wouldn’t risk my life for them.
He left her clutching a kitchen chair, white-knuckled and tight-lipped.
Her phone buzzed a little after midnight, and she successfully ignored it for an hour. It was a two word text, and she wondered briefly if he could be so underhanded. Then she remembered what he’d said, heavy and absolute, and realized that wasn’t it at all. A man who would invest so much of himself in a partner and friend, in dream sharing, in her, was a man who would bid her pleasant dreams and mean it.
Unfortunately, she didn’t sleep at all to enjoy them.
[left pillow - somewhere near his neck]
She tucks herself into him, nose fit imperfectly in his clavicle, hand resting on his waist. His fingers brush sensuous little patterns on the skin of her back. She licks a stripe under his jaw, feels his pulse flutter salty on her tongue, and burrows deeper into his embrace with a tired murmur.
He smiles into her hair and whispers his good night.
I love you.
3.
[mandarin/cantonese]
She listens with unrestrained delight when he slides easily from the crisp standard Mandarin to the thick syllables of Cantonese. It doesn’t matter that he’s gone from negotiating a job in Beijing to asking a street vendor how to get to the MTR station from here she thinks, it sounds perfect coming from him.
She wraps herself around his arm and asks if he’s always had such a talented tongue. The glint in her eyes is cause enough for him to wave down a taxi rather than bother with public transportation.
[italian]
Really? she asks with interest. So those infomercials weren’t completely stupid?
I suppose not. But I didn’t learn the language by sleeping with a cassette player.
You learned by sleeping with an Italian, she finishes solemnly, the corners of her lip fighting to stay still. She busies herself with her sorbet as if that will evidence her innocence.
In one month, I had the equivalent of a two year immersion program inside her head.
It takes Ariadne a little longer to digest that Arthur essentially spent two years living with a woman at the mercy of her mind.
I had to study the written language and how to read it before going under, but I think it was money and time well spent. Especially since it wasn’t all that much time. He gives her the little smirk that says ‘aren’t I clever?’.
You’re like, right out of a Dan Brown novel, she says flatly and throws her napkin at him.
[french]
Arthur was waiting downstairs, and she was honestly hurrying, but she couldn’t find her left shoe and she had bought this pair specifically for this dress and she’d bought the dress specifically for tonight and the shoe was nowhere to be found.
Fuck it. She had to remind herself not to touch her hair in any way, even to tear it out, because it was up apparently Arthur liked it that way. Please let this be a dream. I will accept the ‘showing up naked for a test’ dream or ‘discovering David Hasselhoff is my father and this makes me somewhat German’, just please let me not be awake.
It hit her suddenly that she had needed the shoe to match with a purse, and dammit she hadn’t put her lipstick in the purse yet because she hadn’t decided on a purse when she was holding the lipstick but at least she knew where her shoe was.
Ariadne finally managed to leave her apartment looking like a girl on a date and got herself to the ground floor without dying. Arthur was contentedly conversing with Madame Jeanine about wines and her grandson the vintner nailing the articles too, and she probably shouldn’t have been as turned on as she was by his pronunciation, but the words trickled to a sharp sweet stop when she entered his line of vision.
Enchanté, Madame. He gave her a slight bow which made Madame laugh and gently push him at his lovely companion.
Sorry I made you wait. Ariadne flushed to her ears as he pressed a kiss to the back of her hand.
It was worth it.
Yeah, Jeanine is pretty hot, isn’t she? she teased.
[japanese]
Saito only had to correct Arthur twice, amused rather than offended by Arthur’s imperfect keigo. Ariadne was still stuck on the fact that Arthur’s keigo was imperfect.
Let me explain why I arranged this meeting. Saito gestured slightly and his secretaries refilled their tea cups and exited quietly. I have a job for you.
[russian]
They’re in St. Petersburg because it’s St. Petersburg and if it’s a trifle cold that’s part of the experience.
They go into the pub because Ariadne wants to know what it looks like inside. Also, her eyeballs are frozen solid.
