Bit shorter, but no holding back on the emotional gut punch. Thought it was time to get a bit of Ariadne's point of view.


so you hit the lights and i'll lock the doors
let's say all of the things that we couldn't before
won't walk away, won't roll my eyes
they say love is pain, well darling, let's hurt tonight
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

She opens her eyes slowly, reluctantly. She feels Arthur's steady breathing beneath her head, sprawled out on his back on the couch with one arm behind his head and the other wrapped around her. She lies on her side against the couch cushions, her body perfectly molded to his. It's been a while since she's been in such a position of comfort. She pushed him away for so long, refusing to let him in and heal the hurt she insisted on inflicting upon herself. She felt the mental anguish was well-deserved after her deception and foolishness. For reasons they hadn't quite discussed, he'd let her do it… which was rather against his personality. They didn't do distance and disconnect. Their arguments were generally short-lived and resolved fairly quickly. The past three months had been absolute agony, especially the last two weeks sleeping in the guest room and pretending she didn't want him touching her. She couldn't stand lying in that king size bed with him, so close but feeling farther apart than ever.

The second she begins to stir, he's awake. No surprise. Arthur doesn't ever wake slowly. He's immediately alert and assessing the scene. When he sees she is still in his arms, he relaxes visibly.

"I didn't go anywhere," she offers quietly.

He sighs deeply. "I'm glad you didn't."

"Did you think I would?"

He lifts his head, reading her expression thoughtfully for a moment before responding. "I don't know anymore."

"I'm sorry I let you doubt me," she says, and she's certain she never meant anything more sincerely. They made vows to each other, through good times and bad times and all that jazz. She'd done a pretty decent job holding up her end of the bargain, she thought, until all of this happened. How could she ever have thought this was something she had to endure alone?

"I said I don't blame you," he told her, pressing his lips to her forehead. "And I meant it."

She takes a deep breath, finding the courage to go deeper into this mess than they already have. "Then why did you let me?"

He falls back onto the couch, rubbing his forehead with the hand that isn't on her waist. He's silent for so long that she begins to wonder if he's going to answer. When he does, his voice is so low that she has to strain to hear him. "I thought you blamed me."

"What?"

He swallowed hard. "And you would be right to do so."

"Now hold on a minute…" She pushes herself up and stares down at him incredulously. "I'm not allowed to take any blame, but you are?"

He avoids her eyes, sliding out from underneath her and sitting upright next to her on the couch. He rests his elbows on his knees and buries his face in his hands. "It's my job to protect you, Ariadne."

"Um, I feel like we've had this conversation before," she reminds him less carefully than she intends. "Your job isn't to protect me."

"Isn't it? I promised I would."

"And I told you I never asked you to do any of that for me. Multiple times."

"I should have noticed… I'm the point man. It's my job to notice things. You went eight weeks without a period, and I didn't bat an eyelash. You were eating everything under the sun, but the smell of chicken turned your stomach. Your breasts are usually tender before your period, but not for three weeks. You wouldn't let me touch them," he says softly. "So many things I missed." He shakes his head regretfully. "I should have stopped it. I should have called off the job. Eames would have understood. The wife - she was a mother, herself - she would have insisted, had she known."

"I didn't want you to know," she insists. "I wanted to be there. I wanted to do it."

"I should have been more careful," he continues bitterly, hints of aggression seeping into his tone. She knows the aggression isn't directed towards her. It never is. "I shouldn't have assumed we were safe once we were in the stairwell. I should have gone first."

"And then if someone started shooting at us from behind, you would have thrown yourself down the stairs."

"Ariadne, I'm serious," he asserts, casting an irritated glare in her direction.

"I am, too."

"Please." He shakes his head, pressing his thumbs against his forehead. "Please don't make jokes about that." She sighs with regret, wishing she could handle this situation with more grace than she currently seems to possess. "You don't know… You can't imagine what that was like… It wasn't a dream."

She inhales sharply, realizing she never once considered how emotionally demanding that night must have been for him - watching his wife fall down the stairs in the middle of a pursuit, then learning that she was pregnant, had hidden it, and had lost the baby, all within hours. She'd only imagined his wrath because that's what she felt she deserved. But it was worse than that for him. And unlike every other time, there was no waking up after.

"Arthur… I'm so sorry," she says gently, reaching out to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Don't apologize… Stop. Please."

"I just didn't think about how it affected you." She paused thoughtfully, chewing on her bottom lip. "Even when I did, it was only because I felt like I'd lost something. I felt like I lost you, made you hate me."

