A/N: Thank you sooo, so much to all who reviewed! Those really make my day! This chapter finally gets the ball rolling, if it wasn't already. Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: Don't own Inception.

"Was it really a good idea to leave those two alone together?"

His laugh is a friendly sound added to the soundtrack of traffic and beeping cars around them. It's also one of her favorite sounds, she decides. They step into the crosswalk as the signal light turns green. "You think he's done it this time?" he asks.

"Oh yeah. I didn't see any beating around the bush there."

He laughs again, rocking his head from side to side. "He'll be fine. He's come back from worse."

"Oh?"

Arthur waves his hand dismissively. "Trust me."

"I'll take your word for it." she says, and it's her turn to laugh lightly as she crosses her arms in attempt to warm them against the crisp breeze that blows from behind them. Her sweater may have been fashionable, but that didn't mean it retained heat.

"Cold?" he asks, his eyebrows furrowing in sympathetic concern.

"Nah. We're almost there, anyway."

"Here" he says, slipping one arm out of his well-fitted jacket.

"Oh, no." she half-laughs, "Don't you dare." She takes a few steps to the side to walk slightly away from him.

He scoffs and smiles, creating dimples on his cheeks. "The last thing I'm going to do is stand here and watch you freeze."

"Keep it, I'm fine. Seriously."

"Your goose bumps say otherwise." he says, not even looking at her while proceeding to slip the other arm out. She wishes he wasn't the most observant person she knew. She pushes it back when he holds it out to her.

"We're a block away. It's pointless to put it on now."

"Think of it as more for my protection than yours. I don't really want to track down someone else to do your job when you freeze to death."

"I'm not going to freeze to death."

Rolling his eyes, he drapes it over her shoulders. With a feigned annoyance that makes him chuckle, she pulls it tighter around her shoulders and quickly decides she likes the warm scent the blue pinstripe has. The back of her mind asks if she'll be able to hold onto it long enough to memorize the aroma.

They come to the hotel and proceed to the marble-clad elevator corridor. "You're here too?" she asks.

He nods. "Room 1318, if you need me."

She repeats the digits over in her head, committing it to memory, and nodding to herself.

When the elevator arrives, she punches her floor, and then thirteen for him, before leaning against the rail furnished onto the sides of the car. He comes to lean next to her, loosening his tie casually, and she's grateful that there's no awkward tension between them.

"The blue looks good one you." he says.

There's a weird sensation in her chest that, under regular circumstances, would probably be falling. But the exhilaration of free fall is consumed in their ascent upwards.

She smiles up at him, buttons the four buttons and coolly shoves her hands into the pockets since the sleeves are slightly too long for her arms. "And now?"

A bell tone announces their arrival on his floor. He adjusts the collar for her, his fingertips shamelessly brushing her throat and collar bones, and steps back for half a second to admire his work. "Beautiful."

The morning is a rush of harsh light, bitter orange juice and scribbled diagrams on their white board in the ballroom. The expo marker leaves oily black marks on all of their fingers. At nine, she's asking Eames for over-the-counter painkillers to pacify the throb that had started to harass her right temple.

There are pictures and notes taped neatly to the corkboard on the flip side on the whiteboard. No one could locate push-pins.

By ten, there are more discarded, crumpled sketches on the floor than Arthur would like. Neither apologize or pull back when their hands brush picking them up. She entertains the idea of holding on just a moment longer the next time it happens, enjoying the small smile the thought brings to her face.

By noon, Eames ambles in, calling "Architect!" and tossing her the travel-sized bottle of painkillers he managed to score from a drug store down the street. She picks them out of the air, and downs two without water instantly. With her pounding headache gone, she can produce a layout that satisfies both the requirements for the first level and her pride. One o'clock finds Arthur's tie loosened, and Ariadne's scarf on one of the four tables while she hunts along the wall for a thermostat to turn the temperature down. Eames tames the heat by sipping cool beer from the hotel bar downstairs. At two, she can no longer count the amount of times Arthur has pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration on one hand.

It takes them till three o'clock, but at that time, they've got an extraction plan they can say they're proud of. Dropping her pencil, she decides to leave sketching the second level layout for much, much later.

It might be the deftness of their movement. Maybe she's watching them because she can't study his eyes with his back to her. It might be what they're handling - sedatives. Maybe she's sleep deprived and is too lazy to shift the focus of her eyes. But for whatever reason, Ariadne can't muster the will power to tear her eyes away from his hands.

"You were right." she says, to break the steady silence that had settled over them.