It’s not her fault the mildly-attractive muscular blond thinks she’s making eyes at him. It’s certainly not her fault he’s had enough good vodka to convince him that she’s going to ditch the man of her dreams for him.
And when she doesn’t, he goes over but he doesn’t get any farther than a hand on her shoulder.
Arthur smiles politely and delivers a short speech that sounds downright musical to a girl who doesn’t know any Russian. Pietor doesn’t see it the same way and when Arthur releases his hand, he beats a hasty retreat to the other end of the room.
You had a brief fling with a matryoshka too? she asks with a fair imitation of his skeptical face.
She appealed to my curiosity. He raises his eyebrow so she can admire the original look. You don’t think I like layered women?
4.
[ossobuco]
Had she still been living with Annette in that cramped little closet from first year, she knows this would go differently. For one thing, it would never have been a surprise.
Ariadne is so surprised to find she is not alone in her apartment she tries to attack Arthur with her bookbag.
When she discovers the candles and the roses and the music and the little chocolate torte chilling in her fridge, she attacks him again, but this time he doesn’t stop her.
[soup]
She had three blankets spread neatly one on top of the other and she was still cold. Everyone and their mother told her she needed fluids, and swallowing actual food hurt, so she accepted the need for soup.
She told Arthur she’d be fine with the Andy Warhol menu, but naturally it didn’t fly. Either because he had no use for pop art or he didn’t trust her with a can opener or he was one of those people that read nutrition labels.
Whatever the reason, Arthur had to break into her apartment again to start a pot of chicken stock on her stove, because she was sleeping too deeply to hear his knock. In the afternoon, he returned with more ingredients and she was awake enough to let him in.
She watched with interest, and although she had to blow her nose every two minutes, it was totally worth it to have Arthur in an apron.
[sandwich]
Fuck, she hisses, shoving her finger into her mouth. She spots Arthur’s head out of the corner of her vision and rolls her eyes. Yes, I can’t even make us a brownbag without supervision.
Would you like some help?
No. I can handle sandwiches and an apple by myself. It might take me a while, but I will do it. At least we don’t need to clock in for mind crime. She applies herself industriously to the loaf of bread once assured she’s not bleeding any more. Arthur gently pries her hand away to examine the cut.
Only some parts of the workshop are sterile. Go clean it properly and bandage it.
She grumbles in irritation but obeys, knowing their lunches will be wrapped and packed by the time she comes back. They are.
Eames calls you a hausfrau. I’m starting to see his point.
Eames has yet to forgive me for making better scones than his mother. Besides, I like to cook.
You just like being good at following directions, she teases while he shines an apple.
I like that it makes you smile, corrects Arthur mildly, tucking the fruit away and offering her his hand. Let’s go.
[hot chocolate]
Arthur, she discovers when they arrive on the doorstep, is wildly popular with Cobb’s children. They insist on sitting next to him at the dinner table. Ariadne feels a little out of place here, with Arthur explaining how soaking the bird in salt water before shoving it in the oven is the easiest way to prevent tragedies like this and Cobb baldly ignoring him to ask James and Philippa what kind of dessert they should get. She pokes at her dry chicken and soggy asparagus and wonders if she’s really awake.
She decides she is when Arthur gets dragged into the kitchen to make hot chocolate. He does something magical to the mugs involving butter and nutmeg and she demands to know why he’s never made this for her.
[waffles]
The fifth time they visit the Cobb family, together, the children know exactly what they want Ariadne to draw for them and Arthur is quite content to watch his architect lying on Cobb’s throw cushions with her sketchpad while blonde children swarm her head with plastic barrettes. She tapes the castle to a little tower of blocks and they play pretend with a rabbit, a fairy Barbie, a horde of toy soldiers and a shark.
Do you want to play?
He finds it difficult to say no when her hair is going in twenty directions at once on a good day, but the allosaurus Ariadne offers him has a half-Windsor of purple yarn around its neck. He adjusts it and gets on the floor to help defend the castle from the very rare and deadly banana-shark.
