Note: I've already written a few Inception fics, but this is the only one I've finished! Mal mentioned Arthur's taste in paintings at the very beginning of the film, which is where this fic comes from. Let me know what you think (but be nice)! By the way, I do suggest looking up "The Weaning of Furniture Nutrition" by Dali as Mal and Arthur discuss it, plus it's one of my faves.

"What was she like?" Ariadne asked her eyes glancing up at Arthur. The new architect had only known Cobb's wife as her "killer." A tall woman, with dark hair and dark eyes. No mercy in her movement, only an intent to kill and destroy. Even before she plunged the knife into Ariadne's stomach, the girl knew that the older woman was vengeful, angry. It seemed that she was more than willing to take out her anger on the new girl. Even though Ariadne asked the question of Arthur, she knew what she would hear in response. He would say Mal was difficult, even a little manipulative. Hard and intense.

But Arthur surprised her. "She was lovely," He said with a slight smile on his face that hinted of a fond memory.

Arthur was twenty three years old. Most of his peers were out entering the work force for the first time while maintaining their college ways on the weekends. Drunken binges at the shore, late night hook ups with complete strangers, maybe a few experiments here or there, were normal activities for the twenty-somethings. Of course, all of this would be bottled up into a long weekend, and it would be hidden away by the time Monday came around.

Arthur was not like other twenty three year olds. Yes, he had a job, but this was his third year pouring over files which weren't for public eyes. His third year slipping into other's dreams and helping his co-workers extract information. Information that helped him buy a loft in New York City at age twenty-three. His third year in a row without any sort of party attending. Yes, there was drinking, but it was the occasional bourbon with Cobb, or, much more common, the bottle of scotch all on his own. This was also his third year without any hint of social contact. No women or men prying off those suits of his. And this was the third year of Arthur staying up until 3 AM working, and not even realizing the time.

Currently, he was sitting at the dining room table of Cobb's personal home. After Phillipa was born, Cobb asked Arthur to come over their home for work. It was easier than renting a space, and it allowed Mal and Dom to be closer to their baby. When the neighbors asked about Arthur, they were told that he was Mal's cousin and that he baby sat when Cobb and Mal needed a night off. Which Arthur had actually done once before, albeit painfully. Arthur spent all night simply staring at the baby afraid that she would randomly explode and he would be blamed for it. Thankfully, that was the only time he was asked to baby sit. The rest of his time at the Cobb home was spent researching for jobs. Even after 3 Am, Arthur's leather bound notebook was filled with notes and suggestions for the next heist. Arthur was hired for recon, for understanding every in and out of the mark. To know every in and out of their employer, and, of course, to help out in the field. Something that Arthur had never really been trained for, but took to like a fish to water. Cobb never questioned why their young point man was particularly good at shooting a gun…it wasn't his place to ask perhaps. It didn't matter though, it was a perk. Arthur did his research, and he helped in the field. It was a win, win.

The piercing cry of the baby caused Arthur to twitch in his chair. It was one of the drawbacks of working with a new family. Arthur dropped the file down onto the table, his eyes were starting to betray him now. Words were colliding and becoming awfully fuzzy. He only had one more page to read; however, why not finish it up? Picking up the file again, he forced his eyes to take notice of every word, read the meaning behind them. Writing down his observances in his notebook. No, Arthur did not live like a normal twenty something.

"Arthur," A hand was placed on his shoulders. Mal. He knew her right off, the smell of her French perfume was too strong for the faint of heart, and her accent was clear even in his simple name. "I do think that Dom would agree that you deserve some time to sleep. It's three in the morning." Arthur looked over his shoulder to see her. She was as beautiful as ever despite having a very fussy baby reliant on her every day and night. Standing there in her black silk robe looking exhausted, she still looked like a woman from one of those old Hollywood movies. The innocent girl who declared her love for the protagonist at the end of the film, and kissed him chastely as the music flourished.

Dom was a lucky man.

"I only have a page left to finish," Was Arthur's only argument.

Mal smiled gently moving towards the kitchen and pulling out a bottle of Phillipa's milk. "Our darling girl is hungry at 3 AM. I wish that I could have her determination. Cry until Dom notices and then require diamonds of him, and until he delivers, I will refuse to stop crying." She placed the bottle in a pot of water which was on the top of the stove. "You think it would work?"

Arthur smirked. "I actually think it might. Course you might have to wait a decent amount of time for him to deliver you diamonds."

"I have good lungs," Mal assured him with a nod. "Dom knows that. I unleashed them when Phillipa was born. I'll spare you the details."

"I'm sure I can imagine," Arthur commented looking at the file. Just one more page, he could read it when Mal went back upstairs to feed her daughter. Right now he didn't want to be rude.

Mal leaned against the counter, yawning delicately. She covered her mouth with her hand as she yawned, and dropped it seconds later, her eyes focused on her co-worker. Right away, she recognized that 'work' look in his eye. "Go to bed, Arthur, really. I can promise you that those papers will be here in the morning. On that table waiting for you very patiently, and you'll have the same quiet in the morning. You know Dom, he'll be asleep until noon, and I'll try. Though Phillipa seems to be an early riser like her grandfather." She didn't seem too excited about this notion, but the simple love for her daughter was clear in her eyes. There seemed to be an extra sparkle at the mere mention of her name. "You are always up earlier than us. You know, you'll be an excellent father one day Arthur. You require barely any sleep."

A small chuckle left Arthur's mouth. "Oh I don't know if I'll have kids."

