Disclaimer: Inception does not belong to me.

"God, you've got to feel sorry for this guy."

"Really? He looks pretty peaceful to me."

"That's the problem. He looks peaceful."

"He's still breathing."

"Yeah, but thats all he can do."

"What? Oh, shit, nearly knocked over the water jug. Steady!"

"Careful, Brett. "

"Guys, would you be careful? My leg -ow!"

"You do the pillows."

"Watch it, thats my neck!"

"Jesus, this guy's stiff."

"OK, I'm sick and tired of you behaving as though I'm not here. My name is Arthur Ogilvie. I'm a person, I'm a patient. Would you please be more careful with me? Thats my - ow!"

"Part of the syndrome."

"Syndrome? What syndrome? Whats wrong? Why can't you hear me? Why aren't you responding? No, wait, come back, don't switch the light off! Please!"

"What time is the next meds round?"

"Six pm."

"Where am I? Will you answer me? Where's my fiancee? Where's Ariadne?"

"See you later, Alan!"

"Its Arthur! ARTHUR ARTHUR ARTHUR!"

Eames yawned, and stretched. A long day, a long night...he closed his eyes, letting the scotch glass in his hand dangle precariously close to the floor. A week's break inbetween jobs was much needed. He closed his eyes, tuning out the gentle drone of the late night television. He felt his head nod, and began to drift off to sleep.

Suddenly, he blinked. The piercing electronic shriek of his cell phone startled him. Fumbling, he reached for his pocket. "H'lo?"

"Eames?" Ariadne's voice was a broken sob. "Eames?"

"Ariadne?" He sat up, feeling his heart beginning to pound. Only one thing could reduce her to this state. "What's wrong? Talk to me?" He gripped the glass of scotch, and swallowed the dregs.

"Its...Arthur." She choked the words out. "Arthur."

"What's happened?" Please don't say he's left you!

"He's in hospital." A pause. Eames felt himself swallow reflexively. "He's in hospital, and he's-"

"He's what?"

"He's had a stroke."

A stroke? Eames felt his jaw start to drop. Arthur, who never smoked. Never ate crap. Who went running every other day. Arthur...in hospital with a stroke.

"Sweetheart, give me-" he looked at the clock. 11pm. "I can be with you both in a few hours."

"I don't want to-"

"You'd rather be on your own?"

"No." Her voice was tearful. Eames nodded, silently. "Its settled, then."

"Hey Mr Ogilvie, I'm going to wash you."

"Wash me? Can't I have a shower?"

"I need you to-" the nurse paused, looking at him. She was young, barely 24. She studied his face carefully.

"I need you to blink if I hurt you," she stammered out, blushing. "The doctor says you can hear."

"Yeah, I can hear...and I can think...and I can communicate - why aren't you listening to me?"

"I'm going to do your upper body first-"

"No! NO! Don't do my upper body first - I -"

"Oh, no!" She exclaimed. She noticed the damp patch that was ominously spreading across Arthur's groinal area. "Oh, I'm so sorry! Your catheter must have slipped! I'll have to get some help!"

"My catheter? My catheter? Why won't you all let me go to the bathroom? I'm capable of that!"

Ariadne swallowed. She'd come back to the apartment, her senses feeling deadened. Biting her lip, she looked at the phone.

Locked In Syndrome. She remembered the phone call from the hospital, informing her to "please come immediately, your fiance has collapsed in the street, he's in SouthWest General." The sitting outside, waiting. The the doctor, kindly telling her that Arthur would live...but with a difference.

"He can't speak?" Ariadne had asked, her lips and voice seemingly belonging to someone else.

The doctor had shaken her head. "No." She'd leaned forward. "He can't speak, he can't move. All he can do to communicate with is blinking his eyes."

"But...what about his mind?"

The doctor looked at her. "His mind is fine." Her tone was gentle. "He can still think, still -"

"Dream?" Ariadne interrupted. The doctor leaned back, and nodded. "Yes, Ms Henderson, he can still dream."

Ariadne had begun to twist her engagement ring, nervously. "I would like to see him."

"There you go." The male nurse, who looked to be around 30, smiled, and gently pulled the covers over him. "You're done."

"Thanks. Care to tell me why I'm suddenly relegated to infanthood? Have I gone back thirty years?"

"The physiotherapist will be in shortly." The nurse smiled. "He wants to make sure you get exercised. Your muscles will atrophy, otherwise."

"Atrophy? How long am I going to be in bed for?"

"Arthur?" the nurse leaned over. "If you can hear me, blink. Once for yes, twice for no."

"This is pathetic. OK, here goes, I've blinked."

"Arthur...you do know what you're in here for, don't you?"

"NO."

"OK, you've blinked twice. Listen buddy, my name is Andy Mills. I'm a Clinical Nurse Specialist, for neurological patients. You're in the neurological ward."

"Neurological? Brain injuries? WHAT!"

"Arthur - I feel like a douche for telling you this, but you have whats called locked in syndrome."

"Locked in...NO. NO. NO!"

"I'm going to help you as much as I can-"

"Yes, you can help me. Go to my apartment, get my gun from under the floorboards, put it in my mouth, and pull the trigger. I can't live like this. I CAN'T LIVE LIKE THIS!"

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