Worth a Shot

She never understood why he did it.

Probably because of that first job, she reasoned, or probably because he liked to taunt her once and a while. But ever since then, he would make the request at random, in a dream or out. He'd turn to her: on the surface, his expression deadly serious, while a glimmer of amusement lurked at the corner of his repressed smirk, a small spark in his eye that one would have to squint to see really.

The problem was she fell for it.

Twice.

But she had him now. Their next job, the next dream, he turned to her again, that same masked mischievousness gracing his features as he turned to her, calm and zen ruled his voice, "Quick, give me a kiss."

And she was ready for it this time. Usually she was surprised, taken aback by his casualness and the situation, but she wasn't about to be made a fool again. She smiled, relishing the moment really, and leaned towards him, his neck inclining towards her. For a moment, the fact that gun slinging projections chased after them didn't make a difference. They were inches, centimeters, breaths apart before she raised her hand to his chest to stop him. His eyes dully slit open to meet her flirtatious smile as she held him in place. A small laugh escaped her in a puff of air as she tilted her chin upward, her lips reaching the furrow of his brows as he knitted them together in confusion. He felt her smirk against his skin briefly before she pulled away.

She backed off then, unable to hide her triumphant smile as confusion turned to amusement across his features. Then it was back to business at hand as he led her down the staircase towards the dreamer's vault.

Funnily enough, that didn't deter him. It seemed almost ritual now. Because no matter the situation or the dream or the dreamer, he would casually turn to her, face all business, which was helped with his combed back hair and three-piece suit, and said it: "Quick, give me a kiss." And she'd obey, because it was her part of the tradition, which it strictly was and nothing more.

Only, she'd tease, he never said where precisely, and Ariadne was nothing if not freethinking. "Quick, give me a kiss" could be followed by a peck on his cheek, a gentle brush on his nose, a sardonic press of the lips on his hand. Once, she even produced a small, foil-wrapped chocolate to him, which he popped in his mouth before leaving her to finish the assignment.

But he did it out of dreams as well. They would be preparing for their next job, walking through the streets or sneaking around an office to gather intel or to follow their subject, and he'd pull her aside. There was a puzzled look on her face as he held her by the elbows to let some people pass, and she'd raise her eyebrows as he waited another millisecond before moving.

Only this time, when he said it, quietly, teasingly, she'd shove him aside with a laugh and continued back to track their prey.

It became a joke now in the outside world, reality. They would be working on blueprints together, their heads huddled over a model constructed with careful thought and planning. Their fingers brushed as they blindly grabbed pencils to adjust measurements or map out new courses, their bodies mingling in each other's closeness. She could tell that he was watching her instead of the sketch laid out onto the worktable, but she did her best to ignore it, her hand trembling only slightly as she wrote out new measurements.

"Quick, give me a kiss."

It was a whisper of a request, and she almost didn't hear it. Yet as she looked up at him, ready to play it off, she saw that same undertone of playfulness in his face as he waited for her response. Blinking back her shock, she laughed it off, bopping him in the nose with the pink eraser on her trusty Number Two.

Although, Ariadne had to admit, that her favorite request came when she was sitting across from him at McDonald's. He looked completely out of place in his suit, but she had been abroad for so long that the very idea of a proper Big Mac made her mouth water and requested to meet him there during her stateside visit.

"This is," he said, looking around the greasy food joint, "a little sad." Ariadne was looking into the brightly-colored plastic shelf near the door where examples of the Happy Meals' toys sat, and at his comment, she moved to stand beside him. "I offer to take you out to lunch and you choose," he wiggled his eyebrows to gesture to restaurant at large.

"What do you mean?" she asked, craning her head to look at the lit up menu behind the counter. "I've been in France for four years," she defended. "I haven't had real a good ol' hamburger and fries since I was getting my bachelor's."

"Precisely," he agreed, not the least affected by the looks a certain teen table threw his way. They giggled after giving him a good once over with their eyes. Ariadne bit back a smile as she caught them staring and hooked her arm 'round his elbow to mess with them. Arthur, oblivious to this, merely allowed his elbow to be pulled away from his side and looked up at the menu. "You've lived in France for a good half a decade at least. Your taste buds should be matured now."

Ariadne didn't fight the issue but ordered the desired hamburgers and fries, which they enjoyed outside. She smiled as she saw the smudge of ketchup at the corner of his mouth. It was utterly out of place on a man like Arthur, and she laughed even more at his puzzled expression.

