Sooo. This is the first thing I've written in a long time. I'm not sure if it's gonna be a one-shot or something more than that, but I'm not promising anything since I have a horrible track record for updates. Actually, I barely have any track record at all seeing as how I dont put stuff up here very often. Ever. Anyways. I have a few more bits floating around in my head/in microsoft word, but I wanted a little feedback first. Or something. Hang on folks, this could get angsty.

Title/ lyrics are from "If I Had It All" by Dave Matthews. I don't usually do songfics or Dave, but it inspired me, what can I say.

Inception and all characters and ideas therein belong, of course, to Christopher Nolan. Genius.

Sometimes I can't move my feet, it seems

As if I'm stuck in the ground, somehow, like a tree

As if I can't even breathe

All the screams come whispering out

As if nobody can see me

Like a ghost, sometimes I can't see myself,


"Ariadne, this is amazing," Arthur breathes, turning slowly, with his arms outstretched. "I can't believe you actually managed this." He's sure he looks ridiculous, a grown man in a suit and a tie, frolicking on the beach like a child. But really, he is just a child. They both are.

They've been challenging each other for days, trying to think up some dreamscape that the other can't comprehend. And it goes two ways: sometimes the one who imagined such places can't even describe them well enough for the Architect to attempt to create them. But this…this is perfect. They have both played their parts to a T.

Arthur thought that he had her, that she would never be able to create an ocean of the perfect blue, sand of the perfect grade, the sunset, perfectly orange and perfectly red and perfectly soft and hard at the same time. But she did.

"You make it too easy. You're always so descriptive," replies Ariadne, nonchalantly meandering up and down the miniature dunes that sweep the beach.

"That's what I do. Notice the details, remember them, repeat them to you so you can dream me the perfect vacation spot…"

Ariadne doesn't respond, choosing instead to hum a little and tentatively, carefully, slip her hand into his.

She seems to sense somehow, that this one is more than just a game to him. Arthur always needs everything precise, everything in its place, and the chaos that came after the Saito job and Dom's retirement has taken a harder toll on him than he would like to admit. But she knows. And he knows that she knows. She always does.

The sand is warm under his feet. He knows this because the first thing he did upon his arrival was to take off his loafers and socks and bask in it. The warmth. The heat of her small hand in his only complements the temperate sand and the gentle sun. He's glad that she reached out to him, carefully intertwined their fingers, without saying a word. He doesn't want or need words. He wants to stay here, in her dream, forever.

He leans over, and with a soft hand sweeps a few curls of her chestnut brown hair off her neck. Whispers in her ear: Thank you. Adds: I wish we could stay. For a while. Forever.

At this, she starts, suddenly, and drops his hand from hers like a hot coal. Her hand slides to her pocket, looking for reassurance she can't find with him at the moment and her eyes are lost to the ocean that doesn't exist. She tries to turn away, but he catches her shoulder.

He meant it as a joke of sorts, sort of (read: he meant it, of course he did), but he half expected her to take it like this. He would have fully expected it if he was his normal self. He usually knows things, acts on them perfectly. Always thinks everything through. But not around Ariadne.

"Ari, wait," he says gruffly. He can never hide anything when he's with her. Especially not when he's happy and with her. Which, unfortunately, happens often.

"Dammit Arthur, you can't just say stuff like that!" Ariadne shouts, furious. Sometimes the fury is his favorite part of her. It reminds him that she's not fragile. Not to be toyed with. "You can't mean things like that. I know that sometimes you revel in saying things without thinking, that it makes you feel free, but you can't," she's whispering now, but her whisper is somehow louder than what came before. "We can't. Our lives are not a dream. I don't want them to be."

She turns away again to fiddle with the ever present scarf around her neck and pulls out her pawn, turning it in her fingers, feeling the precise weight of it.

"We can't stay forever, even if you'd like to," she adds sullenly, catching a glimpse of the watch stationed on Arthur's right wrist. "We only have about twenty seconds left in this one anyways."

As Arthur comes back to reality, the first thing he sees is the ceiling of his hotel room, the one they have been sharing since the last one and the one before that. The second thing he sees is Ariadne's scarf, red and orange like the sunset. The third thing he sees is her walking out the door.

This isn't the first time something like this has happened, and they both know that it won't be the last.

What in the world would I go on for, if I had it all?