Disclaimer: I own no part of Inception. This is all in good fun.

Arthur walked to the window of his penthouse apartment. He took a deep breath as he looked out over the city. Both hands smoothed back his hair in an attempt to stay calm.

It would be fine. Everything would be fine.

His heart was pounding. Ever since he'd allowed Yusuf to test a new compound on him over a month ago, things had been… somewhat chaotic. They'd been perfecting the compound together, working out the kinks before it was sold on the underground market. The dreams were crystal clear. The length of sedation was accurate to the second. But there was a problem.

Arthur noticed the cravings a week into their experiments. Going home at night began to test his temper. He wanted – no, needed – the compound flowing through his veins. He needed it like he needed air. Mornings became difficult as his body went into withdrawals overnight. It was a challenge to keep up appearances when half his morning was spent bent over the toilet, but he began rising earlier to accommodate this new development. If he wasn't freshly showered, sporting a crisp suit and gelled hair, Yusuf might begin suspecting something. He might begin asking questions, doubt Arthur's answers, and take the compound back to the lab. Who knows what he would do to forever reverse the feeling of exhilaration it provided.

Something had to give. Arthur knew that. Either Yusuf would pause his note-taking long enough to go into the field or he would bring someone else in to test the compound as well. It was only scientific to account for every possible variable. Their deadline was drawing nearer. He would have to come clean – so to speak – sooner or later. If Yusuf's buyers discovered how addicting the compound was in certain users, they would permanently dispatch him.

But it would be unprofessional to admit he was addicted. Not to mention humiliating. He would need to come up with another excuse. Pacing, Arthur glanced at his watch. It was time to leave for the warehouse and he hadn't come up with anything yet. He sharply slammed both hands against the window. Maybe he could think if his stomach would stop twisting itself in knots and his heart would stop pounding. Any feeling of normalcy would help.

"Dammit," he cursed. His hands were starting to shake, warning him that his façade window was closing. He'd waited too long the other day and was forced to call in sick. It was one of the worst days of his life. Only shots of Jack Daniels had relaxed him enough to return to work the following day.

"Well," he muttered, shrugging into his coat. "One last ride before I reach the flames of hell."

"It's about time you joined us, darling."

The words stopped Arthur in his tracks. He paused in the warehouse doorway, staring at Eames and Yusuf where they sat. Eames was leaning back with his hands interlaced behind his head, one eyebrow raised. Yusuf sat with an ankle resting on one knee, glasses on, and clipboard already out. He looked as though he was questioning Eames…

"What's all this?" Arthur skipped pleasantries.

"That's it, then?" Eames tsked, tsked. "Is this the moment of our reunion, Arthur? Because I must say, love, I'm less than touched."

Arthur slowly turned and closed the warehouse door. Breathe in. Breathe out. He had known this would happen. There was no need to break out into a cold sweat. There was no need to clench his hands into fists to keep them from shaking. Smoothing his strained expression, he turned and walked briskly towards them.

"You look overworked, Arthur. Still the stick in the mud you were when I left?"

"Always a pleasure, Mr. Eames. I gather you've had enough of Mombasa?" Arthur immediately began setting up the Portable Automated Somnacin Intravenous (PASIV) Device. Time was slipping away. He could feel it.

"He's going into the field with you," Yusuf murmured, scrawling his notes. "In order to approve the compound, we need to be certain the projections are replicable."

Eames glanced at Arthur. "He wanted the best."

"Ego notwithstanding."

"The most crafty are always the most egotistical, darling."

"And the most talkative."

"Social skills deteriorating already? No time for a cup of coffee this morning?"

Arthur leaned his head back, blinking at the ceiling. The withdrawals were getting worse. The mere mention of coffee was enough to make him swallow against the bile rising in his throat.

"Yusuf," he started, "I should go under alone this first run." His hands moved over the buttons of the PASIV Device with practiced speed. It was best to keep them as busy as possible until he was under. He stripped off his jacket and began rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

"What for? To say good morning to your subconscious and so forth?" Eames eyed him curiously. Something flickered behind his eyes, but it was gone before Arthur could identify it.

"He might be right," Yusuf intervened. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "It would be better if I knew your full history before we test the compound on you."

"Remind me again why you don't have it from our last job."

Yusuf glanced at his notes. "You know how people in our line of work feel about a paper trail. And since your demeanor is more memorable than your medical history, letting Arthur dream for five minutes without you is the safest way to proceed."

"Safe for me perhaps," Arthur heard Eames mutter, "But not for him."

Cracking a smile despite his pain, Arthur carried the silver case to the lounge chairs. Eames had always been protective. It was as if he felt the need to shield everyone from the harsh realities of the world.

And it was a little late for that.

Eames strolled over as he reclined in the chair and reached for the cuff. "Always need to do everything yourself then, eh?"

