When he woke, Arthur had lost all sense of time. He hadn't known what time it was when he was speaking to the client, only that it had been a morning. He might have been asleep for minutes, hours or days. He couldn't be sure of anything any longer, other than what was waging inside his own body. He knew he hadn't been made to go into Benjamin Darcy's mind after all though, not in that way. He was left at the mercy of Darcy's mind, but it would all be real.

The pain, Arthur was sure of. He remembered the gunshot and falling down two flights of stairs and took it as an explanation as to why his right leg was in agony. Some nice bruises, he was sure. And judging by the way it hurt to draw breath a couple of cracked ribs too.

The restraint, Arthur was sure of. He was just lying on the floor, but he couldn't move his hand to see if his face was all right. He felt a particularly unpleasant crusting of drying blood from his nose and one of his eyes was swollen shut. He couldn't move his legs apart either. They were simple bindings; just rope tying his wrists and ankles together, but Arthur was utterly trapped.

All he could do was wait.

He didn't have to wait long however, before a door opened, the tiny chink of light painful to the eye Arthur could see out of. He tried again to raise his hands to shield his face, but was met with only a soft laugh. "It's all right point man. I will allow you a bath. I will do more than that in fact. I will give you a bath." Arthur was suddenly, startlingly aware his clothes were gone.

"Come on then, point man." Darcy grabbed one of Arthur's sinewy forearms in a grip that was far too tight, pulling him up though his right leg was impossible to put any weight on. As a result it was easy to lead Arthur, and that's precisely what Darcy did. The point man had no idea where he was, but he thought it might be this man's house, and he'd been thrown in a basement, seeing as he'd ended up in an ordinary looking bathroom.

It was pristine and white, the blinding tiles, bathtub and sink looking clean, almost clinical. The bath was already full of water, and Arthur was set beside it, propping himself up on the side and trying to get his breath back from the short excursion. "Look point man, I've already filled it for you," Darcy crooned. He watched Arthur for a few moments before he spoke again. "I want to start by asking you a few questions. Nothing hard, I promise." Arthur remembered the promise at the bottom of the stairs and fear began to touch him with icy fingers.

"You know who I am, don't you? Oh yes you do. But I don't know your name. Won't you tell me it?" Arthur's brain wasn't functioning properly, but somewhere in the haze of pain he got it together enough to offer a false identity. He had to protect Cobb and the others as best he could. "David. My name's David," he lied. Not well enough.
"Liar!" Darcy's anger was quick, cold, and it only served to unnerve Arthur more. "Who are you?"
Arthur paused. Too long. A hand caught him across the face, striking hard and splitting his lip. He was thrown backwards a little by the force of it, his back jarring against the edge of the bathtub. He drew breath quickly in shock and coughed out his real name. "Arthur. It's Arthur."

As soon as he had what he wanted, the man returned to his false pleasantry. "Now that wasn't too difficult was it? But you should learn Arthur; it's much easier just to give me what I want straight away. What's the name of the man who met me? The one who was with you? I know it's not really Mr Charles." This time, Arthur kept quiet, preparing himself for more blows. This wasn't about him, this was about Dom and Eames. He wouldn't let them be hurt. He wouldn't give away their secrets.

"Ah, you're not going to tell me? How brave, how noble, protecting your friends. But it will really get you nowhere, Arthur. You'll tell me one way or another." Arthur screwed his eyes shut when Darcy came towards him, unable to protect himself with his still bound hands. His legs had been freed so he could be walked, but he couldn't kick out with them; they hurt too much.

Arthur didn't feel anybody hitting him though, just twisting him, moving him so he was on his knees, his right leg screaming its protest, echoing off the walls of his mind, so he ventured to open his eyes, finding himself an inch from the water in the bath.

"What's his name?"

Silence.

Arthur's head was shoved down and forwards, and the water was so cold that he opened his mouth to gasp because he couldn't breathe and then it was all down his throat, suffocating him, choking him. His eyes were open, bitten by the freezing bathwater, but he felt himself losing his grip, the only thing stopping him from floating into darkness was the white hot pain in his thigh and the hands on the back of his neck, in his hair, holding on to him too tightly.

And then Arthur could breathe again, taking huge, shocked breaths. He wasn't dying anymore, but he felt icy trickles down his back where his sodden hair was dripping.
"Who is he?"
No, he wouldn't tell Darcy, he had to keep Dom safe. He wouldn't say anything. He wouldn't.

