"You are waiting for a train, a train that will take you far away. You know where you hope this train will take you, but you don't know for sure. But it doesn't mater, how can it not matter to you where the train will take you?" Mal's words still echoed inside Ariadne's ears and even now, she cannot rid her ears of her alto accented voice. Ariadne almost thinks she is going crazy as she imagines the lithe shade standing behind the front desk of the hotel.

"What are you doing here?" Mal's velvety voice envelops her and she feels herself numbly reaching for her totem. Once her hand finds her pocket, total fear grips her as the bishop turns up missing.

"Ma'am?" The illusion is gone, and in its stead is an older woman with smile lines and a contradicting stare. Ariadne quickly shakes the cobwebs out of her eyes and reaches for her identification.

"I need a room." Her usually sure voice is now just above a whisper and she struggles to maintain composure. The woman behind the desk, now agitated hands her a room key and instructs her to pay when she checks out.

Ariadne took the elevator one floor up and opened the door to a dismal room with aged furniture. But nothing matters as she sets her bag on the bed and sinks down beside it. The job had gone well, and when she had opened her luggage, she found a note, written in Arthur's careful hand.

Ariadne-

Lay low, I will come find you when it's safe. Remember your totem.

-Arthur

The note was simple and to the point, just like the man who had left it for her. As her eyes scanned the name signed at the bottom, she could feel a smile at the edges of her lips. The chaste kiss they shared played over and over in her mind like a broken record. She could recall every detail, in her minds eye. His hand cupped her cheek gently and he held her there, perhaps for a moment longer than necessary as his gentle lips captured hers. His tuxedo smelled of sandalwood and the scent enveloped her like a comforting blanket. And just as quickly as the sensation came, it left her.

"Do you know what it is to be a lover? To be half of a whole?" The scathing words of Mal Cobb's shade came like a sudden frost in spring. Turning to the window, she saw faintly the image of billowing silk curtains.

Madness, Eames had warned her that this might occur, however lighthearted the warning was issued.

"Keep your wits about you darling, you never know when you might lose yourself." Eames chuckled to himself and had thrown a peach her way, which she had gladly accepted. As she bit into it, she had no doubts of anything.

But it could simply be from a lack of sleep. Ariadne rubbed her tired eyes and sunk down onto the duvet covered bed as her thoughts drifted towards the imaginary hotel. She is already missing the closeness she and Arthur had shared over the time getting ready for the job that Saito had commissioned them on. Arthur's face floats before her minds eye and she can almost see his self assured smile and feel the way his spidery hands covered hers.

Ariadne is missing her Parisian apartment with every nook and cranny that her eye finds. The dank hotel room is completely devoid of color, and light and she feels almost imprisoned. A bad painting sags along the far wall and a potted plant that has been placed near the window looks like it has seen better days. Ariadne can feel her soul sinking with every depressing view of the room.

As she sinks into an uneasy snooze, she wonders when Arthur will come to get her.

When Arthur wakes up the next morning, he feels that something is amiss. Looking around his lavish hotel room, nothing is out of place, and his alarm hasn't even chimed. Standing up he feels his joints creak with protest. Age hasn't been cruel to Arthur, but he can feel himself getting older. Rotating his shoulder cuff, he heads for the bathroom, hoping that a cool shower will shake the cobwebs from his head.

Thirty minutes later finds Arthur buckling his belt and reaching for his toothbrush. His thoughts shift to Ariadne as the bristles work past his canines. He hasn't stopped thinking about her since he walked out of Los Angeles International. As Arthur rifles through his garment bag for a clean shirt and vest, his hand happens upon a brightly colored piece of fabric that certainly didn't belong with his color scheme of charcoal and dark blue. The scarf was a striking teal with a storm grey colored paisley pattern and it smelled lightly of coffee. His thoughts flit immediately back to the crème skinned Parisian architect. He remembers her lips upon his in that brief dream moment. He feels smug as he buttons his shirt and reaches for his vest.

One look in the mirror and he finds a young man staring back, with worry lines etched into his forehead and a serious frown chiseled into his face. There was a time when he would smile, and laugh. But nothing was funny anymore. He could scarcely remember when he last wore a pair of converse and some jeans.

Arthur would argue that he has had a full life thus far. He keeps himself neat, goes out when he wants, and indulges in expensive time pieces. Women always linger on his elbows and he is never in want of good company after the lights go out. He always has work, when he has need of it, and when something goes wrong, it's almost never his fault.

Almost.

He had put everyone's lives on the line.

No, Dom did. Dom took the job without as much as asking for Arthur's opinion. But how was he supposed to know that Fischer had been trained? It was his job, as point man to do all the research. To make sure the unsure. He knew about Fischer's broken bone in grade school, he knew that Robert Fischer had been ostracized by his peers in high school. Hell, he even knew which hand he used to sign his name, but he never would have guessed that Robert Fischer was trained against mind theft.

They had gotten lucky it was only the tourist that had gotten shot and sent to limbo. Had it been anyone else, Arthur wasn't sure if the job would have even been done, much less if they all would have resurfaced after. It sent shivers into his spine to recall how deep Ariadne had went to rescue Fischer. Once someone had landed inside limbo, there was next to no chance that they would ever make it out as anything other than a vegetable. Sure, Ariadne was pretty, but without the soul behind her eyes, he would find it impossible to even look in her direction.

With this realization, he is suddenly reminded of the danger of his occupation. Without another thought, he pockets the small red die and fastens his watch. As he prepares to exit his suite for the morning, he finds himself fingering the delicate teal scarf. Arthur knows he needs to visit her, and now he has found the perfect excuse to do so.