"You will," Mal said as if she had personally witnessed the future. "You look too good in those suits to not find yourself a girl. Course, you won't find any here in our dining room. Unless I have my father bring over the best and brightest of his students…for an informal get together-"

"Mal," Arthur started a slight whine in his voice.

The woman let out a small chime of laughter. "You know I am only teasing. But you will one day. I know it. Dom was scared of the notion at first too. Children. Look at him now." She pointed towards the ceiling. The fact that Phillipa's voice was not filling the house suggested that Dom was currently entertaining her while Mal prepared her snack.

Arthur knew better than to argue with her, especially when it came to personal lives. "We'll just say maybe then. Maybe one day." When he looked up at Mal, he saw a change in her demeanor. Her face was more thoughtful, even confused. "Are you okay, Mal?"

"Mmm," She nodded crossing her arms in front of her. "I was thinking about that painting that you showed me last week. I can't get it out of my head. What was it called? The Weaning of Furniture Nutrition? You have quite interesting tastes Arthur."

"Not a fan of Salvador Dali?" Arthur asked not thinking that Mal would be. All of the art that hang in her home was extremely simple. A shade of a leaf or of an animal. No discernable details, quite different from Arthur's fondness of grotesque human forms on canvases. "He's…not simple."

Mal shook her head. "No. That image of a man with a hole in him. Beautiful and terrifying at the same time. It looked like something from a dream, I suppose Dali's would be interesting dreams to navigate." She mused aloud. After a long pause, she added, "Do you miss it?"

Arthur blinked and then murmured, "Do I miss what?"

"Dreaming," Mal supplied simply. "I know we…we create dreams for a living, but…an honest dream. Where you go out with your childhood friends to a circus, or you find yourself naked in front of an audience. Just simple, innocent dreaming. Nothing to do beyond experience it. Relish it. Do you miss that?"

Arthur knew that Mal had her moments of philosophy. He heard her have a very similar conversation with Dom. She missed the dreams of her childhood. Dom agreed with her, that he missed them, but that it was worth losing them in the name of becoming extractors. But Mal had never asked Arthur this question. How could he answer? Well, he knew that he could lie. Perhaps she would agree with him, take up the bottle and leave him alone to finish his work. Glancing back at the paper, his mouth moved before he could stop it. "No. I can honestly say I don't."

"Really?" Mal asked her eyes now wide with interest. "Why?"

The point man shifted in his chair, he was still wearing a button down dress shirt complete with a tie and vest along with the perfectly pressed pants. As tired as he was, he always felt comfortable in his suits, as though they always brought him confidence and security. At her question, Arthur felt like Mal was the first person in ages who insisted that he peel off that suit. "I only had nightmares. Growing up. I never had those dreams of…flying, or insane dreams that didn't make any sense. I just had nightmares. It's like a relief not having them anymore."

Mal's face softened. "About your parents?" The words fell from her lips before she could stop them, but automatically, she blurted out, "Oh, Arthur, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

"No, it's okay," He insisted although he did look shaken by the mention of his parents. "They weren't the center of them, not always. Sometimes it was the people they worked with, or me finding them that night."

"Couldn't have been easy, losing at them at such a young age. Especially…losing them the way you did." Mal whispered now, the quiet hiss of the stove top almost as loud as her voice. "How old were you?"

"Six," Arthur supplied quickly, his fingers pulling out the loaded die from his pocket. "I was six. My grandparents raised me…I'm fine Mal. I just don't miss my dreams." He wasn't fond of discussing his past, it was no secret. It was something that he shared with Dom, so he didn't often have to worry about these questions popping up. Mal was a different though, leading a strange but perfect childhood, she had nothing but fun stories to share. Her favorite childhood memory was going into her father's dream for the first time at age seven. It didn't really compare to Arthur's stories of his parents' "friends" on the streets of Las Vegas.

Mal seemed satisfied by this, and took Phillipa's baby bottle into her hand. She tried the milk on her wrist, nodded to herself and turned off the burner. "You know, Arthur, you need your rest. Don't make me come over there and drag you to the couch by your ear," She teased, her whole pensive demeanor now melted away into her pleasantly tired self. Stepping over to the table, she leaned over to close Arthur's leather bound notebook. "Tomorrow." Then she placed a soft kiss on Arthur's forehead. "Go to bed."

Walking back towards the staircase, Mal turned to look back at Arthur. Arthur thought that she would insist one more time that he go to sleep. Or that he should talk to her, or even Dom, about his parents. However, she didn't say a word. She just smiled deeply, but that smile said plenty to Arthur.

"She was lovely," Arthur said glancing down at Ariadne. "Wish you could have met her then." Unlike his partner, Arthur never confused the real Mal with Cobb's projection of Mal. There was no possible way that that beautiful, kind woman could be so heartless as she was in their dreams. In fact, it bothered Arthur that such a horrible part of Dom's subconscious wore her face.

"Whoa," Ariadne uttered as they continued to walk through Arthur's dream. "What is that…on the wall?" She pointed towards a painting. In fact, it was the only hint of decoration in the very crisp and pristine building which made it stand out all of the more.

Arthur paused glancing at it. "The Weaning of Furniture Nutrition. By Salvador Dali, it was a gift. I always put it somewhere in my dreams." Sensing another question on Ariadne's tongue, Arthur pressed forward. "Why don't we try to get some of my projections rattled? Try something new."

That was all the architect needed, following Arthur excitedly, ready to bend reality in a dream without worry of Mal ending it too quickly.

Years later, when Ariadne entered another dream of Arthur's she noticed the same painting again. And this time, she noted the small tag that was left on its frame. It read, "To Arthur, May you one day find a way to patch the hole in your heart. Love Mal Cobb."