"There are some people who live in a dream world, and there are some who face reality; and then there are those who turn one into the other." - Douglas Everett

"You're waiting for a train, a train that'll take you far away." The screeching of the approaching train made him wince, and he reached for Mal's hand and wrapped his fingers around hers, gripping them for strength as the unstoppable train moved closer across the tracks where their heads lied. "You know where you hope this train will take you, but you can't be sure." Her eyes met his and she gave him a very small, very sad smile. This was it. "But it doesn't matter – because we'll be together-." His eyes moved upwards to stare at the train. He shut his eyes. He could not, would not, see Mal's demise, even though it wasn't her true death. "Dom," her voice was soft and gentle, almost reassuring, but quickly drowned out by the rumble of the train. For a moment, he felt a bolt of pain, but he kept his eyes shut. He could not bear to see her face.

His eyes cracked open. He stared at Mal for a moment. His eyes traveled from her torso up to her head and he leapt to his feet, horror keeping him from screaming. The entire top half of her head was destroyed, leaving nothing but bits of brain and blood all over the carpet. He backed away and grasped for support.

Her foot twitched.

He sat up straight, the sheets flying off. For a long moment he simply sat on the edge of his bed, trying to make sense of what he had just seen. First of all, he had actually had a dream, for the first time in a very, very long while. Second, he had dreamed of Mal, who he had thought had been exorcised from his subconscious after the episode with Limbo, Ariadne, and Fischer. He thought for a while longer, considering his options. It had been several years since the inception job. Why was he revisiting Mal now?

His hand traveled into the drawer and withdrew a small metal top, surprisingly heavy for its size. He eyed the metal object for a long moment, fingering it, remembering. He set his fingers on Mal's idea, the one she had locked away for far too long, her top, and set it on its point. After a moment, he gave it a good spin before shutting the safe on it again. "Don't think of that," he reminded himself, as always. He set the top onto the bedside dresser and gave it a hard spin. The top spun for a few moments, slowing, swinging slightly, and finally toppling to hit the table. He scooped it up and began another exercise to calm him down. "List facts, Dom," he muttered, turning his mind away from Mal and onto things and memories that he could trust completely. Things that he knew were completely and totally correct.

My name is Dominic Cobb. I am in the United States with my two children, James and Phillippa. I am a former extractor, turned father. I performed inception on Robert Fischer with Eames, Arthur, Ariadne, Yusuf, and Saito.

He sucked in a few deep breaths and squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment. He couldn't let this happen right now, just when everything seemed to be going just right for him, for the first time in years. He stood up and carefully opened the door to the hallway, padding down in bare feet towards his children's rooms in bare feet. The door to Phillippa's room was carefully opened and Dom smiled slightly at his daughter's face. It was scrunched up in concentration as though she was working while dreaming. He moved over to James'. Of course he was fast asleep, his mouth slightly open. This wouldn't do. He could not be dreaming of Mal with his kids right here, right in front of him. He needed to return to reality. He remembered, a few years back, what Ariadne had said to him: "Do you think you can just build a prison of memories to lock her in? Do you really think that's going to contain her?" No. It wasn't.

Nothing could contain his guilt, not even the most elaborate dream prison possible. He was going to have to try something different: something radical.

He set the top back into the drawer and withdrew an envelope. Upon it was his address, but it was from Ariadne and Arthur. Dom opened it carefully and withdrew a worn pamphlet. A coffee stain covered the top right corner. Golden cursive letters arced across the cover: You are invited to the wedding of Ariadne Williams and Arthur Morris. It was dated as several months ago. He unfolded the pamphlet and took out another small piece of paper. A different style of cursive, this one much more messy, covered the paper.

Dom,

Figured I might as well send this as a thank-you for getting me to the United States. I know you're busy with your kids, but Arthur and I, well, we're getting married! I figured you could tell from the wedding invitation. People are saying we're too far apart in ages… but who listens to those people anyway? But back to the point. Arthur and I were wondering how you're doing with your new life in the U.S. and if you wanted to get together for a drink to remember old times for a bit….Of course, considering the mess with Fischer, I don't know if you would even want to.

Well, we'd both be up for a drink, at least.

And if you can't come to the wedding… we understand. We really do. Send love to your kids, okay? I'll make this short and sweet: we miss you, Dom, and maybe we can see you after your life settles down.

Ariadne

P.S. Phone us when or if you can!

Home: (312)-518-2726

My cell: (312)-528-4911

Arthur's cell: (312)-469-1209

And yes, that 5284911 was a reference to Fischer.. remember the passcode/hotel rooms?

Dom smiled slightly and fingered the letter, eyeing the phone numbers listed below the actual note. 528, 491… If nothing else, Ariadne definitely had a nostalgic side to her. He reached over to the phone positioned next to his bed. He eyed the phone numbers one last time. It was desperate, that he knew, but it was possibly the only thing left.

He began to punch in the numbers. Three, one, two, five, one, eight, two, seven, two, and six.

Dom pressed the call button and held the phone to his ear. For the first time in several years, he began to pray. Pick up, pick up, pick up, God, let her please pick up… Just today, if not any other time…