Reverie
By: veils
Inception, Robert/Ariadne; Is it possible to have a love affair that lasts forever?

Smoke drifts into his nostrils, stinging his cerulean eyes and burning his throat. Drunken laughter reverberates off the walls that are covered in posters of various has been bands, while the jukebox plays a cheap country song. (That he oddly happens to know all the words to) The bartender wordlessly shoots another shot of tequila down his way, not even checking to see if his patron has reached the legal limit. Robert Fischer Jr. smiles at this: downs the shot, and chuckles at nothing in particular.

(Maybe himself)

The outdated television blaring in front of Robert shows a conference from two days prior, in which he announced the disbanding of his father's company. Now he's constantly hounded by reporters and men with large cameras; in this small little bar Robert is just like any other man looking to drown away his sorrows. (Not one of the most despised men in the corporate world)

He barely notices the petite brunette sit down on the bar stool next to him; doesn't look her way until she orders a Bloody Mary. Maybe it's because he's had one too many tequila shots, but Robert swears he's seen this girl before (in his dreams?) and almost tells her as much before she speaks first.

"I don't like strange men staring at me." (The underlining tone in her voice that he barely detects lets him know that she actually doesn't)

"Firstly, I could've sworn to God I've seen you before, so pardon my staring. Secondly, I'm not strange. I'm the fucking wealthiest man in the world and I'm not even thirty yet," Robert slurs, making her smile.

"If you're so wealthy, than what are you doing in such a hole in the wall establishment as this?" (She ignores the icy glare from the bartender) Robert doesn't answer for a good long minute, but when he does there's a deep sadness that radiates from his eyes, and makes the poor lass beside him ache with pity.

"I'm trying to escape something."

"Aren't we all?"

Robert laughs at this: a good hearty laugh that's actually not spurned on by too much alcohol.

"What's your name?"

Something makes her pause, bite down on her lip, as if she has to think about telling him. Lashes with a bit too much mascara blink quickly; her big brown eyes bore into his and suddenly he feels uncomfortable; but mostly it feels like if she leaves without telling him her name he won't sleep for a weeks. (Not that he sleeps much nowadays anyway)

"It's Ariadne."

"I'm Robert."

"I know." Something in Ariadne's tone catches him off guard, but he brushes it off. They are both silent for a long time, each trying to finish off their drinks, and pondering what to say next.

"Alcohol shouldn't be your escape route for everything, Robert," Ariadne finally says, sounding more concerned than the average stranger should be.

He scoffs: "You're not my therapist."

"You're right. I know you a lot better."

(Would she stop being so confusing? It's making his head hurt)

"Look, I don't want anything bad to happen to you, alright? Robert, you need to stop this."

"Hey, I don't know you; you don't know me, so stop trying to act like Dr. Phil alright?" Robert leaves a generous amount of money on the bar and begins to head out.

"Maybe we have met before," Ariadne murmurs, as he makes his way through the exit.

(Yeah right, where? In his dreams?)

… … …

"How the hell did you find me?" She looks annoyed, but rather impressed. Mostly annoyed. Ariadne looks tired sitting on a bench, fingers stained with lead, sketching an imaginary building. Her hair is pulled up into a bun (he decides right then and there he prefers her to wear it down) and there are tendrils that come down in her face and make the organized and orderly freak in him want to push them back like a lovesick dope in a movie.

"Richest man in the world. I have my ways." (Bit of Googling, calling in a few favors here and there…nothing too serious)

"I don't know whether to be flattered or freaked out."

"I hope it's the former."

(Oh god her smile is stunning)

"There's this dinner party Thursday, and I was wondering if you'd like to attend it with me?"

"Yes," Ariadne smiles, "I'd love to."

She doesn't ask why he's doing all of this: asking out a woman he's never formally met before, and knows little about. There's something actually complacent about Ariadne's attitude —as if she has expected all of this to happen.

(Expected for him to become utterly infatuated with her? Maybe so)

… … …

Ariadne's dress is four seasons out of date (according to a nearby group of women who laugh easily with the help of champagne), her feet ache from the ridiculous heels she sports, and her hair has been twisted into an impressive coif copied from a French magazine. The band plays a lively piece that sounds familiar, but cannot be placed. Her eyes scan the area, until they rest upon Robert, brushing past the menagerie of people begging for a moment of his time.