When she told him, he chuckled a little too, ignoring the napkin she was offering to him. Instead, with a glance back at the teenage girls leaving the fast food joint (so he had seen them earlier?), he said it, gripping her wrist with the proffered tissue, "Quick, give me a kiss." Ariadne froze, smile still plastered on her face.

Because, maybe, for a split second at least, she considered obeying. Not in her usual way like when they were in someone else's dream, but a sudden pang entered her stomach. It rolled uncomfortably with the Big Mac she had just inhaled and lurched into a lump in her throat. Because, for that split second, Ariadne had the urge to do it. To actually follow through and kiss him properly this time. She looked at his lips, thinking about the what if.

Arthur must have felt it as well, or was startled by her silence, because he leaned back onto the metal swivel chair—yet another reason Ariadne enjoyed McDonald's: swivel chairs attached to the table—and let go of her wrist. She knew that he was kidding, like always.

A look into his dejected expression and she decided to save the situation. Leaning forward she swiped her index finger over the rogue ketchup and licked her finger with a grin, which grew into laughter over his martyred expression.

Later on she wondered why she caught him tossing his die on the table when she came back from the restroom.

xxxxx

She wondered if their game would ever be up. She wondered why he did it, but most of all, she wondered why she played along.

If she were sincerely honest with herself, she would say that it was because she wanted to, and if she were perfectly pragmatic about it, she would say it was because he asked. Only it was different when and where he asked her. In dreams, for some reason, she had no qualms about reaching up and following through, but in the real world, she seemed to doubt herself. Why exactly, she couldn't say.

He asked her at the most random intervals either asleep or awake, and she responded in kind in both. But it was becoming utterly ridiculous now. He didn't hide the game from Yusuf or Eames anymore-the latter attempting it himself once and the former smiling awkwardly when he was close by-as if he decided that he didn't care if someone else was there to witness it. If Ariadne were a more suspicious person, she'd say that he did it deliberately. People, a crowd, a single person, he'd say it anyway, like he was daring her to do it, like it was another damn test that she had to do to prove herself to him.

And she wasn't one to back down. She complied every time, teasing him by a small peck to the corner of his lips or a swift caress of her mouth against his jaw, and she'd relish the nervous tension drumming through his whole body as she held onto his shoulders or pressed against his chest, sometimes intentionally for a second or so longer than necessary.

He also didn't give a damn to their situation it seemed. Despite running through a corridor or being chased by projections, he would somehow find a time to turn to her, that same smirk playing on his face warning her of what was coming.

Of course, none of this bothered Arthur in the least. Actually, the more the peril or tension during their jobs, the more likely he would turn to her and say it, like he timed it perfectly that way.

During one of their dinner reunions with Cobb, Eames brought it up jokingly, sharing it within a story of a particularly nasty get-away. He, Ariadne, and Arthur were captured by some minions and were held before their boss, hands on their respective heads. Eames laughingly recalled how Arthur turned towards Ariadne, the casualness of his action (as if he stood like that all the time), and leaned down saying the words with businesslike authority. And, to Eames' and partially Cobb's amusement, Ariadne perched up and kissed his elbow, shooting him evil eyes during the whole transaction as the projections watched.

"Why do it then?" Cobb wanted to know, amusement and worry encased in one single Cobb question.

Arthur shrugged, picking up his beer bottle by the neck to take a swig, while Ariadne shrugged as well, her hands neatly sitting in her lap. She focused on the My Little Pony doll sitting on the table courtesy of Cobb's daughter Philippa.

She had always wanted to ask that same question. Leave it up to Cobb to voice everyone's concern.

Eames, sensing a bit of a lull in the conversation, brought up another story concerning the thief lord they had extracted information for last month. But Ariadne's head was too distracted by Cobb's question to add any input.

For their next mission, she did ask because Ariadne was nothing if not straightforward.

They separated after exiting the target's mind. The team usually followed an "every man for himself" rule after coming out of the dream, but Ariadne usually found herself leaving the scene of the crime with Arthur these days. Ever since a pretty nasty job extracting a secret from that thief lord back in Prague, this too became another one of their traditions.

This time, he entered her train compartment, five boxcars down from the subject of the crime. She was curled up near the large window, raw daylight spewing into the train. Her knees brought up against her chest and a sketchpad poised before her. She didn't hear him enter, earbuds sticking out from under her hair.

She caught movement in her periphery and pulled out her headphones one by one to see Arthur standing there. He was playing with his die, rubbing it with the pads of his fingers. "Arthur," she began, not worrying about pleasantries.

