Should I be starting a new story right now? Probably not. But I'm going to anyways. If any of you read Hunting a Memory this is probably going to be a lot like that in the sense that I'm going to churn out some really long chapters, really fast. I just have a feeling that this insane amount of inspiration is going to burn itself out very quickly.

Rated M for violence. I don't own Inception, reviews are loved and appreciated.

NEW NOTE AS OF 12/11/14: This fic has been censored. To find an uncensored version, please go to my a03 page under the same username.

There was nothing like an adrenaline rush to make Arthur feel better. The problem was, ever since Inception, he was unable to achieve that old high. Every fiber of his being craved it, urge him to keep running to try and find it.

He hadn't realized the problem for about a year. He continued on as he had before, taking jobs when it seemed like a good gig, flying back to his apartment in Colorado in between. After awhile, he began to notice that he wasn't enjoying it. The thrill of learning everything about a mark, discovering the perfect way to manipulate them into giving up the information he wanted simply wasn't doing it.

Mostly, his ties with the others were gone. Cobb had a life to lead. Ariadne had school, though occasionally she would call Arthur on a job she had taken up for advice. Eames...he hadn't even bothered to try and stay in contact with him, and he only called Yusuf if he needed an especially good Chemist. While he hadn't reached out to Saito, sometimes the man would call him for a low-risk extraction job. He never called his old teammates, only working with new faces.

It was as if, on some level, he wanted to forget. Forget that incredible high so that he could go back to being normal, or as close to it as he had ever managed to get. But no. The memory was like a brand on his mind, plaguing his dreams as well as his waking thoughts, a constant needle prodding and poking, looking for the crack in his defenses that would break him. Push him past the cliff and into a downward spiral of reckless jobs and thoughtless decisions.

It was the Ripper job that broke him. They were to extract information from a psychotic killer to figure out where he buried the bodies of his victims. Normally, an untrained conscience was easy to manipulate, easy to extract information from, but he and his team had severely underestimated the man, even with all the information the Point Man had bothered to gather. He shouldn't have taken the case in the first place, given how he had never gone into a psychotic man's mind before.

The hyperactivity of the man's brain resulted in all of his teammates being killed, random memories missing when they awoke, and Arthur had only escaped unharmed because he had shot himself instead of allowing one of the deranged projections to kill him.

When he woke, the man was already stumbling to his feet and had his hands around one of his teammate's necks. Before Arthur could so much as twitch, the man had snapped his teammate's neck. Eventually, he got his body moving again and he tackled the man to the ground. The sound of a vase shattering on the ground echoed in his ears, and the next moment his shoulder bloomed with pain. The man had twisted to snatch a piece of sharp ceramic and stabbed it into his shoulder again and again. Tearing away, Arthur stumbled to his feet and drew his gun. In one shot, the man was dead. Adrenaline leant him the strength to run from the room and into his car before the remaining teammates could react.

He ditched the car some miles away and forced himself into a small dank bar, escaping to the bathroom to deal with his wounds. It was there, staunching the flow of blood with toilet paper, that he began to laugh. He had stared death, true death that he would never wake from, in the eye and laughed. It had been so long since he had honestly feared for his life.

After that, he was stuck on the spiral, and didn't want to get off. Risky jobs with riskier teammates. Hoping that he would end up in a real fight but never triggering it. It was a self-destruction disguised as a job.

Which led to where he was now. The back of a taxi in New York, pouring over a few more notes he had taken of the mark. It was simple enough, but the teammates he was working with were the real danger. Sara and May, sisters, were known for being ruthless when it came to extracting information, often attacking their own team if they caught even a whiff of betrayal. He had heard from other contacts that they would withhold information or lie for their own benefit, or even worse, kill their teammates to get more money from their employer. It was perfect.

At least until he walked into the room and saw Eames bruised and bloody, sprawled on the floor.

Sara stood above him in a crisp women's suit, gun aimed at his shoulder. A quick scan showed that may was nowhere visible in the room. The door slammed shut and Arthur whirled, knocking May's gun aside and throwing her to the ground. His hand twisted in May's curly brown locks and he wrenched her head up, locking eyes with Sara.

Sara's eyes narrowed and she turned to face Arthur, bracing her legs on either side of Eames's torso as she trained the gun on him. "Let her go."

"Drop the gun and I won't snap her neck," Arthur said lowly.

"Sara can shoot faster than you could do anything," May snarled, twisting beneath him.

"May, don't criticize the poor boy," Sara said as she crooked an ice blonde eyebrow up. "He's obviously not the brightest if he joined us, no questions asked. Now, release my sister."