(And yet he devotes it all to her)

"Ariadne, how good of you to come." So formal, so eloquent, so stiff; she frowns of this, which he catches.

"Dull as tombs around here, until you arrived," he whispers into her ear, snaking his arm around her waist and making her chuckle lightly.

… … …

They never once state "officially" that they're together. Between the endless deliveries of roses to her apartment, nightly dinners at restaurants with French names that are almost unpronounceable, and the way Robert looks at her with a look of profound adoration, Ariadne believes they could be called a couple.

(It makes her smile)

… … …

Soon the both of them realize they share the fear of tall buildings and plummeting from them. Ariadne takes in shaky breath after shaky breath as they walk around the Empire State building.

(It was supposed to be romantic)

And then Robert's hand intertwines with hers and he kisses her lightly on the cheek.

"I won't let you fall. Ever."

… … …

There are nights he wakes up in a fit, panting and sweating with blurry remnants of a dream ghosting in his head. It's always the same dream: of a woman with dark hair and eyes with a childish sparkle. Robert dreams of her time after time, although the reverie varies to a certain degree each occasion. Sometimes it takes place in a posh hotel that serves cheap champagne at extravagant prices; and he's sitting at a bar and sees her from beyond with another man. (Jealous much?) Or maybe it occurs in an unknown snowy terrain, with her cheeks flushed and red from the bitter chill. She constantly plagues his dreams, and worst of all she's a figment of his imagination —not real at all.

Then one night, it all clicks. Robert fumbles for his cell on the nightstand and dials Ariadne's number, surprised she answers so quickly.

"I had a dream."

"About what?"

"You."

She hangs up.

… … …

Both stand wordlessly in a park, completely oblivious to everyone around them. After several minutes of staring at each other, Ariadne sighs deeply, pulls something out of her purse, and hands it over to Robert.

A pinwheel.

He blinks away the burgeoning tears threatening to fall, looks towards her with despair which makes her own eyes teary.

"I'm sorry. It was a quick job I got pulled into—"

Robert begins to walk away.

"I didn't think the Inception would affect you—" Ariadne is cut off.

"It did. But…you affected me even more."

He walks away without a backward glance.

… … …

A couple of months pass but it feels like years to Ariadne's heart. She routinely sits by the phone, waiting for a call that will never come. (Give up already love) It's time to move on; there are a few smart boys at university that have asked if they could give her a ring sometime, and she smiles because they are the type her parents would adore their daughter to end up with.

But still she waits by night and day.

And then it happens.

The doorbell rings with a sharp trill.

She almost twists her foot running to answer it.

… … …

Her hair is a little longer; she's using a new perfume, and somehow is a bit paler. (This makes him frown) Seeing her hurts after all this time: it was horribly inconvenient really. He knew no good might come of this meeting, but Robert had found out for himself what it was to be in love, and it thrilled him. He had to see her again.

She ushers him into the apartment without a word, points to the parlor and he sits down on a settee. There are sketchpads and loose paper strewn about the room; some hang up on the walls clashing with the framed portraits of knock offs of famous paintings. Robert takes a sketch in his hand, notices Ariadne's cheeks turn crimson, and finds himself smirking at the carefully drawn depiction of him staring back.

"This is quite good," he murmurs, taking pleasure at making her flush.

"The subject of the picture serves as great inspiration."

(His turn to blush)

It would have been a terrific silence if the clock on the mantle wasn't ticking away the seconds. They both know what they want to say, but speaking aloud their thoughts proves difficult. Robert sighs to himself, crosses over the room, and closes the distance between him. They shyly kiss, growing once again accustomed to each other. (Actions speak louder than words)

"I wonder if it's possible to have a love affair that lasts forever." Ariadne sighs against his neck, breathing in his cologne.

Robert smiles: "We can try."

… … …

And they did try. And they succeeded. All that desire and passion that had been formulated their liaison was replaced with a steady pulse of contentment, genuine affection, and expected occasional irritation to both parties, which was always smoothed over promptly. To the occasional passerby they could be deemed far too affectionate and loving to be real; but it is not every day that one falls in love with someone from one's dreams, and Robert took full advantage of this comprehension.

And it seemed to be a happy exchange.

a/n: I actually sorta kinda like how this turned out. I fully intended on ending it where Robert walks away from Ariadne, but basically said "screw it" and gave him a happy ending. He sorta deserves one, no?

I own nothing. Comments, thoughts, and assessments are adored.