Turning to face her, he pocketed his totem, leaving his hand tucked in his pocket as she stood in front of him. She could see him rotate the cube in his hands beneath the fabric. He already knew what she was going to say, already suspected she was going to ask him. She couldn't tell if she was really irked or amused by that.

"Your supposed swagger aside," she began sardonically, her thumb pressing into her iPod to shut it off. "Is there a reason why you keep doing that?" At his blank expression, she added, "Asking me to kiss you." The words were like a commitment. She nearly died from embarrassment just asking them, because what if she was just imagining things?

Arthur stared at her for a second longer than she thought he needed before replying. It was unnerving how he looked at her sometimes, especially now with his advantage of standing. "I thought it was obvious," he said simply.

Ariadne did her best to hide the astonished look on her face. Instead, a dubious laugh escaped. "Obvious," she nodded as if he had told her a pretty lame, albeit amusing, joke. "Right…"

He sighed. "Ariadne."

She acted mullish. "Yes?"

"Is there a reason why you keep doing that?" he posed back. Condescending bastard. Using her own words against her.

She was indignant. "I thought it was obvious," she parroted meanly, childishly.

He raised his eyebrows. "Really?" The look he gave her was like a grown-up towards their five-year-old.

"No," she scoffed petulantly. "I'm just making fun of you."

He grinned and took the seat next to her, careful to sit properly lest he wrinkled his suit. "I figured." She was sore that she couldn't think of a better retort.

She turned to face him, her legs still pulled up against her. "So why do you do it? Really?"

"Why do you do it? Really?" he reflected back calmly, almost mockingly. This was stupid and childish. She was no psychology major but she understood deflection when it was slapping you in the face and doing a strip tease right before your eyes. At her silence, Arthur grabbed her hand, fiddling with her fingers in such a way that made Ariadne's breath hitch and made her put her pencil down.

"Let's try it together, shall we?" he proposed, his fingers intertwined with her own. Leaning towards her, his warm breath danced along her hairline right near her temple. His nose barely touching the shell of her ear. "Quick," he breathed, "give me a kiss."

She shivered. Good lord he was good. She didn't understand where the basis for all of this was. The first time he did it, she thought it was amusing of him. The second time he did it, on an odd job Eames planned for them, she was outraged. Somehow they ended up on a balcony railing, overlooking a party of people. The projections were right behind them, circling any escape, and he looked at her, stupidly dashing in his tux. His hand was around her waist, pulling her to the rails, she knew what he was thinking. "No fucking way," she was saying.

"Any better ideas?" he asked, shooting the braver projections stepping too close.

"Not yet, but we'll have a better chance if we're both alive by the end of this."

"Can't. We still have a job to do."

"What? Why not—" She looked up at him. He was clutching the gun and his middle. "You're an idiot!"

"I'm already injured," he said a little ruefully, clutching his thigh. "You'll have to go on without me."

"You're so—!"

"I'll take care of these projections," he was saying, covering her over the mob gathering.

She didn't have time to huff and give him the finger like she wanted as she perched on the bar.

But before she could leap, he leaned back. "Quick!" he ordered, his tone making her glance back. "Give me a kiss." She didn't even have time to ponder the oddness of the request or the timing, he swooped in quickly, and before she knew it, she fell two stories to the party below.

When she woke up, and everyone was in the clear, she was seething. She was violent. "Why did you have to be such an idiot?"

Eames pointed out that that was an unfair question as Arthur was naturally born that way.

"I can't believe you left me on the job by myself!"

Arthur didn't say anything.

"You're so—" Ariadne stopped short, an aggravated growl coming out. "Don't you ever leave me like ever!"

He apologized, and Ariadne left in a huff, unsure if she yelled at him for the right thing.

Now, he was holding her hand, telling her to kiss him again. The light from the train's window filtered through the trees and houses they were passing. The shadow played across his face. It was never a question, she realized, never. It was always an order, as if he had a right to ask it of her.

Ariadne probably would've give in, if she weren't so confused and so damn annoyed with his smug look of satisfaction on his face. Instead, she pushed him, disturbing his equilibrium, surprise on her side after all, so he fell off the cushion.

She laughed as smugness was taken over by mystification, and she watched as he reached into his pocket and extracted his totem. Politely she looked away as he tossed it onto the ground. A small thrill entered her stomach as she realized he sat back down next to her. There was a perfectly good seat across from them.

"Okay," she said laughing at his dour expression as he pulled himself up. "Tell me at least why you keep doing that."

"Just checking," he replied cheerfully, tossing the die

"For what? If you're still dreaming?" she teased.

He smiled at her. Dammit it was dazzling. "Something like that," he allowed. "But more for things that don't match up."