Ariadne wakes up the next morning feeling groggy and uncomfortable. The lines between reality and the gloss of the dream world had blurred and she found herself lost. Ariadne fights back the tears that threaten to spill over her cheeks with a tidal force and the end of her sleeve. She quickly crosses the room to find her golden bishop which had taken up residence in the bottom of her purse. It tips into her end table with a satisfying drop and she feels relieved, for a moment.

"You promised we would grow old together, you promised!" Mal's voice screeches inside Ariadne's ears and she feels panic rising in her chest. She feels the bile in her throat and heads towards the bathroom. What little she had to eat the previous night sails into the toilet inside the nearly immaculate tiny bathroom. The totem had tipped, and made a slightly hollow noise against the cherry veneer end table, this is reality. She hears the clinking of a wine glass stem hitting the arch of a shoe and she can feel herself retching again.

After what seems like an eternity, she picks herself up off the floor and flushes the toilet with a sigh. Running her tongue over her teeth, she exits the bathroom and reaches for her orange toothbrush.

After eradicating all the germs from her mouth, she still feels queasy, but a little more refreshed. Ariadne looks herself over in the mirror and finds that the near sleepless night has made her eyes take on a weary look. Squinting further, Mal's face flickers behind her with a sinister smile plastered on her face. She tears her face away from the mirror and jumps when she hears knocking at the door. It has to be Arthur, no one else knew where she was.

"Darling!" Eames voice hits her like the sun and she quickly wraps her arms around his middle.

"Easy love, easy. Whats gotten into you?" The Englishman all but carries Ariadne back inside and she feels reluctant to tell him about the flickers of dream world that occasionally seep into her life.

"Eames, I'm sorry. I'm fine."

"Bullshit." His accent cuts into the tense air and Ariadne can feel herself breaking.

"I keep seeing things," she utters quietly. Eames peers down at the young woman with a raised eyebrow.

"What kind of things?"

"Things, that don't belong." Ariadne can feel the tears drip down her face as she admits to defeat.

"Love, you are going to have to be a little more specific than that."

"Mal, okay? I've been seeing Mal."

Eames gives an understanding sigh and gathers Ariadne into his arms. "Ari, you have to tell us if you think you are going too deep." Eames hums and rubs circles into her back. "We're not mind readers." At this, they chuckle at the untold joke.

"How did you find me?"

"I did some calling around. Said I was looking for a young and rather beautiful Parisian architect student." Ariadne smiles. "I came to give you this." Eames brandishes an envelope from his suit pocket. "And this." The forager lays a rectangular piece of card stock on Ariadne's lap and she recognizes it as a business card.

"What's inside the envelope?" Her curiosity is piqued as she inspects the pristine corners.

"You didn't think a job like this came without compensation, did you?" Eames laugh is almost barking and he is grinning from ear to ear.

"Well, I've got to run darling. Now, should you need anything this card has all the information you need to contact me." Eames gives a wink in her direction and kisses her forehead. "Be safe, love." And just like that, the illiterate Englishman all but waltzes out of the tiny motel room.

And she is alone again. Grunting in frustration, she lays back on the bed and closes her eyes. Images of a little girl's room in a farmhouse flash before her and she feels a faint sensation of spinning. At first, it feels like light vertigo, then the long drop lures her under and into her own subconcious.

Arthur knocks once. Twice. No answer from Ariadne, no noise penetrates the thin wall beside the door and anxiety builds in his throat.

By the time he makes it back up to the front desk, the solid tennis ball sized lump is hard to speak around.

"I seem to have misplaced my room key." His convincing lie earns him a wary eyebrow as the lady behind the desk taps on the keys of her computer.

"Name?" Her voice is nasally and it echos off the glass doors of the lobby.

"Arthur Frost."

"Room number?"

"Seventeen, I believe."

With a mock flourish, she hands him a pristine entry card to Ariadne's room and he nods his thanks.

With uncharacteristically shaking hands, he inserts and removes the key before pushing the door open. What greets him is something he wasn't prepared for.

On the bed near the far wall he finds her, limbs jutting out at an awkward angle and twisted around the scratchy wool blanket and thrashing around on the bed, in the throes of a nightmare. His feet carry him to the edge of her bed and he shakes her shoulder.

"Hey, Ariadne, wake up." No response emits from the young woman and he grips both of her shoulders, shaking her more roughly this time.

Immediately, her eyes fly open and her mouth pauses, mid scream. Brown eyes dart around the room and her whole body tenses.

"Look at me, you're safe." He finds himself flashing back to the first dream she had been killed in, how she had woken up, short of breath and shaken.

She recognizes him and what remains of her will crumbles beneath his hands.

"I'm, I. This wasn't supposed to happen."

"What are you talking about?" He takes her into his arms and cradles the young architect against his chest.

"You are waiting for a train. A train that will take you far away." The first stanza of the well remembered line smacks Arthur in the face and he knows instantly what happened.

"She isn't real. She can't hurt you."

"Arthur, I can't close my eyes without seeing her."

Arthur's long fingers run through her hair. "It's never easy the first time out."

"What am I supposed to do?" Her voice sounds broken, and Arthur himself breaks a little inside.

"Whatever happens, we will face it together." He murmurs into her hair. Kicking off his shoes, he scoots back on the bed until his back hits the headboard. He feels her chuckle slightly.

"That's so cliché."

"How else would you like me to phrase it?" His fingers dance on her cheek and the temptation to lay a small kiss on her perfect apple colored lips nearly overcomes his better judgment.

"Not sure." Her speech slurs slightly as her eyes dip closed. Instead of the maroon curls and the olive toned skin rushing towards her, all Ariadne sees as she drifts off into unconsciousness is him.