Always a Woman

A songfic about each of the main guys' views of Ariadne. I was listening to the song and it just made me think of her character, and how each of them think of her. Also, I know the verses are jumbled, but I wanted to put each character's opinions in a particular order. Each chapter is a verse and a character's opinion.

She is frequently kind,

Eames never thought he'd get to like her quite as much as he did. The girl was a real sweetheart, through and through. Naive? Slightly. Too curious for her own good? Very. But after first meeting her it took Eames about two minutes to realise that she was going to be everyones' morale. Whether it was from simply asking someone if they were alright, to making coffee and tea for people when they needed it, but hadn't asked, she added a feminine touch of normalcy to their hectic schedules.

And she's suddenly cruel,

"That building looks a little crooked, darling."

Her eyes slowly came up from the paper box she was crafting to meet his with a steely glare. "Eames, who's the architect, here?"

"That would be you, my love."

"Exactly. And what is it the architect does?"

"They build."

"Yes. We build. So, if you don't mind, would you please let me do what I do best?" She raised an eyebrow and he couldn't help smiling. "Please?"

Once she thought he was gone she picked up a ruler, quickly checking whether or not the box was actually crooked.

She can do as she pleases
She's nobody's fool,

"Where are you off to, at this late hour?" Eames had just removed the drip from his arm, preparing to go to bed, when he saw Ariadne by the back door of the warehouse shrugging in to her coat.

"Out." She said, attempting wide-eyed innocence.

"By yourself?" Eames tutted, sitting up and crossing his legs, raising an eyebrow.

"Not exactly."

Now he was interested. "And what do you mean by that?"

"I'm meeting someone." She blushed and Eames was sure it was involuntary. Sweet, but involuntary.

"And who might the lucky gentleman be?" Eames sat up a little straighter, inclining his head to one side. "Actually, I'm quite offended that it isn't me."

She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off.

"Give Arthur my kindest and most sarcastic regards, wont you?" He winked.

She smiled; it was a pure and devastating twist of her rose coloured lips. It was completely honest, completely true. For someone like Eames whose profession was attempting to fake such expressions, he missed the days when he didn't subconsciously psychoanalyse a person's every move. "Of course I will. Goodnight, Eames."

"And when you run out of things to talk about – what with Arthur being, in my opinion, one of the most boring people on the planet – feel free to insult me. It will get you in to his good books."

"Goodnight, Eames." She repeated, rolling her eyes as she shut the door behind her.

And she can't be convicted
She's earned her degree

She had taken to this line of work faster than anyone Eames had ever known. It was like she was meant to be a dreamer, meant to build and create on a level she couldn't have achieved anywhere else. She had the imagination that Eames was always trying to tell everyone they needed; he understood, at least, that it was crucial. As did she, it seemed.

And the most she will do
Is throw shadows at you

Inevitably she, like everyone else, had low points. He could see them coming – she would sit back from her desk with one hand to her head, dropping the pad and pen and letting her eyes glaze over as she thought about just what she was doing.

"We're going to be destroying this man's inheritance, making him believe things that aren't true – things that never happened. All so Saito can get more money in his pocket, right?" She always went to Eames when she started to feel this way. To Arthur, this was a job and nothing more – the man reeked of a strict professionalism that made Eames' nose wrinkle. To Cobb, this was a plane ticket, immigration papers and a phone call made by Saito that would allow him to try and pick up living in the real world where he left off.

Of course, Eames didn't feel bad about doing it either, but at least he understood.

"We're not hurting him, Ariadne. We're rekindling a father-son relationship – isn't that something to be happy about? And he doesn't need that empire. Too much power corrupts people."

"Don't you ever feel guilty? For all the things you fake and steal?"

"No. Not anymore. And you can't make me feel guilty either, love. So don't try." When he said this she looked away; he always knew exactly what she was doing.

He leant against the desk she was sat at, putting his hands in his pockets and watching her.

"You'll get over it." They were words meant to comfort.

She nodded, picking up a biro and tapping it idly against the blank page in front of her. Eames could still see doubt and guilt in her eyes.

"Take a break." He decided. "Draw something for yourself, and once you're ready to start acting like a professional dreamer and the co-conspirator of many ruthless and cold-blooded thieves again, let me know."

She gave an appreciative nod and slumped in her chair slightly, like a weight had been taken off of her shoulders. "Thank you, Eames."

"Or, you could take a leaf from your sweetheart Arthur's book and act like there's a ruler up your arse all of the time."

When Eames went to sit at his work station the next day, there was a piece of paper folded on his desk. A cartoon of an unhappy looking Arthur in one of his customary jumper vests and ties, with a ruler sticking out of the back of his trousers. It was signed A. X

But she's always a woman to me.