It’s after three in the afternoon when James makes it known he is hungry and Philippa suggests waffles and Ariadne turns her best puppy dog face on Arthur.
He mutters something about bedroom eyes and goes to ask the patriarch if Belgian waffles are an appropriate afternoon snack.
5.
[in the second dream level]
Quick, give me a kiss.
They’re still looking at us.
Yeah, it was worth a shot. We should probably get out of here.
[at the library]
Arthur, she learned, is one of those critical thinkers that solves puzzles, not by thinking outside the box, but by understanding every aspect of it. And stealing was apparently the best vocation he could come up with.
He’s very good at it, admittedly.
She was going through the mess of notes and printouts for Moore’s class when she felt sparks skitter up her spine. She turned and felt warm lips against her own, slightly chapped and tasting faintly of spearmint.
When she opened her eyes, there was the point man, easily balancing on two legs of the crappy wooden chair next to her. She found it exceedingly difficult to focus on the Flavians after that.
[by the dairy section]
She always says she goes with him to pick out dessert, but that’s less than half the truth. While Arthur carefully handles the apples, looking for the best ones, she casts a meaningful glance at artichoke-girl and pulls him toward the pears next.
She ignores the slight flush creeping up his face as she weighs the choices for feminine products and condom brands with equal consideration, at her ever-so-slightly coy reminder they need more whipped cream and her very cheeky suggestion that he pick up a dozen bleach pens while they’re here.
She’s not paying much attention by the time they get to the end of the shopping list; she has an idea for something growing in her mind, he thinks it came from one of the greeting cards they passed. So she yelps a like kicked puppy when he snakes an arm around her suddenly and slides his tongue into her mouth.
[behind Eames’ back]
Eames is absolutely delighted Arthur and Ariadne are together his exact words are ‘regularly having sex’ and he teases them mercilessly, workplace courtesy be hanged.
Arthur is used to ignoring him, so he spends the greater part of his efforts on the architect. Ariadne is sorely tempted to stick him in a hedge maze with no exit by the end of the first day.
The second day, Eames makes pointed comments to no one in particular that the desks are kind of wonky, that he’s going out for lunch and will be back in exactly one hour, that doing the squelchy with your coworker is completely unprofessional.
Ariadne throws a ball of paper at his head. It misses.
Oh come on, sweet pea. You could have made that. Or are your late-night activities affecting your vision? He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.
She chucks a wad of masking tape next, and that sticks to the hair above his ear. He pulls it off with a pout and goes back to plotting the escape route. So he doesn’t notice the point man stroll over to the architect and bend her over the table for a full-on snog session.
[when she wakes up]
Her eyes flutter open and then crash shut, an unintelligible whine escaping her throat. She hears a soft laugh and the slither of the blinds. She opens her eyes a chink and determines the room is not so offensively bright and sits up muzzily.
She doesn’t register the quick peck until Arthur’s long gone, one more victim to his primping protocol. She shuffles into the bathroom to brush her teeth and demand a proper kiss.
&.
She skirts around ledges and limits, shies away from balconies and bridges, and doesn’t look down any more.
Don’t tell me you’re afraid of falling. Arthur looks concerned, worried he might be losing her, as Mal was lost.
Not afraid of falling, she corrects. She takes his hand and walks them to the edge of embankment. The bullet train rushes below them, a screaming streak of silver. She waits until it disappears into the horizon to continue. Do you know what it is to be a lover?
The words tug at Arthur’s memory, an echo from years ago. Mal had asked him the same thing once, laughter ringing in her voice, when he’d asked how she could let Dom spout such stupidly insipid fluff. I do now.
She smiles up at him, bright-eyed and alive, like she hasn’t done in days.
He smiles down at her in return, like he always does.
And Inception, all the characters and ideas therein, belong to Christopher Nolan.
'do the squelchy' is from the TV series Coupling (oh Jack Davenport)
Moore was my Roman Art and Architecture professor. She was awesome.
I think anything else that deserves a disclaimer is pretty obvious... mostly because they're mentioned by name.