Disclaimer: I do not own these characters or the back-stories.

Chapter One:

Soft music drifted through the speakers in the ballroom of the high-class hotel which held within it a crowd of high-class guests, smiling, milling around, and striking up conversation with whomever they pleased. Artificial, snooty laughter was forced through their lips when someone important cracked a crude joke.

Among these guests stood a man called Arthur, staring into his own reflection in the mirror in front of him. It was full length and painted gold, carved with intricate patterns. It was one of many, placed randomly around the spacious room. Warm light trickled from a human-sized chandelier that glittered with at least a thousand diamonds seemingly dripping off of it like drops of crystal-clear water. Arthur blinked into his mirror, running one hand over his slicked-back hair while the other smoothed out the trousers of his crisp black suit. He found it amazing that his great lack of sleep did not show itself as prominently as it usually did. His face was still pale and even as ever. Tipping his head slightly to the side, he pondered this for a moment and watched as the Arthur clone opposite him mimicked his actions.

Quite amused with himself, he failed to notice the small figure take shape behind him until she was right at his shoulder. Her hair was pinned up in a perfect bun, except a couple strands left purposely loose to show off soft caramel curls. Her chocolate eyes held an air of mischief that matched her ensemble. A particularly form-fitting dress hugged her down to right above her hips, before plunging loosely down to her knees. The neckline formed a 'V' at a point that met with just below the top of her shoulders. Red strappy high heels gave her petite form a bit more height than usual, and Arthur could not help but notice that her lips were shiny and cherry red. She stood far enough away so that he could breathe normally, but nothing kept his heart from beating at an abnormal rate. He could not refrain from smiling at the sight of her, turning, so they were face to face.

"You look absolutely beautiful," he commented appreciatively. Later, he would wonder why he didn't question why she was there in the first place. Her smile and laugh were so beautiful he found it hard to question anything but why she wasn't in his arms that second.

"Thank you, Arthur. You don't look so bad yourself. I've really missed working with you," she told him lightly. A blush bloomed across her face, causing it to look sweet and girlish. He took a step closer to her on impulse. "You know," she began, more serious now. "I've been thinking a lot lately, about… us… being together. Maybe we could work together again and be part of our own team. Make our own rules." With each new sentence, she gained more confidence, and the space between them closed gradually. She wrapped her arms around his neck and slowly, cautiously brought her lips up to meet his. The sensation was soft, sweet, and warm. He suddenly felt overcome with joy, and they both smiled when they parted. Arthur closed his eyes, letting himself feel the warmth and happiness for just a little bit longer. Deep inside him he knew what came next and braced himself.

"Arthur?" He didn't know precisely when the change had taken place, but the warmth of her body left him to feel even colder than he had been before she had showed up. He could feel her eyes on him, studying his reaction. Her voice had been cold, fearful. When he opened his eyes, he saw that she stood barely ten feet away from him, pointing a gun to his chest. He glanced around for a second to see how the crowd reacted to this, but none of the scantily clad rich women or suited tyrants of men even shifted their eyes toward the two. The hand in which she gripped the gun shook for just a second before changing direction and pressing against her own temple. "I'm sorry." Her last words echoed through the now silent, empty ballroom. A single tear lost its way down her cheek before the heartbreaking bang filled Arthur's ears and crimson splattered the expensive tiles at her feet.

"NO! Ariadne!" he screamed, ripping across the dance-floor toward where her body lay, contorted on the floor. He held her close to him, calling her name and feeling lonelier than he had in his entire life.

Arthur wakes with a start for the third time this week. He gropes desperately for the little plastic die that anchor him to reality and accidently knocks his watch to the floor with a whispered curse. Finally, his nervous hand closes securely around the totem, releasing a relieved sigh from its owner. Once his moment of panic is over, he sits up and puts a hand to his heart, just to make sure it is still beating. To be positive the nightmare is over, he rolls the die a couple times, and each time they land on the five, exactly as he's rigged them to. He isn't sure of the cause of these dreams, but they affect him more than they should.

"It is odd isn't it?" he asks the empty room. "That I should dream after all this time, and that a five-star hotel suite should seem so cold and empty." Though he has never been afraid of the dark, sound gives him an unexplainable sense of comfort in the lonely hotel room. Of course, it is the best money could buy, but all the fancy soaps and comfy pillows in the world cannot keep him company. Nor can they fill the strangely painful hole digging deeper into his chest with every waking- or resting- moment. He knows he shouldn't be like this, having learned a long time ago that people are always alone in this business. "And why do the shadows suddenly seem darker?" he mutters to himself. He just knows he's gone off the deep end at that point but can't tear his eyes away from the shifting curtains in the corner of the room. Then, he focuses on the curtains, casting shadows by the early dawn light, rustling quietly in the wind. Wind? The man's brows pull together in concentration. He stands from the comfort of the warm bed, frowning deeply.