She scoffed. "You and your paradoxes? Or did the train floor just not feel right?"

Arthur didn't say anything, merely placed his totem into his breast pocket and leaned back to sleep. A small, thin smile on his lips.

xxxxx

They were running through an opera house, a large group of minions at their heels. Ducking amidst the seats, they eased their breathing, crouched as small as they could be.

Arthur popped up first, his eyes peering between two upholstered seats to spot the last man to leave through a stage door. Turning to run in the opposite direction, he came face to face with Ariadne, who was attempting to peep as well.

"What part of scatter do you not understand?" Arthur demanded in harsh whispers. He took big gulps of air, attempting to calm his racing nerves.

Ariadne rolled her eyes. "Probably the part where you grabbed my wrist and dragged me here," she shot back irritably. She wheezed.

Arthur glared at her, unsure how that had exactly happened. "Nice dress," he rasped as if noticing for the first time. Ariadne had to be careful how to crouch because of the way the blue skirt of her evening gown kept settling higher on her thighs. She noticed Arthur staring an uncomfortable second too long at her lap, and she tugged down on the hem.

Sheepishly he met her eyes, "Nice bow tie," she countered, coughing. She didn't feel right. She watched as Arthur toyed with the fabric around his neck, loosening it, his breathing just as labored as hers. They both started just as one of the nearby doors slammed open. Ariadne looked from the source of the sound back to Arthur, his face was turning blue now. Arthur looked at her in worry too.

"Ariadne—?"

Ariadne didn't have time to react. The projects found them, guns poised and cocked.

Her last thought before dying was that they missed.

xxxxx

She woke up with a gasp. It took her a second to determine exactly where she was. She was on the ground, and she realized that Yusuf was standing over her. His concerned face quickly dissolving into a look of relief.

"Did you get it?" he asked, sweat and blood trickling from his hairline and onto his worried face.

Ariadne took a second to catch her breath. "No," she rasped. She sat up and the entire world felt tilted. She scrambled to remove the IV from her wrist.

"Easy," Yusuf commanded, helping her as she held her head in her hands. She tossed the rubber tube aside.

"Arth—," she breathed, "—thur?"

Yusuf pointed, and her eyes followed the rubber tube connecting to the metal suitcase. More tubes, another body. She became vaguely aware that they were near a swimming pool.

"I was trying to wake you up, but you just did it on your own," Yusuf answered her. "They found you?"

Ariadne nodded and went to her knees by Arthur. He wasn't breathing.

"Arthur!" She shook him awake. Her fingers were running all over him, checking his body for any injuries. The fact that she didn't know what she was actually checking for didn't deter her. The bastards shot him in the foot before she left. She knew the pain of that would be excruciating. Who knew what else they were up to right now.

She rested her palm onto his chest and couldn't feel his lungs working up and down. Recalling his blue face in the dream, she sprang into action. In no time she had her other hand poised over the other, her entire weight pushing down onto his chest as she counted fiercely.

"What are you doing," Yusuf asked, coming to her side.

"How long?" she said, not comprehending. She pressed against his chest again, before settling next to his face, tilting his chin back. She didn't waste a second to press her mouth against his, forcing her air into him.

"Ariadne," Yusuf called out, he held her shoulder before she could manage another breath for him.

"They're not going to kill him yet, those bastards," she said, taking deep breaths herself. Yusuf held her shoulder comfortingly. She turned to him. "What happened?"

"They found us," Yusuf said, speaking of the projections. "They tried to get Eames, but he woke up."

"They got to him," she confirmed, remembering him being shot right before her eyes before Arthur and she made a run for it.

"Eames is handling them now. By the time we got to you and Arthur, they were trying to suffocate you two."

Ariadne nodded, understanding the situation. She stood up and gripped Arthur's lapels. "We gotta toss him," she decided, pulling out the IV.

It took a second for Yusuf to understand what she was talking about. "No! Are you serious? We need that information Ariadne!" she began to tug Arthur's prone body along the cream and green tiling. "Ariadne!"

She wasn't listening to him. She was already dragging Arthur along the floor towards the pool's calm surface. The slipperiness of the ceramics helped out greatly. "We've been compromised Yus-ugh!" she crouched by him; they were at the edge. Slipping him into the water wasn't going to do anything. "He needs a kick."

Yusuf looked at her doubtfully. "Five million dollars each," he whined.

She glared at him, and Yusuf had to roll his eyes at the higher beings above for giving him such a conscience. Begrudgingly, he made each step towards her, ignoring the pleased smile on her face as he picked up the man's feet. "On three," he said, his tone conveying how much he thought this a bad idea. The music hadn't even played yet.