"Far be it for me to disrupt a meeting of the two best minds our field has to offer."

"Really, darling, you flatter me." He took a seat on the lounge chair and gently took the cuff from Arthur's hand. For the briefest moment, Arthur worried the man would use it himself. But then he began strapping the cuff around Arthur's wrist.

Arthur shook his head. It was becoming difficult to think within reason. Why would Eames use the compound just now? He was sitting up. And Yusuf hadn't even finished his health screening yet. What was he doing in the warehouse again? Arthur reached for the loaded die in his pocket, ignoring the genuine concern that poured into Eames' expression. He rolled it on the cement, out of the man's view. Six. Good. It was always a six in reality. Snatching it up, he stowed it away like nothing had happened.

Eames had watched his actions silently, but now he spoke up. "What was that about, hmm?" He ran an alcohol swab over Arthur's wrist and inserted the needle.

"Your offer to assist caught me off guard, that's all. Compound #1084?"

Eames finished securing the cuff before shifting to read the compound label. "Compound #1084."

Arthur felt a sense of comfort as Eames stood. His eyes closed of their own accord. His arm clenched in anticipation. He tried to rest his head in a comfortable position to avoid a stiff neck when he woke in ten minutes.

Eames cleared his throat. Arthur opened his eyes, annoyance giving way to anger.

"Ready then?"

"Asshole. Just push the button."

There was a soft hiss as the infusion trigger was compressed. Arthur immediately felt the sensation of floating into the air, rising high above the warehouse floor. His veins felt as though they had been sunburned. The burning gave way to a magnificent warmth that carried him away on a sea of darkness. Distantly, he heard a sigh and a whisper.

"Sweet dreams, love."

Arthur was sitting at the bar when Eames strolled in. It was a business establishment, and he looked out of place among the suit-wearing projections. He seemed to notice this as quickly as Arthur. In the blink of an eye, his flamboyant shirt was replaced by a respectable pinstripe button-up and tie. He walked up to the polished bar and took a seat on the barstool beside Arthur.

"Bit early for a drink, isn't it?"

"My dream. My rules," Arthur replied.

He watched the forger's eyes roam the selection behind the bar. None of the bottles had labels. They were all filled with bright liquid of varying shades. The bartender wandered over.

"Care for a drink, sir?"

"What would you recommend?" Eames looked curious.

"Hey," Arthur intervened. "Don't question my subconscious."

"It's a simple question, really."

"Just because I have the misfortune of being the dreamer and the subject doesn't mean you can question whoever you damn well please." Arthur spoke to the bartender. "He'll have what I'm having."

"Compound number seven," the bartender said before moving away.

Arthur gave a sigh of frustration as he felt Eames' eyes on him. "Don't read too much into it."

"Reading people is a tremendous part of my job."

The bartender came back with a full shot glass. "Jack Daniels."

"Much obliged," Eames nodded as he took a sip. "There's an important matter we need to discuss, Arthur."

Arthur tossed back the rest of his drink. Though his… well, his fix had been taken care of, a headache began to manifest just behind his right ear. Trust present company to inflict such a punishment.

"Finish your drink and let's get out of here." He stood, dug a crisp bill out of his pocket, and tossed it on the bar.

"I must say, you certainly know how to charm a fellow."

"We're here to work." He rubbed his neck, willing away the headache.

"Right." Eames nodded and finished his shot. "Off we go then. I can talk on the way."

"Cut the chatter, will you? Replicate my most complicated projection so we can leave."

Arthur turned to walk out the door, but Eames clamped a hand on his shoulder and stopped him. The room went silent as he turned. The projections were staring at them, but if Eames noticed, he made no indication of it. There was a seriousness in his expression that kept Arthur from speaking or pulling away.

"I'm afraid it isn't that simple." The usual playfulness in his eyes had disappeared. "Not today, anyway. I don't suppose you've noticed any side effects of compound #1084?" His hand dropped from Arthur's shoulder as he waited for a response. The projections around them resumed talking in low tones.

Arthur pressed his lips together in a firm line and swallowed. "You know." It wasn't a question. The directness of Eames' confrontation and that he'd waited until they were alone made it clear.

With a sigh, Eames gave a brief nod. "The addictive properties of the compound are already being studied by my true employer in hopes of finding a way to eliminate them. When I discovered Yusuf had already begun testing it on human subjects-" he paused, jaw clenching. "I made an arrangement with my true employer to offer myself to Yusuf for testing as well. He never sought me out, darling. I sought him out."

The throbbing behind Arthur's ear intensified. He was becoming agitated. Under the effects of the compound, he was never agitated. Something was different.

"If the compound is so addicting, why not tell Yusuf when you met with him this morning? Why allow me to go under? Or put yourself under, for that matter?"

