He was woken up by Arthur screaming out in his sleep. Eames couldn't bring himself to refer to Arthur as Neil, and something told him deep down, that if Arthur ever heard him referred to as Neil, he'd breakdown and lose what little self-control he had.

With a heavy sigh, Eames pushed himself out of bed and walked into the living area, where Arthur was currently trashing wildly on the sofa. "Arthur, love, wake up," He whispered as he crouched down next to him. He reached out to touch him, but Arthur's arms flung about stopping the action.

"Wake up, darling," He purred and then sat watching, knowing that his words had done nothing and he'd have to sit and watch this play out. It didn't take long, a few minutes maximum before Arthur jolted upright on the sofa, panting heavily and tears streaming down his cheeks, his lips ghostly murmuring words that Eames couldn't make out.

"I'm here, pet, it's alright," Eames offered from beside him, not going out to touch him. Arthur looked at him panicked, muttering something desperately, his light blue eyes wide and pleading. Eames figured it out then, the word his lips was struggling to form was 'totem'. He found it on the coffee table and handed it to him silently, watching him roll it over and over, not completely satisfied because Eames knew and if Eames knew, this could be a dream and fuck, it would never be over.

Arthur looked at him again; "Please," He whispered quietly, "Show me yours, please, I need to see something real, please,"

Without a word, Eames passed him an old pocket-watch. He watched as Arthur turned it over in his hands, taking in all the intricate patterns and then finally opening it, seeing that the time and the date had stopped, and had been stopped for a while.

The breath that escaped his lips was loud and long. "I'm sorry," He whispered as he passed the pocket-watch back to the forger. Eames said nothing, still being carefully in his actions. So he was pleasantly surprised when Arthur slide off the sofa and settled himself on Eames' lap and buried his face into his shoulder.

"I don't want to remember anymore." It was not a desperate cry this time, but an outright statement. Eames just held him and didn't know what to say. Arthur did not cry, just remained where he was for a moment, nuzzling into the warmth Eames offered.

Eames tried not to act too startled when he felt Arthur's perfect lips ghosting over his collar bone and heading up his neck and towards his jaw. "Love," The Brit gasped out, "I don't think you realise it's been over a month and this is…this isn't right. Not now."

Arthur growled and bit Eames neck lightly. He didn't want to talk; he wanted to fuck and to forget. He tried going lower, tried to slip out of Eames lap and started to kiss along his stomach when Eames stopped him.

"No."

Arthur looked up at him. "No?" He hissed in disbelief.

"No." Eames repeated, not offering any explanation. Arthur's expression changed fluidly, to anger and scorn to instant relief. He hadn't been ready to do anything. Not yet. Not with the nightmare so fresh in his mind.

He didn't question it. He didn't want to hear Eames' reasons.

"I want to tell you." Arthur was referring to his dream and Eames knew it. He knew that he wouldn't ever find out.

"Come to bed, darling," Eames near begged. Arthur looked at him, contemplating. Then he offered some form of a grateful smile.

"I'll be in soon," They were both unsure on what 'soon' meant. Eames smiled sadly.

"Sure," He replied as he stood up and headed back to their bedroom, which now suddenly felt like a place of exile. Arthur watched him go and headed for their study.

He left the door open, knowing that Eames probably wouldn't disturb him, and not caring if he did. He pulled out the rarely used silver briefcase concealing the PASIV device, put an hour on the clock and put himself under.

Eames left the bed again to go and check on his troubled lover, he wasn't even mad that Arthur was hiding anymore, just genuinely curious. He was also remotely proud of himself that he had rejected Arthur's advances tonight, as it took nearly all of his self-control and willpower. He hadn't had sex in a month.

He heard the gentle humming of the PASIV device before he had even reached the lounge. He groaned and walked in the study, the door was already open, as if inviting him in and Arthur was asleep in the chair. Eames sighed, not even considering if Arthur wanted him to invade his dreams or not. He just grabbed his own needle and hooked himself up, knowing that Arthur would rather show him fragments than talk to him.