One.

Two.

Three.

Ariadne and Yusuf backed off as water sprayed back. They watched as Arthur's prone body fell into the deep end. Through the clear water they could see him gently touch the bottom and buoy up just a little bit.

"Ah fuck," Ariadne cursed, kicking off her shoes immediately.

"What?" Yusuf asked, as she began to toss her jacket off as well.

"He was hardly breathing before we dumped him," she explained. "He won't really be in a condition to swim ba—" Yusuf watched as she dived into the water in a perfect arch.

In a few minutes the two came up sputtering. Ariadne's arm tucked under his shoulder as she helped swim towards the side. She passed Arthur over first before pulling herself out.

Arthur was coughing, his face slowly returning to normal as he struggled to move away from the water's edge and collapsing onto his back. His wet hair splattered to his face and his clothes sticking close to his body. More water slicking up the tiling.

He was still passed out.

She scrambled towards him, her feet slipping out from under her before she slid the rest of the way. She placed her ear against his chest before placing his neck in the right position. She extended her arms out and began to push, counting, then placing her mouth against his, breathing air into his mouth. She did this a couple of times, interrupting the process to listen to his chest. She was about to sit up again, when—

"Ariadne," he whispered.

Yusuf started, but then he made his way over to the black bag sitting where Ariadne first woke up. She looked over at Yusuf, who gave her a nod before digging through the sack.

"Ariadne," Arthur coughed again. His knee was still bent up, like he meant to get up soon.

She held his hand. Her hair plastered to her cheeks, she wiped them away as best she could. "What is it? Did you get it?" Arthur was the last person to have the folder after she nicked it from the vault. From there it became an odd tag-team race of passing it over to read and distract the projections.

The sound of glass crashing outside gave Ariadne reason to hesitate. She looked at Yusuf who looked from the closed doors, then back to her. "They're almost here," he warned unnecessarily.

Ariadne nodded.

"Ariadne," Arthur whispered. Ariadne sat and waited for him to continue, but he gestured for her to kneel further down to listen. She obeyed.

"Arthur?" Her eyes scanned his body again, looking for any blood or missed wounds. Her ears perked up.

"Ariadne," he said again. "Quick," they heard a loud cheer right outside their door. Her heart sped up just a little. "Give me a kiss." She wasn't sure if she heard that right. Ariadne's jaw dropped in amazement. Their eyes met and she had the sudden urge to slap him. She settled for shoving him in the shoulder. Hard. And with some satisfaction she saw that cocky look on his face turn down in confusion. A question in his eyes as he began to reach in his pocket. She knew what he was after, but she could hear it clearly now. The distinct music building up around them. Realization dawned on her.

"You're such an idiot," she whispered near his ear, and in one swift movement, she grabbed a nearby gun and cocked it. Arthur held up a hand to stop her, but he was far too slow.

xxxxx

She opened her eyes to a bright room and Arthur sitting up before her. His die held between his thumb and forefinger. He looked at it intently.

It took her a second to remember where they were. They were in a doctor's office, their target having had a bunyunectomy that morning. She was sitting in a spare waiting chair positioned near the man's bed.

She sat up, squinting. Her neck was revolting every movement. Then again she was asleep for at least a whole day, dream time. "Sorry," she apologized, recalling his stunned expression minutes before she shot him. She rubbed the back of her neck. "But it was time to—"

"I know," Arthur said, his face humourless. He considered the cube he was squeezing between his fingers, the other hand gripping the wooden armrest. "Ariadne," he began, but as she perked up in preparation for his question, he stopped.

Yusuf and Eames were awake already too. Everything happened quite fast. It was always odd coming to. This hecticness. This haste. It was almost as if none of that excitement just happened.

Yusuf was taking a set of large headphones off his ears and shoving them into a bag, and Eames was ridding himself of gear, gathering all the tubes, and squeezing them back into the suitcase.

"It's everyman for himself," Eames informed them, standing up from where he was crouched with the silver case. Yusuf nodded at the exiting charmer, before looking at Ariadne and Arthur and exiting as well. He closed the door softly behind him.

Then it was just Ariadne and Arthur left.

They usually didn't stay too long after coming to, but she waited for him to make a move. And all but suddenly, he got up from the chair, shoving it back into the corner where it belonged. "Come on," he said gruffly, grabbing her wrist and leading her out of the room.

"Arthur," she panted out.

"My leg hurts," he commented.