Arthur weighed his options, then released his hold and got to his feet. May stood and took her time straightening her red blouse, trying and failing to wear on Arthur's patience. With a huff, she began to search him, but his gaze never left Sara's. It was unlikely she would drop her guard, but he could hope. She tossed her blonde ponytail over her shoulder and it swung down low down by her waist. The way she was standing made her skirt rise, further exposing the well-muscled legs of someone trained in fighting. She certainly wouldn't go down as quickly as her soft, pouty sister.

"Good. Now maybe we can talk business," Sara said. "You can either go down into the dream willingly or we drag you under."

"But who is he?" Arthur asked. "That's not my mark."

Sara was a beautiful woman, but the snarl on her lips twisted that perfection. "Don't play coy with me, Arthur. I know exactly who this man is, and I know you know him even better than me."

Arthur's only response was a raised eyebrow.

"He has information we want, but he's trained. We figured taking an old friend down with us would...help make me a little more willing," May said.

"You kill me down there, I just wake up. He knows that," Arthur said. Admitting he knew Eames wouldn't do any harm, not at this point.

Sara laughed, the cruel sound making Arthur cringe inwardly. "But if we torture you? Oh, you'll live, and he'll break. Hopefully before you do but," she shrugged. "We'll only be killing you when you wake up."

"And Eames?"

"Drag him off our employer to deal with him," May said.

"So what'll it be? Will you cooperate or disobey and make your last moments all the more painful?" Sara asked. Her expression said she'd be happy with either choice.

Arthur took a deep breath. Chasing the adrenaline high was something only he did, something that only affect him. And now his choices were endangering others. The guilt weighed heavily on his chest.

Sara yelped as Eames's hand snatched her ponytail and yanked her back. Instinctively, Arthur dove to lunge over the bed, grabbing May and slamming her head into the wall. When he turned, Eames had pinned Sara to the ground, her long ponytail wrapped tight around her neck and her wrists held together in one of his large hands.

"While I was loving the view you were giving me, I decided it was more beneficial if I took you down before Arthur had to choose," Eames said.

"May! You said you drugged him!" Sara struggled beneath Eames's iron grip as May tried to get to her feet.

"I did, I swear!"

Arthur watched as the younger sister reached for the gun, heart in his throat. His body sung at how dangerous she would be once she wrapped her slim hands around the handle. He had to see it. Had to trigger than unbelievable high.

But she didn't aim at him, instead at Eames. The gunshot rang out even as Arthur knocked her down, wresting the gun from her hand and cracking it against her head to knock her out. He fired, a perfect shot through Sara's head. She crumpled and it was then he realized Eames had been shot. It explained how she had escaped in the first place.

The Forger leaned against the wall, head back and face contorted as he pressed his hand against the wound. Hot blood spilled down over his fingers and Arthur resisted the urge to run away. His addiction had just gotten one of his coworkers, one of the ones who knew him better than he liked to think about, injured.

"Eames…"

"What…the bloody hell darling?" Eames panted, pressing his free hand to the wall and pushing himself up. "What mad demon possessed you to work with these…banshees?"

"I…Eames we need to get out of here. I just killed a woman, in real life and I mean, they're employer is no doubt some very powerful person who's going to be extremely pissed that I just took out some of the best agents," Arthur said, struggling to get himself together.

"Arthur, love, you're hyperventilating I think," Eames said as he stumbled towards him.

Arthur realized then that Eames had no just been shot once, but twice, once in his side as well. "Eames…"

"Arthur, let's just go. I need to get patched up, and then we're going to talk."

That's what I don't want to do.

-.-

Arthur ran his hand down his face for at least the seventeenth time. His suit pants were wrinkled, his jacket long discarded, and his dress shirt was halfway unbuttoned because he felt like he couldn't get enough air. He was panicking, he knew that, was painfully aware of that, but he couldn't stop. And Eames just sat across from him, finishing up bandaging his shoulder, calm as could be.

The myriad of tattoos across the man's torso were interlaced with scars, but the odd beauty was disturbed by the two swathes of cloth. He kept replaying the scene in his head. It was his fault Eames had gotten injured, and while he didn't exactly like the man, the guilt continued to nag at him.

"Well," Eames said, grabbing his shirt and pushing his arms through carefully. "Ready to talk darling?"

"There's nothing to talk about, Eames," Arthur said, keeping his face calm from where he sat on the bed of the hotel room they had checked into. "Nothing at all."

"Oh really?" Eames cocked his head to the side. "So tell me why you let that crazy bitch shoot me when you could've easily knocked her to the ground?"

"I wasn't fast enough. I'm sorry," Arthur said.

"And you were working with them in the first place why?" Eames pushed.

"I didn't know you were their mark. They tricked me," Arthur said.

"Oh, I was awake for that bit, darling. Still doesn't answer my question," Eames said. "It's just you working with a pair of bloody bimbos like that is a little...out of character."

Oh everything I've been doing these past three months is out of character. If only you knew, Arthur thought. "Good money."

