A/N: Hey guys! This is my first Inception fic. I've loved the Arthur/Ariadne pairing from the first time I saw that kiss! Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception. The brilliant genius, Christopher Nolan, does.

As I stood by the baggage claim, looking for my nondescript suitcase, I couldn't help but think I could feel eyes on my back. I dared myself not to turn around and kept my eyes fixed on the silver but scuffed conveyor belt in front of me.

So many thoughts ran through my mind. I felt a bit out of it and off balance, but that was probably a side effect of just having escaped Limbo. Limbo…raw dream space.

It was a paradise and a prison. It was pure creation at its finest. It was a trap and unsolvable maze. I could see the appeal it had to someone like Mal… someone like me. But that desire to stay there is what eventually got her trapped down there. I forced all thoughts of the place with crumbling buildings and white sand beaches out of my mind.

But all the intrigue Limbo had could not amount to the wonder that I felt toward the memory that I remembered, and enjoyed, the most. Every time I closed my eyes, even to blink, it was like the memory of his soft lips brushing mine was burned onto the insides of my eye lids. As hard as I tried to think about other things, it always seemed to pop up.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see our charming forger make his way out one of the many automatically opening doors and melt away into the crowd. It felt strange to not offer a good-bye smile or even make eye contact.

We were all under strict orders that, for safety reasons, we were not to make contact with anyone on the team until two weeks after the job. Especially at the airport; we were supposed to be complete strangers. Even though this rule restricted me from doing what I wanted to do most, it had promise that there would be contact.

Yanking my black suitcase from the conveyor belt, I stumbled back, overestimating its weight. I had anticipated it to be heavy, but since I had been told to pack my bags on short notice, I had to pack lightly. In my falter backwards, I bumped into the person behind me with an oomph.

"Excuse me! I'm so sor-" I stopped, seeing as I had stumbled into an exquisite set of startling blue eyes. The eyes had the look of someone who was in seriously deep thought.

"It's okay, miss." he said in a flat voice, pushing past me, not even bothering to look at me.

I stopped and stared at his back for a moment, trying to comprehend the fact that I had just emerged from this man's subconscious not half an hour ago. I watched as his shoulders rose and fell, indicating a deep sigh. I could only hope we didn't trouble the young business man's mind too much.

Shaking my head, I started to head the direction that the signs told me was the way to the food court.

My stomach growled and I grimaced. Spending ten hours on four dream levels depleted your energy pretty well. Following my nose to the scent of coffee beans and caffeine, I stood in line at a small coffee shop. I felt around in my carry-on for my wallet when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

Turning around, I was met with the deepest chocolate brown eyes and a perfectly tailored suit. Those two things put one word in my mind.

Arthur.

Arthur who followed the plan down to a science. Not even the loss of gravity could stop him from following through with a perfectly planned strategy. So it made no sense for him to be breaking his own rule: no contact.

"I believe you dropped this back there, Miss." he said, holding out a sheet of paper folded in half. He looked at me knowingly.

It took a moment for me to respond, "Oh, yes. Thank you." I said, taking the paper.

"Anytime." he said and gave a rare smile, causing my heart to skip a beat. And with that I watched him go until his retreating back was completely concealed by the crowd.

Discarding the idea of finding my wallet, I opened up the paper that said, in perfectly formed hand writing:

You have hotel reservations at Comforts Hotel a few blocks from LAX.I figured you hadn't thought about staying somewhere afterwards because you came with us on such short notice. The reservations are under the name Carolina Field, just a precaution. Don't worry about paying for anything. Good luck.

He was right. The thought of where I would go after I bought my coffee and muffin had never occurred to me. I couldn't decide if it was his experience in situations like this that had brought this on, or his simple personality that never missed a detail. But then I realized I didn't care because the piece of paper I held in my hand was solid proof that he was thinking and cared about me.

I'm sure I had the goofiest smile on my face as I paid for my coffee and walked out to catch a cab. After I directed the driver to my hotel, I opened up the note and read it over five more times. It was no love letter or touching good-bye note, but, as I said, it was proof of concern, regard, and I dare say friendship.