"No shit. They shot you in the leg."

"You shot me in the chest."

She frowned at the accusation. They've done worst to each other in dreams. She remembered pushing him off a cliff once. "I was aiming for your heart," she defended, still being dragged along the corridor, the speed more against her will then the actual direction.

He gave her a caustic look as he turned to face her, strides still pretty big as they walked. "You missed."

xxxxx

She hadn't spoken to Arthur since that job with bunion man. Last she heard from Eames, he was vacationing in Italy, apparently scoping out a few clients while he was visiting. Last she heard from Yusuf, he was running some tests for a big hit another independent group was planning. Last she heard of bunion man, he was in physical therapy, fine and without a clue in the world. Last she heard of Arthur, he was staying with Cobb for a while, which was just fine with her. She wasn't his keeper, though she was put out that she had to find this out from Eames.

As a friend this was pretty horrible of him.

Three months had passed since that last job. From any job for that matter. She had taken a break from dream worlds at the moment and decided to focus on her own work. She told Yusuf to contact her for anything big in about three months time, and he, concerned but understanding, agreed to let her know with a hug and his number.

This was more than some people did. Hell, even Eames made a point to send her a post card once he was in Perugia. It was nonsensical like how he talked, purposefully puzzling in case of interception, and endearingly teasing because it was just him. It wreaked so much of hanging out with the guys and working on another world. She missed the thrill again.

This was her first lull since she fell into this dream career, pun intended, and Ariadne was getting almost cabin fever from it.

She didn't really need to work unless it was for her own enjoyment. How many of her classmates could say that? And, Ariadne was given more opportunities and a bigger range of geography, materials, and scope. It was pure creation, and it was so addicting. Watered down it was like playing Rollercoaster Tycoon, only amazing and in IMAX.

The knock on her door came while she was waiting for Rollercoaster Tycoon to finish downloading. Nostalgia made her find a pirated version on some website. The little empty bar in the window was slowly filling up with blue juice, and she was revving up for some much needed catharsis, despite the horrible graphics.

She spooned a glob of yogurt into her mouth before clearing one hand to unlatch the locks and chains to open her door. "Ohb," she said, mouth full and looking at him. "It yoob."

"Yeah," Arthur agreed unapologetically, shrugging in his suit. A small smirk was the only concession that he realized her mouth was full and she was speaking like an idiot. "It is."

Quickly, she gulped it all down and wiped her face with her sleeve. Arthur didn't make a comment. "You still sore about me shooting you?" she asked, dunking her spoon into the plastic yogurt cup in a way to say that she didn't care about his random presence at her door.

"Ariadne," he said with a smile. She saw that he was having none of it. "It's nice to see you too."

She rolled her eyes but stepped aside, pushing her door open gesturing for him to enter the apartment with her yogurt holding hand.

He took a few tentative steps towards her kitchen, which was warmly lit. He assessed the large window with the view of Paris, the copper pots and pans hanging above the stove, then the sofa beside the shelves of books and models. Her computer was right in front of him on her dining table, Rollercoaster Tycoon up, shiny and ready to run. He raised his eyebrows at her. "New hobby?"

She walked past him to close her laptop, a little ashamed. "You could say that."

He chuckled, his eyes still darted down at the now folded down screen. "It's just not the same though, is it?"

She sat down. She placed her yogurt onto the table and started to gather her hair on top of her head, clipping it in. "I thought you were with Cobb." She hid the disdain in her voice, the heavy implication that he left her for two months without a single call. When he didn't admit to all of this immediately as well he should though she knew he wouldn't, she decided a different approach. "How's the family?" she asked, play dumping her spoon.

He took the seat across from her. "I was and fine." That was Arthur: annoyingly prompt and noncommittal.

"No desire to get back in?" she questioned, still treating the yogurt cup and spoon as a miniature butter churner.

"No." He twiddled with his fingers, outstretching his arm. "He's pretty much settled with his kids now." She tried her best to read into that statement, but she was too practical for subtext and generally too interested in Cobb to make it about her.

She pulled up her knee, returning to her yogurt. She gave a defeated sort of shrug. "Thought he'd be. I'm glad that he's fine though." Arthur murmured an assent.

"He asked about you," he offered. She wondered why he did that: turn everything back on her.

"Oh? And what did you say?" Did you mention that you have been avoiding me? She licked her spoon with relish.

Arthur shrugged. He was suddenly looking down. "That you were fine, though your shooting could use more attention."

Subext be damned. "Aha!" she called out, pointing her silverware at him. "So you are still sore that I shot you!"