He was underwater again just as quickly, the coldness seeping into his brain and waking him up, a blessing and a curse. He had the sense not to try and fight for breath this time, but he heard a roaring in his ears and felt the pressure in his lungs reach an unbearable point before he was pulled up again.

Darcy didn't even ask him a question before he shoved his head under for a third time after a second's pause. The white of the bathtub was turning grey around the edges and Arthur felt himself slipping, finally kicking out, struggling as he began to panic, trying to raise his head and meeting the resistance of large hands.

"Who is he, Arthur? Tell me his name, or this time I let you drown!" His face was pushed perilously close to the water again, and Arthur didn't doubt what Darcy said.
"Cobb! His name is Dominic Cobb!" he cried out before he could stop himself. His heart sank immediately afterwards, not because of Darcy, but because he was weak. A coward. He'd given in when he'd promised himself, as well as Dom, that he wouldn't.

Darcy let him go though, leaving Arthur to lie back on the floor, dripping wet and shaking. He even undid the ropes around Arthur's wrists, which had been rubbed raw. He made sure Arthur was watching before pulling the plug, watching the water disappear down the drain. "You make such a fuss, darling," Darcy said, with a hint of exasperation and sympathy in his voice, as if he were talking to a five year old. "You should just tell me things, then I wouldn't have to hurt you so!"

Arthur looked up defiantly, forcing words from his aching throat, teeth gritted in anger. "I'm not the only one you hurt. I know about you, Benjamin Darcy. I know what you've done!" His voice was croaky, but it was still high pitched to his own ears. Arthur's attacker stiffened momentarily before continuing in the same smooth voice. "Of course. The point man knows, the point man finds out about clients. You know about me." Darcy stood, towering over Arthur and looking down at him, surveying him.

"Then the thought must also have occurred to you that you're just my type. Your youthful face and your immaculate body...no muscle...so sleek. Yes, one might almost believe you are just a child..." Arthur was filled with a fear more intense than anything before. He used his freed arm to grip the sides of the bath, trying desperately to stand, to get away because he didn't like the faraway look in Darcy's eyes.

He wasn't fast enough, and Darcy easily pushed him. For a sickening moment Arthur was falling again, reaching out for anything to hold onto to stop himself from going down, but all he succeeded in doing before his head hit the bottom of the tub was knock the shower on with one of his flailing hands.

Darcy stood above him again, and Arthur felt more exposed than ever. Hands gripped his hips, pressing into the prominent bones. Arthur didn't like this. Not at all. His heart began to pound.

"Just my type..." Darcy said, this time with a hint of menace. Arthur tried to look up at him, and only received another sharp slap across his face for his efforts. He bit his still sore lip to keep himself from making any more noise. He'd done enough already. "But you're different. You're a whore Arthur. You're Cobb's little slut!"

Arthur's good eye snapped open at the sudden change in Benjamin Darcy. His voice was harsh and the names he was using were hurtful. "I like to teach whores a lesson. I like to show them."

Arthur's hands scrabbled up the wall, trying to disentangle himself from the vicelike grip on his hips. "You won't escape." Arthur didn't need to be told that. He tried once more to push himself up with his aching arms, but something heavy caught him on the back of the head, and he hit the bottom of the bathtub again, his injured leg crushed painfully underneath him.

"Teach you a lesson..." was all Arthur heard before feeling an entirely different kind of agony as his deepest and most private place was invaded. He tensed, and that only made it worse, so much worse.

Benjamin jarred him with his cruel movements, the shock reverberating around his body, white hot pain running down his trapped leg. Arthur felt something tear, and stinging saltwater blurred his vision even as blood ran down the backs of his thighs. He screwed his eyes shut, his head banging on the white enamel with every thrust.

When Arthur opened his eye he could see water with a pinkish tinge running into the drain, feeling the cold droplets of water on his boiling skin. It vaguely registered in his mind that the blood was his, but he didn't care, he just wanted it to stop please, just stop. He might have whimpered, he might have screamed. He didn't know. All he knew was that the pain didn't lessen, though the man above him could move and hurt him more easily with the slick blood, pressing into the cut he had made.

After endless minutes, Darcy finished, Arthur feeling the sickening sensation of the man's orgasm inside him. Hands freed him and Arthur fell fully into the tub, the cold shower still running over him.

Somewhere, far above him Darcy laughed, tossing something to Arthur. It fell beside his face; a small red die landing on the number six. Arthur stared at it for a moment, realising what his totem meant before he did begin to scream, all the way to the basement Darcy dragged back him to.