TW: Miscarriage.

Two-shot song-fic. I'm sure you know the tune? It's pretty gut-wrenching, so of course I had to write about it. I love happy endings, but. I also love all the mess in between. Enjoy.


when, when we came home
worn to the bones
i told myself, "this could get rough"
and when, when i was off, which happened a lot
you came to me and said, "that's enough"
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

She enters the apartment silently. Not even her keys make a sound when they land on the entryway table. But he knows she's home, having watched her enter the building minutes ago, her shoulders slouched but her pace even and measured despite the torrential downpour. She looked like a robot on autopilot, and he couldn't help but think she must desperately wish to be literally anywhere except here. With him.

He shakes these thoughts away, knowing she must be in the home they've shared these past five years because he spent the last three minutes twenty-four seconds mentally tracing her every step from the main entrance to the stairs she surely took to avoid the speed of the elevator, choosing instead to climb five flights of stairs to delay their inevitable meeting. He knows she has nowhere else to go, not in this city at least. Maybe that sense of isolation - or abandonment? - has contributed to where they are today.

He enters the hall to see her standing there blankly, dripping all over the relatively new hardwood. On any other occasion, she would likely be having a fit over the water pooling in front of their door. Honestly, he probably would, as well. Right now, though, he feels about as numb to the mess as she is to him. She looks like a shadow, a ghost of the woman he promised his whole heart and soul and every day for the rest of his life, a day that feels like it could have been a lifetime ago. He doesn't say anything for a moment, searching for the right words in his mind, but his time is quickly up when she seems to wake from her stupor and becomes alert to his presence. She doesn't say anything, either. The air feels electric with all the things they each refuse to say.


He walked through the door first, holding it open for her behind him. Her steps were forced, wooden. She dragged her feet under her as if it required nearly insurmountable effort to follow him into their apartment. He closed the door behind her.

With a sigh, he dropped the keys on the table, avoiding his own eyes in the gilded mirror hanging above it. The apartment smelled just like the day they left it. It smelled like her, like a warm vanilla that usually enveloped him and made him feel truly at home. Tonight, he felt cold. He takes a few steps down the hall, running a hand through his unusually messy hair. It had only been three weeks since they last walked this hallway together, leaving in an excited, frantic rush for a last minute job that was supposed to be fairly simple and uncomplicated. What a contrast to their subdued return. They're both tired and worn down to the bones, robbed of things they couldn't begin to describe.

He didn't hear her steps behind him, so he turned to check on her. She stood there in front of the door, unmoving, eyes cast at the floor. She was pale in a way that sent ice running through his veins. The doctor said she was fine, she was okay to go, to endure the plane ride home. He wouldn't call this fine, but he supposed she wouldn't die, which is what doctors are mainly concerned with, liability-wise. She wouldn't die on the outside. As far as he could tell, there wasn't much hope for the inside at the moment. She refused to meet his eyes or even acknowledge his presence.

This could get rough.

Anything he might say would only make this worse. He knew it. So he didn't. He turned and walked away, leaving her there in her blank state.


His mind jerks back to the present moment when she finally takes off her coat and hangs it on the rack next to the door. "You're probably freezing from all that rain. Let's get you changed, Ari."

Her hand pauses on the coat now hanging on the wall. For another moment, she remains silent, still avoiding his gaze. "I'm fine," she says at last in a low voice.

"Don't do this tonight," he hears himself beg. "Please."

"Do what," she says icily, her tone challenging, as she finally turns to meet his gaze directly. Her eyes are hollow, underlined with a darkness that's been present for the past three months. She hardly sleeps anymore. He hears her pacing the halls at night but is too much of a coward to get out of bed.

"Shut me out. I want to talk," he says simply.

She scoffs, looking down to remove her shoes and toss them in front of the table. He suppresses a wince, knowing that she's just trying to provoke irritation in him. He tends to be a neat freak, and though she is far from being a slob, she's not as particular about messes as he is. It's time to stop letting petty things come between them.

"I don't have anything to say," she says when she stands up straight, leveling him with a cold glare.