"About what?" he says, his back still turned. His proficient hands slip the vials of yellow liquid into their corresponding positions in the PASIV.

"This room," she says, leaning back in the chaise lounge that had somehow found its way up from the pool deck and into the richly decorated ballroom on the twentieth floor. "It's gorgeous."

The main source of light in the room was the diamond-draped chandelier that dominated the vast ceiling, thirty feet above their heads. The floor was a neutral-colored marble, shiny enough to be used as a vanity mirror. Three of the four walls were actual mirrors, from floor to ceiling, bouncing infinite reflections off one another, adding a touch of romance to the space. The fourth wall was a faded, but lovely vintage floral pattern that complimented the rest of the ballroom with a gentle finesse.

Their cork board on wheels and mismatched chairs from around the hotel took up residence in one corner of the room, leaving the remainder of the space untouched.

Her fixated eyes finally leave his hands when he turns. "You've done better." he says with a warm smile.

"You wanna show me what else you've got up your sleeve?"

He looks confused. "Besides what?"

"Paradoxical staircases."

"Hmm." he muses, understanding. "Cobb was really the architecture expert. I don't have much."

"But you have something." she states.

He considers for a moment and she triumphantly smiles when he hands her a line.

"Don't expect much." he says.

She scoffs. "Please. I'd be stupid to underestimate you."

His enchanting hands set the timer as he says, "The same could be said about you."

With a nod of her head, their eyes are closed. She blinks them open to a corridor occupied with a smattering of projections, all dressed according to Arthur's sense of style. The projections wander down the hall, entering and exiting the doors on either side of the corridor. There's a skylight overhead, pouring mid-day light into the hall.

"Find the door that leads downstairs." he says from behind her. There's a subtle twinkle of challenge in his eye when she turns to squint at him suspiciously. The look he returns is smoldering and she's bothered that she doesn't remember to breathe until she takes her first step toward the nearest door, determined to pass whatever test he's given her with flying colors.

Turning the knob, she finds a standard office; desk, chair, filing cabinet, even a window with a view out to the street below that's being choked with traffic. No stairs that led downwards.

Some of the doors reveal similar rooms. The fifth door she tries, held open for her by a projection, hides a stairwell that winds down. She takes it, only to find that the door at the end of the stairs opens into the exact same corridor she departed from.

She looks at Arthur, who hasn't moved from his spot at the end of the hall. Oh, he's good. All he offers is an innocent shrug.

"None of these lead downstairs." she says.

"Bravo." he nods. There's a metallic creaking noise from behind the first door she opened. He leads the way, revealing the recently created staircase and starts down. "It's a good technique to mask your boundaries and it doubles as a way to confuse security if you need to."

"And you can add an emergency stairwell, if called for." she adds.

"Exactly."

"You ever design for a job?" she asks as they descend.

"Once or twice." he says, shrugging, "It really isn't my strength. It's a probably better the building is left to the professionals."

He pushes open the door at the end of the stairs, holding it for her as she takes in the lobby he's created off the top of his head.

"You're not too bad." she muses, wandering into the open marble floor. The room is empty except for the two of them. A large chuck of the center is taken up by a large, round table with an equally ginormous vase of flowers. To her left is a reception desk and the other side holds a revolving door that leads out to the eerily quiet street. There's a group of couches flanking both sides of the door. "You just have to expand your style a bit."

He half-smiles. There are those dimples again. "Didn't know I had a style."

She nods thoughtfully. "You do. It's very linear and precise. You just need to allow for some…fluidity. Your edges are too sharp."

His footsteps echo loudly as he joins her at the head of the room, facing the desk. "Help me out, Architect."

They both smile at the nickname and she looks around, pursing her lips. "Lower the desk a bit. Its height is a bit intimidating. You want your subjects to be comfortable with their surroundings." she says. "In reality, at least."

The desk's marble top comes down about six inches and she nods her approval. "You'll want to give the space a bit more structure than you've got. The couches could be a bit farther away from the entrance so the line between carpet and marble swings outward before curving back in."

When the alternations are made, she seats herself comfortably on one of the Parisian loveseats he's put against the wall, examining his handiwork with a critical eye. She finds there's a certain pride to showing him that she can still take on the dream space without missing a beat.

"Music would give this place some life. Again with making subject feel comfortable."

His face tells her he's really thinking this one through as she watches him makes his way over to her, to look at the room from her angle. It starts off soft, but she can faintly hear an airy jazz tune float over the room.

"You can-" she stops and looks up, as if she'll see the source of the music. There's a familiarity to the tune that she can't place. "What is this?"