"Now, I distinctly remember closing that window before I went to sleep." As he wanders over to the open window, overwhelming dread fills Arthur with nausea. He takes a deep breath before sticking his head outside. Cold air slaps him directly in the face, but he continues to look down the long ledge that leads to the window. If anyone had been there before, they are long gone now. His panic returning slightly, he rushes to turn on a light in the dark room. The bedside lamp flickers on, and the nausea grows worse when he looks down at his own arm. Another curse rips from his lips when his eyes find the fresh dot of blood on his left wrist. Finally, he stands from his spot on the bed and grabs his coat, rushing out of the door. This place is no longer safe.

"Another round, my good fellow?" slurs the man, half sitting in the bar stool and half lying across the bar. His British accent is intensified by the effort it takes to speak. The bartender nods, probably out of pity. He must be quite the sight, with his hair untrimmed, dress shirt unbuttoned, and face left unshaven for days. In his happy drunken state, he doesn't bloody care about what he looks like. This has been his state of mind for two months by now. It's been two months since he's had to pull himself together for the sake of the people around him. Right now, the only people around him are either so drowned in alcohol that they don't even notice him or take enough pity on him to hand him a couple dollars in the street, like he actually needs their money. He has enough green paper to buy a small city if he wishes. All he wants to do right now… What, exactly, does he want?

"Talking to yourself, now, Eames?" The sound of his own name startles him out of his thoughts, and he lazily glances behind him to see none other than the stick-in-the-mud himself, Arthur.

"Huh. Was I? I hadn't realized," he replies truthfully. Arthur seems as if he can't decide whether Eames is joking or not. Apparently, he's chosen to drop the subject entirely.

"What brings you to Paris, France?" he asks.

"Ah, straight to the point, I see. Actually, I was looking for you, darling." Again, the other man is confused.

"What made you think I would be here?" he continues to question him, as if the answer isn't obvious.

"I figured you couldn't resist the temptation of a certain treasure that flew back here after the Fischer job. I had assumed correctly, of course," he teases, smirking. The point man's pale face goes completely blank.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Eames. You don't know what you're talking about. You're drunk. Now, back to the point. Why on earth would you be looking for me?" Then, as any mentally unstable drunk would do, Eames bursts into hysterical laughter. The sound is not pleasant, as it is with most, but loud and cold and horribly sick. It turns into fits of painful, uncontrollable coughing. When he finally finds the strength to look up, Arthur has his concerned point-man face on. "Have you gone mad?" he asks. Sighing, the drunken forger tries to make sense of all the information swirling around in his head.

"Why…" he begins uncertainly. "Why am I looking for you?" He searches desperately for the answer. Then, it suddenly comes to him with a wave of dread. "Trouble," is all he could push from his brain to his mouth.

"What?" The forger is now frustrated. He can't seem to gather words for what he needs to say.

"Trouble. You are in trouble. We are in trouble. You, me, Cobb, Saito, Yusuf…" what was her name? "… Ariadne. We're all horribly deep in a big pile of… trouble." There. That's it. Now why are they in trouble?

"Why? Did something go wrong with the inception?" Arthur whispers. Another laugh escapes Eames, but this one is shorter and, if possible, colder.

"'Did something go wrong with the inception?'" he asked mockingly. "Everything went wrong with the inception. Well, except that we're alive, but I guess that's disputable… Fischer. Someone leaked to Fischer. We're in trouble because one of us told the mark about the inception. Saito… he called Cobb. He told him about a change in Fischer's plans. Cobb called me. That's why I'm here… to find you and warn you about the leak. We're all in danger, and Cobb… he brought his kids here under the pretense of visiting their grandfather. He told me to call him once I contacted you. We're to find the girl and meet him somewhere to figure out how we're going to play this one. Would you like a bag, Arthur?" He looks as if he is about to toss his cookies, once Eames is done speaking.

"Someone was in my hotel suite this morning. I think they… I think they might have performed an extraction on me." He sounds more scared than the forger has ever seen him. That, the information he recollected from his own memory, and the news Arthur has just dumped on him have all gradually frightened Eames out of his drunken state. He is now more awake than he has been for two months.