"That's a lie," he chokes out, momentarily taken aback by her unusually aggressive manner. They haven't gotten along well since… that job, but she hasn't directly attacked him, no matter how well deserved such an attack may be. "I think we both have plenty to say."

"I'm sure you do," she retorts, her face cracking for half a second. For just half a second, he sees a fraction of her pain, and it shatters his heart. He can't believe he's let it get this far. She would never have allowed him to sink so low.


He threw his coat down the hall and kicked the table before slamming the door shut behind him. It was just past midnight, and he was being a total jerk - and he absolutely knew it. When she appeared at the end of the hall, wide awake but dressed for bed in his flannel pajama pants and an old college t-shirt, he had the decency to hang his head in shame for just a fraction of a second. The moment passed quickly, and he was back to huffing and puffing like a toddler.

"I take it things didn't go well," she offered gently, leaning against the door frame with her arms crossed. Anyone else may have confused her closed stance and refusal to come closer as timidness after his aggressive outburst. He knew better. He was being handled. She wasn't afraid of him in the least bit, but she knew when to push and when to back off. At any other time, he would have felt infinite gratitude at having a wife who knew him so well after only a year.

"It was absolutely fantastic, Ariadne, what on earth gave you that idea?" he snapped snidely. "Of course it was awful. It's always awful. I'm sick of living like this."

She didn't answer, giving him space to rant and lose control even as he knew he was already going too far. It wasn't exactly the first time.

"I'm not cut out for this work. Sucking up to idiot bosses who smile in your face and stab you in the back the second it suits. Treated like trash when I've seen more, done more, accomplished greater things in even just one day than they have their entire life. A bunch of spoiled pigs, sitting in their muck and patting themselves on the back for the size of their bank accounts. It's ridiculous. I deserve better." With each word, his voice rose in volume and anger, and he did not fail to notice the way she warily glanced at the door behind him, clearly concerned for the peace and rest of their neighbors. "I've earned better," he insisted adamantly, gesturing at the floor fiercely with his index finger. "They have no idea."

"You don't have to prove anything to me," she said softly. "I've seen you in action."

That she had, for sure. After the Fischer job, they'd performed many, many others together. Other than Cobb, he didn't make it a habit to work with the same people repeatedly. Attachments quickly became a liability. Something kept drawing him back to Ariadne. He made excuses, weak ones that fooled no one but himself, as evidenced by the quirk in Cobb's eyebrow and slight smirk that smudged his facial expression each and every time Arthur attempted to casually bring up Ariadne in conversation.

Marriage had forced him into retirement. He gave it all up to spend the rest of his life with her in peace and safety. He couldn't handle living with a target on her back every day. It was different when he was on his own, accountable for no one besides himself. What little family he had left remained unknown and under the radar because he had essentially severed all ties long ago. Ariadne was not ever supposed to happen to him. He wasn't supposed to settle down. One day, he just woke up and realized that the dream world and extraction were no longer the highest on the list of things he couldn't live without.

Did he regret it? He didn't know anymore.

"You don't know what it's like, Ariadne," he insisted coarsely. "They love you at your job. They worship the ground you walk on. Everybody recognizes how brilliant you are."

She sighed, pressing her fingers to her forehead in mild frustration. "It's not all you think. And it's only because of Miles' recommendation. I didn't work all that hard for this position."

"Of course. That just makes it even better."

She shook her head. "Arthur…"

"I gave it all up for you. I did this for you." He huffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Everything I ever knew." He threw his hands in the air for emphasis. "Gone. Forgotten. Like none of it ever mattered."

"I never asked you to," she said quietly, staring down at the floor. He should have recognized the change in her tone of voice, but he kept pushing, stubborn as a bull.

"You sure you didn't? It didn't feel terribly one-sided, the way you kept pushing for more and more. It was never enough for you. Just having me wasn't enough. You wanted everything."

Even as he spoke, she was shaking her head again. "No. No, Arthur. I just wanted to know you would stay long-term. That you would keep coming back. I just didn't want to be second place all the time or wondering where I stood in your life." She peered up at his cautiously, as if carefully measuring her words. "I didn't ask you to marry me."

"No, but you would have been good as gone if I didn't ask."

"I loved you more than that."