"The music?" she sees him sit down next to her, resting his arm on the back of the seat, in her peripheral vision. The warm scent from last night's pinstripe returns to challenge her to not melt on the spot.

"Yeah."

"It's a tune I heard last night at dinner. I thought it was nice."

She allows herself to luxuriate in exactly how close they are as she turns her head to look at him. It was a wonder they weren't in contact already. "Yeah, it is. I thought I recognized it."

"Anything else?" he asks, gesturing around the lobby, but keeping his eyes on her.

Their eyes are still locked when she says in a softer voice, "The lights. They're a bit too bright."

His eyes flicker down to her lips for half a second and she can't help but mirror him before the light overhead dim. There's something about his eyes that are just like his hands – she can't look anywhere else. She lets her heartbeat pound away in her chest, deciding that she doesn't have to worry until the sound it's making in her ears matches the intensity she feels from it. Leaning forward isn't a conscious decision on her part, and she's already holding her breath as she hears his stop. The way -

Ding!

It's a jarring yank back from their little moment as the blue-eyed forger saunters off the elevator, a neutral expression on his face. The lights instantly return to their previous intensity and Arthur squeezes her hand before he stands. She feels her heart and cheeks warm simultaneously.

"There you are." Eames says, wandering across the lobby. Ariadne has to fight displaying an expression that says, Really? You had to walk in now?

"Did you want to show me that layout, love? Or are you still working on it?" Eames asks, not a drop of smugness showing onto his face, which she finds suspicious.

She pushes herself up from the seat. "Yeah, let's go outside; we can start now." she turns to Arthur. "I'll show you yours tomorrow; it isn't in stone yet."

"Sounds good, Architect." he says and smiles, before gesturing for her to follow Eames, who was already outside, lighting a cigarette.

She smiles and he leaves to once again ascend the staircase. She stares after him a moment, giving her heart a moment to start pumping blood instead of adrenaline, before deciding joining Eames would be a good idea.

"Alright," she says, stepping next to the forger. "Let's get the surroundings down before we get into the building itself. This here." she gestures to the street in front of them, "is the top of a cul-de-sac."

Eames wordlessly takes another drag as the avenue becomes circular.

"Rectangular plantar in the middle with whatever greenery you want. A little larger, yeah that's it. Okay, over there you've got a cement-based parking structure. No, a little closer. Mm-hm. That stairwell should be white. But not so many lights in there; it'll serve as a hiding place if we need one. Okay, good." she nods. "Behind the plantar, give me a-"
"What are you blushing about?" he interrupts, tapping ash from his cigarette.

"Huh?"

"You're cheeks are a bit pinker than usual, dearest. Why?"

She gives him a confused expression and innocently puts a hand in her back pocket. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He looks at her with an accusatory expression then nods with a smirk. "Right. If you won't answer that, answer this: Why were the lights low?"

"I told Arthur to dim them. They were too bright."

He raises his eyebrows and the corner of his mouth twitches. "Too bright for what?"

"For the subject to feel comfortable."

He nods. "Ah. Is that right?"

"It is." she says, matter-of-factly.

He shakes his head and laughs. "Okay, love. What was it you wanted behind the plants?"

"You work fast." she says, putting her line back in the briefcase before clicking it closed and handing it over to Eames who slid it under a table. Arthur had thrown white bed sheets over the whiteboard and their various small workspaces, effectively concealing them from view. They looked like simple pieces of furniture being protected from settling dust while the room went unused. The sheets were a precaution in case anyone accidentally stumbled in.

"Nah. The hard part was hunting down a cart to get them off of. Not as common as you may think."

She takes advantage of both of their backs being turned to privately tip her totem. It was out of habit more than suspicion at this point. Reality.

"I'm off." said Eames, tucking a manila file under his arm with a nod. "Till tomorrow."

"Later Eames," she says, throwing her scarf around her neck and yawning.

"Tired?" asked Arthur, tugging the corner of one of the sheets to better cover one of the tables.

"A little." she admits. "It was a long day, though."

"Can't argue that." he says, as he holds the door open for her and they make their way down the hall.

"Are you going out for dinner?" she asks as the elevator doors slide open.

"No, I thought I'd do room service. I have a long way to go for researching Fondell. You?"

"Same. No energy to go out. It's probably for the best though. I was able to pick up a little make-up work before I left."

He smiles understandingly as they arrive on her floor.

She's takes a step toward the doors, then stops abruptly, snapping her fingers. "Oh! Did you want your jacket back?"