The look he gives her is heart wrenching in its pure agony. "I could never hate you. I will never hate you."

She can think of a million things that might make him hate her, but she decides not to mention them at this time. Her arm falls to her side. "My point is that I was being selfish. I should apologize for that."

He shakes his head vehemently. "No, Ariadne. You weren't in a good place. You went through something no woman should have to experience. And I was too shocked and too scared to be of any use to you." Suddenly, she feels all of the weight these past three months have laid on his shoulders. She really had been completely absorbed in herself. "I didn't know what to do to help you. I didn't think you would want my help after I failed so miserably."

"Arthur!" she reprimands him sharply. "You didn't fail. You did everything right. You always do."

His expression is somber, his eyes heavy with defeat. "I wasn't enough."

"Arthur." He refuses to meet her gaze. Her discomfort with the situation increases with each passing second. This is all wrong. None of this is his fault. How did things become such an emotional disaster between them? "Please look at me." He won't, so she grabs his hand and tugs him towards her. "Please." When he reluctantly turns to face her, she finally, finally sees the real pain he's been carrying in his eyes for three months… just as alone as she was. "You're enough. You're more than enough. You're everything to me. Do you hear me? You're all I need."

Her words are enough to break him. For the first time since that awful night, his eyes water and overflow. She tugs harder on his hand, and he falls into her open arms, laying his head in her lap. Now it's her turn to hold him as he finally releases all of his guilt, frustration, anger, hurt, helplessness, loss - the tangle of emotions the brutal ending of her pregnancy has heaped upon both of them. She knows he hates this. He hates to cry. He hates the feeling of weakness and vulnerability. He is ashamed to let his guard down in what he sees as an extreme way, despite her assurances that she doesn't view him as any less of a man. Secretly, she relishes these moments when his defenses are dropped and his need for her outweighs his need to project ultimate confidence and strength. She knows he thinks needs her for many other things, but this is a different sort of need. There are emotional and psychological holes in Arthur he won't admit to possessing, and she is grateful that she is the one who gets to fill and heal them. He trusts her implicitly, even despite himself.

"Arthur," she says, her own tears threatening to erupt once more, "I love you so much. I'm not going anywhere. I've hated feeling so far away from you. I never wanted this."

"I'm sorry you lost our baby," he sobs against her abdomen, tightening his arms around her waist. "I'm sorry we didn't get to meet her."

Her. Remembering her dream, Ariadne finds she can longer fight the tears, and she silently cries in devastation along with her husband. "I'm sorry, too. I wish we could have known her."

"She would have been beautiful. A mini you. That would have been amazing," he says, his weeping slowing gradually.

She runs her fingers through his hair, sniffing and rubbing her tired eyes with her other hand. "You've never given me anything less than amazing."

"I don't deserve you," he says quietly.

She snorts. "Don't start with that. I think we're both exactly where we belong. And don't you dare tell me otherwise. I don't want anything else, and I've told you that."

She sees his lips twitching, resisting the urge to curl upwards. "Okay, fine. We deserve each other."

"That's better," she says smugly, leaning back to settle into the couch. He pushes himself forward next to her until their eyes are level.

He is quiet for a moment, earnestly staring into her eyes as if seeking the answer to some question rattling around in this massive brain of his. Finally, he says it out loud. "Can I kiss you?"

Suddenly, she realizes they haven't kissed since before the job, and their last kiss was pretty pathetic at that. It was a quick smooch before they went under, same as always. A sort of "see you on the other side" farewell that had long ago become a habit of theirs. It had become perfunctory, almost meaningless as it settled into tradition. She nods slowly, feeling her heart flutter in her chest. Briefly, she wonders at the fact that he can still have such an effect on her. She's like a teenager.

His kiss is cautious and gentle, as if he's afraid she's going to break or run away. It's delicious, but it's not satisfying enough. She reaches up and tangles her fingers in the hair on the back of his head, forcing him closer, parting her lips and deepening the kiss. His breathing quickens when she nibbles on his bottom lip, and she finds herself responding to his reaction to her. All these months of distance and guarded hearts, and she's sick of it. She wants him. She absolutely needs him more than she allowed herself to realize.

"Arthur," she whispers against his lips, unsure of how to express this desire to a man who has known her intimately in every possible way for all of five years.

She doesn't have to try because he reads her like a book. "Are you sure?" he prods nervously.

Ariadne nods. She wasn't ready before. She's more than ready now.

And she finds that he's more than ready to oblige.


Oksolike... plsreview, ty.