Eames rubbed his hand over his face. "Walk with me." He took Arthur's elbow and led him from the bar.

"What the hell is going on, Eames?"

"Yusuf is a brilliant chemist. Formulating his own compounds day and night, offering them to dreamers for a reasonable price, all of that. But he's bloody mad."

As Eames continued to speak, the dreamscape around them grew sharper. The cracks in the sidewalk were magnified in Arthur's eyes until he saw every pebble within the concrete. The grain of each telephone pole was defined by abrupt crevasses in the wood.

"Yusuf had the idea several months ago to create a compound that would keep buyers coming back for more," Eames went on beside him. "The more they needed it, the more he could charge for it."

"He would be risking his life," Arthur muttered. As the dreamscape grew even sharper, his thoughts became muddled.

"What could buyers do about it?" Eames asked. "Extract the formula from his subconscious? The king of dreams? No. And they certainly wouldn't kill him, would they? No way of getting the formula then. I'm afraid the only risk in developing the compound was to those he tested it on. You didn't find it odd that he never joined you in one of your little dreamscapes?"

"He rarely goes into the field." Arthur stopped walking. His feet felt like they were made of lead. "So your employer sent you to Yusuf to stop him before the compound was available on the underground market?"

"Precisely. Dreams are addicting enough without the masses discovering this compound. Fatalities could be in the thousands." The forger's hand came up to feel Arthur's forehead. "Are you feeling all right there, darling? You look a bit flushed."

Arthur ignored the question. His agitation was increasing. "Why not just kill the man?"

Eames looked surprised. "Well, I couldn't very well do anything rash until you detoxed, could I? No telling what lethal chemicals came together to form the compound. That, and my employer wants him alive."

Arthur's eyes rolled back in his head and his knees buckled. He heard Eames' sharp intake of breath before hands caught him under the arms.

"Bloody hell," Eames muttered. Then louder, "Arthur, what's wrong? Can you hear me?"

Arthur felt Eames gently lower him onto the concrete. It was unpleasantly cold. Fingers pressed against his neck. His tie was loosened.

"Mm tired," he whispered. His strength had left him.

A hand patted his chest. "Open your eyes and look at me, Arthur." There was a note of insistence in the forger's voice. "Look at me. The dream isn't collapsing so I know you can hear me, you stubborn dolt."

Arthur managed to force his eyes open to see Eames bent over him. The sky above was a crystal clear blue. It felt as if he was spinning. Spinning…

"Naptime's over, love."

Eames hauled him into a sitting position and his head flopped back. He made a sound of protest in his throat.

"Sorry, but work has been cancelled. What we need is a good kick and you won't get one laying down." Eames took his wrist and placed his arm across his shoulders. Before Arthur knew it, the forger had dragged him to his feet. He did his best to stay standing, but in the end, his legs were limp. There was nothing he could do to help.

They began slowly moving, Arthur's shoes dragging on the sidewalk. Eames was breathing heavily before they'd gone far.

"Right then. Forgive me, but this will be easier on both of us." He stooped and swiftly lifted Arthur into his arms.

It was difficult for Arthur to do much of anything, much less keep his eyes open. The projections were staring at them as they moved down the street, but instead of looking angry, they actually looked concerned. Was it possible they knew Eames was trying to help him? He thought so, although from what they'd learned in the past, the conscious mind had little influence over the subconscious projections. It was too much for him to process. He groaned against the dizziness.

"Almost there," Eames said above him.

They approached a hotel and the doorman quickly moved to open the door for them. "Good day to you, sir," the doorman tipped his hat. They entered the lobby.

"Your subconscious is unfailingly polite at a time like this," Eames noted between breaths. "Pity they couldn't offer a pistol and escort us out of here, eh?"

They approached the elevators and a projection of a young girl pushed the button for them.

"Thank you, darling."

Arthur began to shake uncontrollably. He was cold.

"You're okay." Eames tightened his grasp as the temperature of the hotel dropped at a frightening rate. The colors around them adopted a blue-hue and each exhale was accompanied by a visible cloud.

"Come on, come on." There was a ding as the elevator arrived and the doors opened. It was only slightly warmer inside. The same young girl stepped inside with them and pushed the button for the roof. Arthur could see her through his half-closed eyes. She smiled reassuringly at him as the elevator ascended.

"His ear," she spoke softly.

"What's that?" Eames was beginning to shiver as well.

"His ear."

They reached the roof and Eames wasted no time before he strode for the edge. The elevator girl waved her farewell. Arthur felt breath on his neck as Eames spoke, "Here we are."

He thought Eames was going to drop him first, but the man only took a deep breath before stepping off the ledge. They fell together. Icy air whipped past Arthur's face as gravity claimed them and his stomach lurched.