A look of remembrance crosses his face. "Oh, yeah. I'll come with you to get it." he says, pushing off the railing behind him.

It's a short walk to the door and she fumbles slightly with her key before getting it unlocked. "You can come in," she says, looking up at him as she pushes it open and flips on the light switch.

He follows her inside as she crosses the room to the farther side of the bed where the jacket lay. She neatly folds it vertically and turns, holding it at the collar, to find him bent over the small desk in the suite. He's completely absorbed in the sheet of graph paper he holds in one hand. She doesn't say anything, afraid to interrupt the fascinated analysis he does with his eyes.

She's started shifting her weight from one foot the other before he says, "Is this for the job?" His eyes still don't leave the paper and she's flattered that he can't seem to tear his gaze away. From where she's standing she can see her careful marks that weren't as precise as she would like since she hadn't had a straight-edge with her at the time. She remembers drawing the two-story library with walls of glass as the small Spanish towns flew past her window. It was a building that belonged in an urban city, not the rural country towns that dotted her then-horizon.

"No. No, that's just something I drew out riding in the taxi yesterday. It's more a doodle than anything."

He finally looks up with an incredulous expression. "This is your definition of a doodle?"

She walks over to him, "It's nothing concrete or thought-out. It's a fantasy I pulled out of my head."

"It's… amazing." he says, reverently running his thumb over the pencil lines. "For lack of a much better word." he mumbles, barely audible.

She smiles. "That's just on paper. Maybe you'll be kind enough to spare me some somnacin to try it out tomorrow?"

He sets the sheet back down on the desk, smiling and stepping closer to her. The same feeling she had when the lights dimmed settled around her. "Only if you let me come." he says.

"You can dream with me any time you want." Her voice isn't much more than a whisper. He's so near she's forced to tilt her head back to properly look him in those dark brown eyes.

She cautiously shifts her weight to the balls of her feet and lifts her heels off the ground. His smile is what does it and, for a moment, she's sure she's going to be the one to kiss him. But instead it's his lips that come down on hers, moving slowly as his hand tenderly finds the back of her neck. She's petrified to the spot, scared to move and shatter the delicate moment.

But without breaking, she puts the jacket on the desk to free her hands and place them on his shoulders, to give herself some balance on her toes. He kisses her sweetly, and she isn't sure whether or not she expected that. She draws back to take an unfortunately noisy breath and he smirks before she covers his mouth again the instant her lungs are full. His hands drift down to her waist as her heels find the carpet again. His warm breath tickles her skin as her lips trace other parts of his face; nose, cheekbones, eyes. She doesn't realize she had been traveling backwards until the back on her knees tap the edge of the bed. Her hands return to his shoulders as she sits, and –

Crinkle…

He laughs against her lips, "What was that?" he mumbles, pulling away.

She stands back up to examine the damage, and finds the crumpled sketches and make-up work she had left sitting there from this morning.

"Whoops." she apologizes, picking up the sheets and quickly moving them over. "These weren't supposed to be here."

She turns to kiss him again, but senses something off as their lips meet. She peeks open one eye to find both of his already open wide and not on her. They're doing that analysis thing again. It's like he can take notes with his eyes alone.

"What are you looking at?" she asks, pulling back and following his gaze.

"Nothing," he says as he picks up the sheets on the bed and she laughs and sits on the bed.

"Should I hide those whenever you're around so you're not distracted?"

"No," he muses quietly, "They're a good distraction."

She scoffs. "I beg to differ. I'm" -she yawns- "hiding them."

"I'll find them." he says confidently, and sets the papers down. "You're yawning again."

"No I'm not."

"Sure you are." he smiles and ducks to kiss the skin between her eyes. "Why don't," her nose, "you get," her lips, "some sleep?"

"I can sleep when I'm dead." She brings their lips together again to make her point.

"The night before you have to work isn't a bad time either." he counters.

She grimaces and he chuckles lightly, gently brushing a strand of hair away from her face before straightening up.

"Sleep, Architect. That's an order."

She rolls her eyes. "Yes, sir. Don't forget your jacket."

He grabs the pinstripe, and crosses the room to give her one last peck on the cheek that she can feel even in her toes. "Good night, Ariadne."

A/N: I could use an Arthur jacket right about now… I'm freezing! I love December, but I could do without the ungodly temperatures. Hope you guys liked that! If anyone was interested, I think the song Arthur played is something akin to 'Afraid of Loving You' by the Devics…nice, slow, jazzy song. Please review! (That would be the best Christmas present ever!) Next chapter will be up in a bit! Thanks for reading! Oh, and happy holidays!