"What was the dream about?" he asks, seriously. A silence settles over the two men with this question. "This is important, Arthur. If we know what the dream was about, we can get an idea of what they stole." Arthur turns a bit greener.

"I was in a hotel, looking into a mirror. There was quiet music, rich people, and… a woman… appeared. She…" He seemed to have trouble explaining the next part of the dream. "She kissed me. Then she pointed a gun at me, but at the last moment, she killed herself instead."

"Did you know the woman? She was a projection of your own subconscious, so she must be someone from your past. A lover, a friend, a coworker?" Arthur gulped before replying hesitantly.

"I think Ariadne is in trouble."

"Ariadne! Are you done in the freaking bathroom?" Marie's voice is muffled by the thick wooden door between them. Dropping her toothbrush into the little holder on the sink, Ariadne swings open said door to the sight of her angry roommate, tapping her foot in irritation.

"Chill, Marie. I was just finishing up," she tells her smugly. The other girl rolls her eyes and mutters something in French, too fast for Ariadne, whose French is rough, to get an exact translation. "Hey!" she calls through the door, which is only half-closed on the other girl, who is currently brushing her teeth. "Don't be too long if you plan on walking me to school today! If I'm late again, Professor Miles will kill me!" Marie laughs through a mouth full of toothpaste.

"That's not my problem is it?" she replies.

"It is if you want to keep on babysitting me like you have been for the past two months. I swear I'll leave without you. I don't need you to hold my hand and walk me to school. I'm twenty-two years old," she announces indignantly. Despite her light teasing, Ariadne's voice has taken on the sharp edge of bitterness that has lingered somewhere inside her for the past two months. Marie's face appeared in front of her, eyebrows raised, lips pursed and coated in toothpaste.

"Well, sorry for being concerned if my best friend ran off supposedly working a job for a freaking month and hasn't been the same since. You've been staying up late working on mysterious sketches that you won't show me in the morning, looking over your shoulder constantly like someone is out to kill you," she pauses to turn and spit into the sink. Then, she comes all the way out of the bathroom and begins to gather her things as she continues, "and I won't even go into detail about the things you've been saying in your sleep. It's a different man's name every night. Who's Arthur? Dom? Eames?"

For a moment, Ariadne stands, eyes wide, staring at her roommate. It was at least a few minutes of tense silence before she found the power to speak. "I- I don't know who you're talking about. I mean- I do know who they are- but… I work with them, Marie. It's no big deal. And I wasn't 'supposedly' working a job. I already told you that I was doing a small job for another young architect." She glances at the clock and feels a surge of relief that there is something to distract her prying roommate from her personal life. My personal life? There was nothing personal about it. It was completely professional, she thinks bitterly. None of them have contacted her in two months, for heaven's sake! Still, somewhere in the bottom of her heart, she yearns to at least speak to one of them again, just to make sure that it all really happened and that it hadn't been just a long, cruel dream. Well, at least not all of it. Sighing, she turns to her suspicious friend.

"Look, you know that you're my best friend, and I care about you. But there are some things that I need to keep quiet for a little while, until I'm ready to talk about it. Now, we have to go, or we'll be late." Ariadne makes sure to keep her voice even and sincere. The up-side to working with the best Point Man in the business is that she can still apply some of the lessons she learned from him to real life. Reality, she tells herself, this is where I need to be. Having thoroughly convinced herself to set aside her memories for a rainy day, she holds out her arm for Marie, who wraps her own around it graciously, and they walk out the door of their shared flat, arm in arm.

Ariadne is finding it increasingly difficult to focus on the lesson that her favorite professor is trying to jam into her ears. She hears every syllable of every word that has left his mouth, but it fails to stick, continuing to slip from her brain completely before she can catch it. She doesn't see why it matters anyway, because Marie, who is currently sitting next to her, takes excellent notes. No matter the looks of disapproval she continues to shoot towards her, she'll give up the notes for a couple mugs of hot cocoa and a pouty face. However, the professor's last words stay with the young architect, as though she has some indication of what is to come next.

"Now, are there any questions?" Miles' voice seemed to echo off of the walls of the lecture hall, even when he does not dare to hope for a reply.

"Yes, actually, I have one," answers a male voice from behind Ariadne.