"I told you," he said testily though a smile played at his lips at her weapon of choice. "I didn't know we were still dreaming."

Ariadne smiled into the dairy cup. "We were in a pool. We weren't there last time."

That kind of apparent logic couldn't be misunderstood, even by Arthur, specificity's number one fan. "Fine," he admitted. "I was angry. You knew I didn't know what was going on."

"You didn't say!"

"Oh please," he scoffed. "You saw me reach for my totem."

She kept her spoon in her mouth. There was no denying that. She wasn't a liar.

"You left me that time." She was surprised she admitted that. She was surprised her guard was down enough to say that. She hated how small her voice got when she said it. Lamely, she tried gesturing with her spoon again for effect, but it only emphasized her childishness. Arthur's eyes broke over the gesture.

"I already said I was sorry," Arthur rebutted. "It was for the good of the mission."

Ariadne toyed with her yogurt container, the bottom well cleaned out with her spoon and attention. "I shot you for the good of the mission."

"Well when you did it, it felt like a nightmare." The way he said it, so quietly and so reluctantly, like an admission.

"I'm sorry," she said for lack of anything better. It felt stupid to say, hollow in her quiet apartment. "I could've let the timer run it course."

Arthur sighed, looking at her stove to the side. "And it was showing up to be a pretty good dream."

That too was un-Arthur-ish. "Why?" she asked sardonically. She wasn't sure if he was trying to break the tension or not. "Because we were soaking wet?"

"Well I did wake up with a soaking wet you kissing me," he teased back to normal.

She flung her empty yogurt cup at him. "It's called resuscitation. I was giving you a kick."

He shook his head disbelieving. "You were making-out with me. You could've just left me to die and wake-up."

"I needed to make sure you got the information!" Ariadne excused, but even to her it sounded rather weak. The first rule in lying, Eames told her, was to try to believe if yourself, and she definitely wasn't buying this bull.

"But I never answered you," Arthur pointed out. "Once the music started, you seemed all well and good to shoot me anyway. So why?"

Ariadne hated how she gave the upper hand back to him. She hadn't used her time wisely. "I—" she thought aloud quickly, but she stopped when Arthur leveled his gaze at her. He could see her trying to weasel out of it already, it wasn't going to work. "I wasn't sure what was real or not at the time," she said, truthfully. "I was trying to help," she explained. "I knew what was up when the music started." She also was pretty annoyed with him and took her anger out on shooting him but that seemed unfair.

Arthur understood that. She could see him agreeing with her. "I heard it too," he recalled. "But I wasn't sure either, because," he smiled to himself, like he was sharing some sort of secret, "you were kissing me." He admitted it with an ironical twist of his mouth, and she couldn't help but realize it all. "Then you stopped, and when I asked you to, you didn't." He seemed dissatisfied by that but he didn't do anything to repair his words. But she understood.

"Is that why you thought it was— "Ariadne cut herself off, suddenly turning sober. She changed tactics. "Is that why you keep doing it?" she asked a little testily.

Arthur didn't say anything at first. She was damned if she was going to be the first one to admit to it. "You only kiss me in dreams," he explained. He wasn't staring at her, he was watching his own fingers, which were rubbing each other as if he had a dice in them. "When you didn't and you shot me—" He drifted off, peaking a look at her. It was so unnervingly un-Arthur, this nervousness. She was almost holding her breath she realized.

Ariadne started to get it. "I see," she said, looking at him directly. "I've become your totem?"

He smirked at that. "Y'know, I haven't thought about it, but that's pretty much what it's become."

"So," she said, getting up to toss her yogurt cup. "What was it to you anyway?" she asked, turning to face him as she leaned her elbows on the counter behind her. She felt empowered by the bluntness of their conversation. Everything was out there.

Arthur looked up at her, directly and unabashedly straight at her. It was Arthur and so unnerving that she wanted to turn away at first. "Remember that first kiss during the Fischer job?" She nodded. "You're worth a shot," he explained. "A million of them if it takes."

He got up, the chair screeching against the hardwood floor behind him. "So maybe one day," he continued, pinning her against the counter. Her breath hitched, much to her chagrin. "When I say, quick give me a kiss." He leaned in, his breath playing against her cheek as he whispered it in her ear. "You just might kiss me properly again."

Consciously, she let out a breath. It was probably one of the most sincere moments of her life, despite this entire time living in the poetic city of Paris, and yet she couldn't help it. It was unavoidable because there he was and there she was and there was everything out in the open. She couldn't help it. She really couldn't. She never was one for proper romance.