I checked into my hotel under my fake name and headed towards the elevators, ready to head to the fourth floor. While inserting my card key into the door, I couldn't help but remember the last time I was in a hotel room. Well, technically I had been in a hotel room, since I was in a dream.

It had been no less than a minute after the kiss. He seemed to brush it off as nothing, but I could have sworn that I saw a smile play along his composed face. His voice was still bouncing around my head, repeating the same words over and over, "Quick, give me a kiss… It was worth a shot." What was that supposed to mean?

I watched, feeling a warm blush on my cheeks, as his long-figured hands pulled out the devices he needed in order to drop us. He moved around the room with fluent, gentle grace. I remember hoping he didn't catch me staring. He was addicting to watch. I had thought something along the lines of 'I am definitely falling for you and I'm hoping you catch me, but at the same time I'm hoping you'll drop me in a few minutes.' I had contemplated confronting him about the kiss, but then thought that would seem unprofessional next to his complete professionalism. That conversation could wait.

I threw my suit case onto the bed and began unpacking. I'd probably stay here for a day or two. Professor Miles would cover for me when I got back to the college.

It was dark outside when I had finally emptied my suitcase and while my heart yearned to sketch things could never exist in the real world, I was fighting war with my eyelids and soon found myself curled up on the bed. I pulled out my bishop, placing it on the bedside table. It hit the wood with a clank, confirming I was in reality. I put Arthur's note next to it and closed my eyes, hoping that even though I wouldn't see him in real life for a while, he'd visit my dreams.

Images of slicked back hair, Penrose steps, rare smiles and red dice floated before my eyes. My last conscious thought was how I was supposed to survive the next two weeks without his smooth voice.

For two days his image was constantly in the back of my mind, refusing to go away. Different memories, large and small consistently floated through my head. The few times I'd seen him smile a full smile, feeling my heart stop and my own lips curl upwards. The day I came back to him and he showed me dreams of the impossible Penrose staircase, sending my curiosity that much deeper.

On the first day I woke up to find the red numbers on digital clock on the bedside table read 11:30am. My back was sore and my head ached. I hate jetlag.

I lay in bed and tipped my bishop again. I read his note again. I came to realize that it smelled faintly of cologne. It only made me want the clock to move faster than it was.

With an effort, I climbed out of bed and hunted down a sketch pad and pencil. It was too early to draw anything new, so I sketched the first thing that came to mind: The area on the second level where we had shared our kiss. Call it an obsession, but it was oddly comforting. The precise angle of the marble stairs, the large windows letting in the light, the straight back of the couch. I didn't draw us sitting there; I wanted that to stay in my head, in my memory. It drew it in three different angles (from the bottom of the stairs, from behind the couch, and a bird's eye view) before I was desperately wishing for some fresh air. The small, silent hotel room was nice enough, but I kept getting the feeling that the walls were closing in on me.

Throwing on some clothes and make up and declaring myself presentable, I shoved my sketch pad in my purse and set off. As I crossed the lobby, I picked up the pace as I neared the door. But I was frozen in place as a haunting, familiar pair of blue eyes appeared on the screen of the TV in the café.

"… Fischer's unexpected decision, allying companies are taking action to keep their businesses afloat without the valued connection to Fischer Corporation. Analysts have predicted that within the next month, the once major Corporation with be nonexistent, leaving a void of…"

The screen floated through different images of Fischer on the street, with Browning, and in various press conferences. He made his decision pretty fast. Did I really do that well of a job? Did we really do that well of a job?

I left the hotel with, yet another, goofy smile on my face. The news made me want to call Cobb, Eames or someone and make sure they knew we had successfully completed a task once thought of as impossible. The temptation my phone presented was almost irresistible. Along with that, the yearning to go back up to the room and continue reading Arthur's letter until my eyes couldn't focus anymore was clouding up my mind. But I busied myself with what I did best: sketching.

I took the opportunity to sketch the iconic buildings and streets of LA. I even considered renting a car and driving out to draw the Hollywood sign. The fresh air and hustle of the city kept me content throughout the day. The sights around here were as architecturally appealing as those in Paris, just in their own expressive way. They helped clear my head and heart beat easier.