"You aren't stupid enough to run with them for money, Arthur. Don't lie to me," Eames said, leaning back in his chair. "And you look like hell."

Arthur crooked an eyebrow. "Thanks Eames."

Eames rolled his eyes. "Seriously Arthur. Look at yourself. You've got bags under your eyes, you look half crazy, and your clothes are wrinkled. Even during Inception-"

"Don't. Don't talk about that," Arthur bit out.

Eames paused then folded his arms across his chest, wincing for a moment. "I see. Something happened on that job, didn't it?"

"Nothing happened, Eames. Stop putting words in my mouth. I just don't like talking about Inception."

"You are just as stubborn as ever, love," Eames said. "Can you at least tell me what you know about what information they wanted out of me? I need to be able to protect myself."

The change in topic was unexpected, but greatly desired so Arthur didn't question it. "Their employer's name was definitely an alias because I couldn't get any information on him-"

"Wait, wait, wait," Eames said, waving his hands. "You couldn't find information on someone? Really? And you still went in? Are you out of your bloody mind?"

"Do you want me to answer those questions in order or do you have a preference?" Arthur deadpanned.

"Darling..."

"Yes, I couldn't find information, and I went in. As far as whether or not I'm crazy...it's very possible," Arthur said, voice dropping off towards the end.

"...Arthur? What's happened to you?"

"Nothing!" Arthur jolted to his feet, hands tearing at his hair. "Everything! God I don't know."

With a grunt, Eames pushed himself out of the chair to get closer to the pacing Point Man. "Whoa now, love. Just sit back and calm down."

"I can't calm down! I almost got you killed! Because I can't stop..." Arthur froze, hands balling into fists along his sides.

A hand lightly gripped his shoulder and he pressed a hand to his forehead. "What can't you stop darling?"

"Look, can you just...can we get some rest and talk later?" Arthur asked.

Eames sighed, his breath puffing against Arthur's neck. "Yeah, okay."

The Forger grabbed his wrist and tugged him towards the bed they would have to share. Arthur obeyed without question, not willing to put up any more fighting. He was unaware of when he fell asleep.

-.-

When he woke, Eames was just stepping out of the bathroom, hair still wet from his shower. Arthur slid past the man to take his own shower, trying, and mostly failing, to wake up. All he could think about was how he could get out of talking to Eames about his...problem. In the end, he couldn't think of a single way to avoid the conversation. Ditching the man wasn't an option, not after how he had almost gotten him killed from being stupid.

His actions yesterday were the true proof that he did indeed have a problem, a problem he would have to deal with quickly, or else let it spin completely and utterly out of control. Not that Eames was exactly the person he wanted to talk to, but it wasn't like he had much of a choice. Eames was the only one around, and he would never go to Cobb, or Ariadne.

That didn't mean he had to like it though. When he emerged from his shower, he tried to avoid Eames's gaze. He only had yesterday's clothes to dress into, and he did his best to smooth out the wrinkles.

"No extra set of clothes?" Eames asked. "Even for quick jobs, you always brought a spare. How odd."

Arthur gave him a withering look. "I know what you're trying to do and I get it. I'm not...as careful as I used to be, not as proper, not as perfect."

Eames stood and moved towards him. "Let's go somewhere safer. I'll drive, and we can talk more on the way, alright love?"

"You're not driving. You're injured," Arthur said, shouldering the bag that contained the PASIV.

"And you're crazy. Neither of us are quite capable of driving right now, I'm just slightly more capable," Eames said, tapping his nose with a wink.

Arthur knocked his hand away. "I'm not crazy."

"You're just in denial. Come along darling. Time to hotwire a car."

The low hum of the car was comforting, something constant he could depend on as he leaned against the window. Sporadically, Eames would start humming and tap his fingers against the steering wheel, but eventually it would drift off again.

"Where are we going?" Arthur asked.

Eames shrugged. "A hotel not in New York. I'd guess May won't start looking for awhile, but getting in a plane in a New York airport is like shooting up a flare."

"Oh."

Eames glanced over at him." You should know that."

"What do you want me to say Eames?" Arthur demanded, straightening in his chair.

"Just the truth."

Arthur sighed. "I'm not in a good place right now."

"I got that love. Want to stop for a hamburger?" Eames didn't wait for his reply, instead pulling off the highway. "And why aren't you in a good place?"

"I...I keep seeking out danger," Arthur said, keeping his gaze rooted on the road ahead of them. "I'm losing myself."

"For a Point Man, you're rather vague," Eames said as he pulled into a generic hamburger joint. "Do you want something?"

"No."

Eames shrugged and got out of the car, locking it manually. They were running out of gas, so they would probably stop to hotwire another car before much longer. It wasn't a method of travel Arthur would normally approve of, but his mind was at the point that he simply didn't care.

"Come on, love," Eames said, tapping the window. "There's a bus stop a block away from here."