"Loved? And what about now?" he pressed, despite the alarms ringing in his head.

"Of course I still love you."

"I'm sure you do, with me on this leash." With that, he yanked his wedding ring off his left hand and threw it down the hall.

She stood frozen, watching as it bounced across the caramel-colored tile and landed in front of the hall closet only a few feet away from her. She didn't respond immediately, didn't bend to retrieve it. His chest heaved in breathless anticipation, realizing the magnitude of what he'd just done - what he couldn't take back.

"Arthur," she said finally, and he found he couldn't bear to look at her. She came down the hall carefully, as if approaching a rabid wild animal with the intention of capturing and subduing it. Maybe that's exactly what she was doing. He didn't move a muscle as she approached and laid a gentle hand on his arm. "That's enough," was all she said, and it was enough to do him in.

He crumbled, and she caught him in her arms. She nuzzled against his neck, and suddenly his mouth was attacking hers with an unexpected ferocity. She was caught off guard, but she let him, inviting him in as she always did. He pushed her against the wall, effectively pinning her in place, but she didn't shrink back in the least. She met him with equal intensity, as if begging him to understand and appreciate how much she loved him, how much of his garbage she was willing to endure for his sake. She tasted like familiarity and comfort. She was still his. Her hands gripped his shoulders as she pressed herself against him. Her lips left his and left a trail across his chin, down his neck.

He came all of the way undone.

"I'm sorry," he gasped, losing the strength to stand. They sank to the floor together, her arms firmly wrapped around his neck and his hands keeping her hips close. They knelt on the floor, foreheads touching, as he struggled to catch his breath.

"It's okay," she whispered, kissing his cheek with a tenderness he knew he didn't deserve. "It's okay."

"It's not your fault. I don't regret you. I don't," he swore, not entirely sure which of them he sought to convince.

"I know you don't. I know this is hard for you. And I love you for how hard you fight for us."

"It's not enough."

"It's not enough, or you're not enough?" she asked a bit too specifically for his comfort.

"Ari," he groaned, desperately wanting to avoid the subject.

"All I want is you. And I want you to be happy. I want you to be happy to be with me. I don't want you to end up resenting me for things I never asked you to do."

"I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you."

"You can't protect me from everything, Arthur."

"You're the only thing in my life that matters."

She smiled softly at that. "And I'm going to do everything I can to stay in your life. You have to trust me a little bit." She paused, waiting for him to look at her, and when he didn't, she gently guided his chin with her hand until their eyes met. "You have to realize that you are enough. Whoever or whatever you decide to be. That's all I want, Arthur. I want you. All of you. Every bit of you. The good, the bad, the beautiful, the ugly. Even when you're throwing your wedding ring at me."

"I didn't throw it at you," he insisted guiltily, pulling back slightly.

She smirked, sitting back to lean against the wall with her arms crossed in front of her. "No, you never miss," she teased.

He met her eyes again and couldn't help the half smile that pulled at his lips. "No. I don't," he agreed. "I'm sorry. That was totally uncalled for."

She shrugged dismissively. "You weren't thinking straight." She leaned forward to rest her hand on his. "I know you. And I know you would never hurt me on purpose."

He gulped. "No." The air suddenly felt too thick, and he had to loosen his tie and unbutton the top of his shirt. "I don't want to hurt you."

Her smile was forgiving and patient, and it crushed his heart. He did not deserve this woman. "Quick, gimme a kiss," she murmured, and he didn't hesitate to comply.


The woman he sees before him is four years and perhaps a decade of dream time older, and she's wearing thin. Psychologically and physically. She hasn't been eating, either. He feels her pain acutely, and sometimes it robs him of breath completely. But there's this distance between them now, and he hasn't figured out how to bridge it.

Tonight is the night. It has to be.

"Ariadne, please," he tries again. "Baby…" She cringes at his choice of wording, and he closes his eyes in regret. "My love… stay with me tonight. Not in the guest room. I need you."

The ache in her eyes begins to look a lot like defeat. Tonight, she doesn't have the energy to fight him. Tonight, it could all come to a head.

Yeah. This could get rough.


I love love. I love that it endures a lot more than we often think it can. Reviews = love.