Every head in the room turns to see the foolish young man with a question to ask. Out of all the eyes that find their way to the face of the man with the slicked-back hair and the three-piece suit, only two of them are struck with the shock of seeing a familiar face after much too long. As the rest of her classmates whisper about the newcomer who suddenly spoke up, Ariadne struggles to meet the gradually widening eyes of her professor. Once this is accomplished, an emotion she has trouble placing crosses his features. Her gaze then trails back to the familiar person behind her, as the rest of her tries to sort out her emotions and tries not to let her mind wonder what he could possibly want with her after two months of not existing. She shoves her hand in her pocket, searching frantically for the bronze bishop that would assure her that this was, in fact, reality. Tipping it over a couple times on her desk, she earns a concerned glance from Marie, but she doesn't care. After a few minutes of silence and a couple doubtful stares, Professor Miles finds the will to speak.

"Well, are you going to ask your question?" he demands with a hint of impatience. Then, the Point Man asks a long, well-thought-out inquiry about the lecture. Ariadne notices how the professor answers robotically, as if the shock of seeing him again has startled him out of all emotion, but the rest of the students don't seem to realize that anything is different. Miles glances at the clock anxiously.

"All right, we'll pick this up tomorrow. You are dismissed." Again, his voice is indifferent. The rest of the class gathers their books and files out of the classroom, but Ariadne can't put herself together quick enough to move. She fears that, if she does, her trembling legs will not be capable of holding her weight.

"Ariadne? Are you coming?" Marie asks. Her perfect eyebrows are pulled down, and her large brown eyes are narrowed at her like she's attempting to read her mind. Full lips pursed, hands on her curvy hips, Ariadne is suddenly struck with envy of her beauty, totally disregarding her words. She blinks, shakes her head, and stares up at her friend.

"Huh?" was her brilliant response. Noticing the obvious disapproval in her expression, Ariadne immediately tries to save herself from a long rant, courtesy of Marie Belevoure. "I- I mean- no. Just go ahead without me, okay?"

Sighing, Marie gives her one more good glare before gathering her books and following the rest of her peers out the door. Once she is gone, Ariadne risks standing, surprised by the ease with which she can hold herself up and still look confident and brave. She turns to the young man that had caused such a reaction, then to back to Miles. The old professor is the first to find his voice.

"Well, Arthur, would you like to explain your sudden interest in modern architecture?" he asks bitterly. Arthur clears his throat, seemingly untouched by the other man's hostility.

"I've come to collect Ariadne," he announces, as if it is as simple as that. Miles is increasingly angry, and the emotion that Ariadne had not been able to place before has returned. However, this time, she is able to straighten out her scattered brain enough to put her finger on it- fear. Of what, she has no idea.

"Certainly not for another job," Miles responds indignantly. Arthur shakes his head.

"No. Not a job. She is no longer safe here." His words, spoken as if he were simply discussing the weather, were a punch in the gut.

"What do you mean 'I'm no longer safe here'?" she cut in, her voice an octave higher than usual. When Arthur turns to her, his impassive face and eyes that refuse to meet her own give her the sudden urge to smack him silly, but she held herself back like a "lady". She almost laughs at her own word choice but stifles it with a cough. Neither of the men in the room needs another reason to think that she's lost her marbles.

"Someone leaked to Fischer about the inception. We have in tell that they've gone after you first." Ariadne gulps dramatically, still trying to look as if she's not scared out of her wits.

"What kind of in tell?" she asks, just buying time, so she can wrap her head around this situation. Arthur pales at the question.

"Does it matter?"

"Oh, that kind," she says, nodding in understanding. She doesn't allow herself the time to wonder about his relieved sigh when she let the subject go so quickly. "Why would they hunt me down first? I'm just the architect, remember."

"We're not sure, but you have to come with me and stop asking questions, regardless." Closing her eyes, Ariadne nods slowly. She waves goodbye to Miles as they step out into the crowded hall, flooded with students, pushing their way to class. Arthur keeps a hand on the small of her back until they've reached the stairs of the college building, where she holds up one hand, silently telling him to stop. He complies, waiting patiently for her to say what she must. She's sure he knows by now that arguing with her will just slow them down more.

"I have just one more question before we go. When you said 'we' earlier…?" she lets herself trail off, sure he will understand.

"I meant Eames and I. We will meet up with Cobb later once we're sure you're not being followed. Yusuf is flying in tomorrow," he answers.

"Oh, so we're all in Paris at the same time?" She can't help but ask.

"What happened to just one more question?" he counters, and she rolls her eyes in response.

"Alright, alright. C'mon, Mr. Point Man."