Eames expected paradoxes and boring hallways from boring hotels, opened his eyes to a warmly house and on the inviting driveway was a small blonde child with glasses on staring blankly ahead, standing alone in the rain. The kid's nose was bleeding, and he looked lost. Then he crawled into the crawl space under the house.

He didn't feel Arthur behind him until the man walked up to him. "Brian." He stated, nodding directly at the crawlspace where the child was hiding.

"What happened to him?" Eames couldn't help but ask, not removing his eyes from the house.

Arthur made a strange noise which sounded half like a chuckle and half like a sob. "I did."

Arthur walked over to the house with Eames following him; he opened the door and showed Eames another memory. Arthur looked away. It was one of his sessions with coach. He felt Eames stiffen next to him.

He ignored the projections, the projections of his beloved coach and himself, on the kitchen table. He ignored all the words which he had memorized by heart. He ignored all of it.

Arthur couldn't ignore the words any longer. He felt the tears falling down his cheeks and ignored it when Eames turned to look at him. "Just watch," He hissed.

"I like you, Neil. I like you so much. When I really, really like someone...there's a way l show them how I feel."

Arthur tensed. He knew the words, could feel himself murmuring them along with his beloved Coach. He knew exactly what was going on. This was the first time he had kissed him.

"Shhh, angel,"

The words didn't stop. Arthur's grip tensed on the gun he knew was in his pocket.

"There's nothing wrong with kissing someone like this. Don't let anyone tell you that it's wrong."

Arthur pulled out the gun slowly.

"You liked it. It's okay that you liked it. Everything's gonna be okay."

He turned around and shot the projection until his gun was out of ammunition and then turned on his heel and headed for the door at the end of the corridor. His speechless partner following him blindly into the dark abyss of his past.

"How old were you?" Eames finally found himself able to ask. Arthur turned back to look at him wearily.

"Eight."

They were outside and it was dark. There was a boy lying down on the floor with fireworks in his mouth, another younger boy who appeared to be sucking him off and a girl watching. Arthur kept moving, deciding that they'd seen enough already. Eames figured that Arthur was not the boy with the fireworks in his mouth. This time he remained quiet, not asking any questions. There was no need, not when the words echoed back to them.

"There's this cool thing I wanna show you…When I was little, a man used to do this to me. You're really gonna like it."

The next memory was of Arthur, older now, sitting on a swing and a car pulling up. There was no sound attached to this memory, or maybe there was and it was too overwhelming to remember. Words were exchanged and Arthur got into the car.

Eames didn't understand, but didn't dare ask questions. He followed Arthur as he continued to move. The sound hit him first, at the next memory.

"I have something I want to show you."

"Ew."

"Look." Arthur's voice had grown impatient. The girl looked at him.

"Yeah. So?"

"That's me."

The pair left, but oddly, this time, Arthur didn't move on, he walked towards what the pair had been looking at. It was an advertisement for sex. An advertisement written by Arthur on a toilet stall wall in pen. He was offering sex.

Arthur started speaking. "That was Wendy. She was my soul mate. She knew everything and she still stuck around. If I wasn't queer we would've fucked and added another fucked up kid to a society where nobody wanted it." His voice was cold, distant and Eames had never heard Arthur talking like that before. He didn't know what to say, so he opted to remain silent.

"Remember what I said?" Arthur said, glancing at Eames. The man didn't really respond, but Arthur knew that he had heard him. "You won't love me anymore."

"I will always love you," Eames said, he meant it. Arthur had been molested as a child. Molested and raped, and all these memories were the repercussion and the damage that had been done to a fragile mind.

"It's time to wake up." Arthur said, the gun pointed at Eames' head. The Brit looked at him sadly. He tried to smile.

"I mean it, love, I still love you."

"I don't want your pity." He pulled the trigger.