Soon after I'd sketched reality to my heart's desire, I went back and re-sketched everything into structures that could only exist in a person's subconscious. Maybe I could use these in future dreamscapes we'd need. I let myself believe there would be future jobs after the excruciating two weeks were over.

I kept asking myself things like 'I wonder what Arthur would think of this angle.' or 'What would Arthur do about this window's placement?' He was everywhere and I didn't try to push him away. He was like a conscious projection that only I saw in the back of my mind. I could almost see his careful, soft eyes looking over my shoulder as my hand flew across the page. But I was careful not to let him in too much. I didn't want to end up like Cobb, where the one I wanted most was constantly locked in my head.

I spent the first half of the second day convincing myself of what was the best and right thing for me to do from here. I knew I had to go back to the college, because that's what Cobb would want. But what else? The money that Saito had put into my bank account would more than pay for the rest of my tuition. So what should I do about my job at the coffee shop? It was perfectly logical for me to quit, but then it might look suspicious for a college student like me who was supposed to be on a tight budget to spontaneously quit her job.

It was times like these that made my cell phone practically burn in the pocket of my jeans. I desperately wanted to call Cobb and ask for his advice. But mostly I wanted to call Arthur. I had the perfect excuse. I ended up purposely draining my battery to erode some of the temptation.

I laid the issue my part-time job aside as a side thought and debated about the larger things. And by larger things I meant Arthur.

Cobb and Mal had clearly demonstrated what happens when you mix the world of extraction with romance too much. Knowing Arthur as much as I did, I could safely assume that he wasn't going to do something that would risk failing a job.

Did he even think of me as anything more than a co-worker? He was so professional; it was hard to imagine him in a romantic relationship. But still, that kiss burned in the back of my mind. That memory and his note were all I had to cling to.

As I booked my flight home, my trip back to reality, I kept myself in check by continuously tipping my bishop, a game piece. Arthur has a game piece too, I thought; his red loaded die. They belonged to separate games. His required luck, mine required skill.

Love requires skill and a bit of luck.

Maybe that's what we were playing: a love game. And as I thought about it, I realized it was my turn, my move.

So, three weeks later, I sat in front of my coffee table, pouring over my text book. I jumped as my phone vibrated from somewhere in the midst of all the papers I had strewn across the table. I tucked my pencil behind my ear and flipped it open.

"Hello?"

"Darling! How are you?"

"Eames!" I said, not bothering to try and hide the excitement in my voice.

"Who else would you expect?"

"Ah-no one-it's just so good to hear from you! Where have you been?"

"Oh, I've been around." He said, mischief playing in his voice.

"Mm-hm. So what pleasure do I owe the honor of this call?"

"Well, Cobb says he's got someone in need of an extraction job. He wanted to make sure we were all on board before he accepted."

"You're doing it?"

"Naturally, love."

"And Yusuf?"

"He says yes."

I couldn't control myself, "Arthur?"

"Funny you should ask; he asked about you too." I tipped my bishop to make sure I heard right. When it fell, I felt like I could kiss Eames for what he just said, "But yes, he's up for it. Cobb wouldn't even attempt a job without him, anyways"

I smiled as I said, "Yes, I'll do it. Never done an extraction job before."

"Oh, if you can handle inception, extraction is a breeze. You'll be a natural, I'm sure."

"Thanks. So when do we start? Has Cobb said anything about the client or mark?"

"No info on the client or mark. But now that you're on board we're meeting at the warehouse a week from Monday. Five o'clock. You remember where it is, right?"

How could I forget? "Yep, I'll be there."

"Excellent. See you soon, darling."

"See you soon."

The line disconnected, and I laughed as I let the realization that I would see Arthur again sink in. I closed my eyes and cherished the bitter-sweet memory of watching him disappear into the crowd at the airport, and then imagined him coming back.

I rolled my game piece between my fingers, ready to make my move.

A/N: Okay, I know, it was really more of a set up chapter. I promise more action in the next chapter. Please tell me what you think, because reviews rock my socks!