There was a bubbling excitement in the pit of her stomach, that realization coming to fruition, birthing into utter contentment, utter excitement, utter…giggles. A small peep came out in spite of it all. "It was worth a shot," she laughed, attempting to explain the sudden fit, and Arthur pulled away slightly. The sudden frission in the air broken by her comment and actions. He raised his eyebrows. "Shooting you," she explained, her fingers playing against his neck as she laughed. "It was worth it only to get you to wake up and kiss me properly."

And Arthur couldn't argue that.

xxxxx

"Ariadne! Ariadne!"

She opened her eyes to a worried looking Arthur above her, her shoulders gripped tightly.

Eloquently, she tried to voice her confusion. "What the hell—?"

"No time," Arthur said, pulling her up quickly. She made a note of Yusuf on the ground with the suitcase, and Eames taking a pair of headphones off.

Her head spun. The new vertical position didn't agree with her. She hated falling asleep sitting.

"Come on!" Arthur encouraged, pulling her towards the exit. He threw back a careless "Everyman for himself" order before rushing her down the street. It was funny how they always said that after waking up, as if it was necessary when it was already some unsaid agreement. She thought they did it as a way to say good-bye, and it was sort of. The first person to leave the room or the scene usually shouted it before running off.

"What happened?" she asked, breathlessly, trying to catch up with him. They made their way through a side door leading to a staircase. They charged down.

"We got it," he explained as he opened the final door to a back alley behind the building. "You just weren't waking up." His jaw was taught at that accusation, and she felt horrible for trying to stay longer than necessary. Eames and Arthur were already dead. She was on her own. She remembered holding the pages in her hand, crumpling as she read the lines quickly then tossed each sheet aside. She felt the shoves and pushes of someone shaking her awake as she lost her footing while running. The time ran out finally.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Arthur ordered, leading her down a maze of bricked alleyways. "You're awake now."

Ariadne squeezed his hand tighter as she followed him, the amount of turns and twists confusing her. She trusted Arthur though. He must know where he was—

"This doesn't seem right." That didn't seem right either. Arthur was out of his element. They stopped short of a brick wall. Laundry lines of white sheets and cotton t-shirts hung over them, making the air smell sweetly fresh. "I thought this was the way out to—"

"Are we awake now?" Ariadne posed, letting go of his hand and going to inspect the wall before them. She wasn't really sure what she was looking for since dreams and reality had a way of weaving into one another as she worked. The red brick felt rough and sturdy against her palm. She looked over at Arthur to see what he thought.

He was studying the sheets blowing in the breeze above them, he was looking back from how they got here. Finally, he looked at her. "Quick," he said, serious. "Give me a kiss."

Ariadne considered this. She leaned against the brick, the stones jutting into her shoulders. "Really Arthur?"

"Come again?"

"Am I just as good as your loaded die?" she asked bitingly. "You're the only one who knows how to handle me?" she continued.

He walked over to her, laughing. "There's really only one way to find out," he explained. "Quick," he ordered, already swooping in. "Give me a kiss."

And she smirked as she went to peck him on the nose, only Arthur wasn't going to let this one go. He wasn't going to let it go cute or shallow. He pulled her chin up, angling his face properly. Her lips met his, and while she felt immensely tricked, it was happily so.

He held her there, not letting her pull too far away. His thumb running along her chin. "Real or not real?" he asked, a little breathlessly. Their foreheads touched. She shivered, logically because of the breeze but perhaps not entirely because of it.

"Real," she whispered back. "Do you want to check?"

Arthur considered it. She could see him weigh his options carefully. It was adorable. "No," he swooped in and pecked her on the nose. "This is real."

"Good."

"As a totem though," he said, pinning her against the wall with his arms on either side of her. "You're pretty inconsistent. You're probably the worst totem ever."

"Says the man making out with his totem?"

"You're right," he admitted, pecking her again. "Best."

Quickly, he pushed himself off the wall, ready to retrace their steps. He was a few feet ahead of her, prepared to consider their options, and while he looked down one route to the other, she snuck out her chess piece, sat it on the flat of her palm and flicked it.

xxxxx

Author's Note: So I start classes again today, and what do I end up doing to avoid the nervous feeling in my gut but write fanfiction! This whole break, I've been reading Inception fanfics and watching the movie so often, that I thought to cap off my holidays, I'd give it a go. This goes in ten different directions at once sometimes, but I'm pretty happy with how it turned out.

And yes the title is unoriginal as far as fanfiction titles go for this pair, but I couldn't help it. It tied everything up nicely.

As always, thanks for reading!