Arthur obeyed without protest. "At least this mode of travel is legal."

Eames shrugged as he bit into his hamburger, the smell of grease permeating the air. Arthur hated the smell. "So, going to elaborate more?"

"No."

"Eventually you'll have to. I'm not letting you walk away from me when you'll probably just get yourself killed right after," Eames said. "Sorry, we're stuck together now."

"Somehow, I knew you would say that," Arthur said. "I almost got you killed."

"I'm injured, sure, but alive. Don't worry about it," Eames said. "So where do you live now?"

Arthur palmed his totem, then turned and crouched, rolling the die out of Eames sight. A three. He was in reality. The question was too abrupt, and for all he knew, Eames could've been someone else trying to get information out of him. It never hurt to be careful.

"Love...you're acting a lot like Cobb," Eames said.

Arthur snatched the die off the ground. "I am nothing like Cobb!"

Eames tossed his wrapper into the nearby trashcan, wiping his hands on his jeans. "This level of paranoia is not like you."

"You don't know anything."

Leaning against the bus sign, Eames barked out a laugh. "I've been on more jobs with you than Cobb has. I'm a Forger. It's my job to know people. Besides, your habits are easy to pick up on, and you've always been grounded in reality."

Arthur set his gaze to the front, not wanting to look at Eames, or admit that the man was right. His grip on reality, for the first time ever, was becoming shaken. Sometimes he just wanted to lose himself in the dream, and other times he panicked and needed to roll his totem over and over again.

"I live in Colorado."

"Long road trip then," Eames said without missing a beat.

"What?" Arthur's eyes narrowed as he looked at him.

Eames shrugged. "I need a place to stay while I figure out who's trying to extract information from me, and you need my help, whether or not you like it."

"I'm not letting you know my address," Arthur said flatly.

"Arthur, do you honestly think I'd ever betray you?" Eames asked.

"I can't..." Arthur shook his head. "You're too much of a reminder."

"A reminder of what?"

Arthur was saved from answering when the bus pulled up. He made a point of sitting as far away from Eames as possible. When he snuck a glance back, the Forger was staring at him with a single eyebrow crooked up. He turned his attention out the window and fished around in his pocket for money. Within two hours they were pulling up to a bus stop out of New York's boundaries, in a small town just over the boarder. Arthur didn't hesitate to hop off, paying the driver as he left.

Unfortunately, Eames was right on his tail. "Trying to leave without me, love?"

"You aren't going to my house. I'm getting on a plane and leaving," Arthur said.

He spun on his heel and began to head down the street, hopefully to a gas station so he could call a taxi service and get to the nearest airport. But Eames snatched up his wrist and held him back, holding the Point Man by his shoulder with his good hand.

"Stop being so god damn bi-polar. I will physically restrain you and call Cob to deal with your drama queen shit, but I really don't think you want that," Eames growled, gray eyes darkening.

"I don't want help."

"You admitted you have a problem. If you don't want help, what do you want?"

Arthur's silence spoke volumes and the blood drained from the Forger's face.

"Please. Let's sit down somewhere and talk." There was a begging note in his voice that grated against Arthur's ears.

"Okay."

Arthur hated greasy food. It made his stomach roll, and certainly did not help the knots tangling together in his gut. And yet here he was, watching Eames indulge in his second hamburger of the day. At the man's urging, he had ordered a small plate of fries.

"So you've got a death wish," Eames said.

"I guess." Arthur used one fry to knock another off the plate to its fiery death in the lava that was the table.

"What a waste," Eames said, picking up the fallen fry and popping it in his mouth. His eyes never left Arthur's face.

"It's just a fry," the Point Man said.

"And yet as small and insignificant as it is, it helps sustain my life," the man replied.

"It's soaked in grease and will eventually cause a heart attack. And then you'll be dead."

Eames threw his head back and laughed, the noise harsh in the near empty restaurant. "You speak so calmly of death. I don't know why that's funny, but it is."

"Glad I could be useful." His tone was dry as he glowered at the Forger.

"Small use, but important in its own way," Eames said, picking up another fry and twirling it in front of Arthur's face before popping it in his mouth.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Thank you for the fry therapy."

Eames beamed at him. "Catchy name, love. Maybe I should go into it as a new career."

"I doubt it would pay very well. I don't feel much better," Arthur said.

"Give it time."

"I have to, with you around," Arthur pushed his plate of fries away. "So. We're going to Colorado?"

Eames grinned. "Are you going to let me stay at your place? Let me help you?"

"You'd follow me," Arthur said. "I might as well let you come willingly."

Eames looked down, smile fading. "Look, Arthur. I don't like the circumstances that brought us together, but I'm glad they did. I need to fix you. You can't keep going on like this."

Arthur leaned forward, resting his forehead on his hand as he stared at the table. "I know. I know."