Disclaimer: Inception does not belong to me. If you're reading, thank you, its much appreciated!

The drive back to the Warehouse was conducted in silence. Eames had leaned out of the window, smoking and tapping ask into the street. Cobb had driven with a fixed rigidity, not taking his eyes off the road or his hands off the wheel.

Arthur had been left in the apartment. Cobb had insisted he went to bed, and had searched the bathroom medicine cabinet for a sedative. He'd handed him two herbal sleeping pills and a glass of water. Whilst Cobb had supervised Arthur swallowing the pills, Eames had wiped counters and thrown away the remnants of the binge.

At the Warehouse, Cobb stopped. He switched off the engine, and looked down at his lap.

"Let's hope he comes in tomorrow."

"I wouldn't worry", replied the Forger. "He hasn't anywhere else to go."

Cobb turned to the British man, his eyes furious. "Oh, really? Would you want to come into as workplace where one of your colleagues had grabbed you, hurt you like that? Pushed past you into your apartment and seen something you were ashamed of-"

"Well, I'm sure every single one of the team has wanted to belt me one at some point Cobb, so yes." Eames lit another cigarette, blowing out a trail of smoke. "As for ashamed, I've done nothing I'm ashamed of. Except maybe not doing it more."

Cobb shook his head. "You're incorrigible."

"Indeed. And Arthur's bulimic. That's what you're trying to avoid saying. He goes for a meal, orders food that's rich and heavy, then vomits. He gets upset, leaves work, buys food, and then binges in the privacy of his apartment. You saw his reaction. He's been lying to us Cobb, lying to us all. He doesn't eat properly, at normal times. He starves, he binges, he vomits. He's visibly losing weight and his teeth are decaying. He's emotional and irrational and terrified of us knowing. He needs help. "

"How do you-"

Eames shrugged. "I went to public school. Mum scrimped and saved to get me a good education. I went to a mixed one. Lots of girls, Dom, lots of girls who never ate or hardly ate or who ate too much and then puked it up. This is why I take dates to restaurants and make sure they eat and stay in their chair for at least twenty minutes after. Mainly because I'm not forking out money for a bloody expensive meal only to have them puke it up." He looked at the Extractor. "One of those comments may have been made in jest."

Cobb blinked.

"How can we help him?"

"Get him to a doctor. If this has been going on for a while, he's probably damaging his insides. He'll need to see a counsellor, or therapist, as you Americans say. We also need to be a bit careful about what we say. I guessed something was up when he snapped at me in the restaurant. Let's face it, he could have done with two if not three more meals, he's a fucking stick – but he thinks the opposite. That's the problem."

Cobb ran his hands over his face. This wasn't happening. Arthur – cool, clever, elegant Arthur – caught bingeing on food and crying like a baby when it was discovered. And Eames – cocky, arrogant, wolfish Eames – displaying a sensitivity he never would have guessed at.

"Do we tell the others?"

"We'll have to. He's a risk. He might pass out or collapse at any time. They need to know. We have a job next week, and I presume you need him for it."

Cobb swallowed. He felt heavy, tired. "Yep."

Ariadne picked up her cellphone. Flipping it open, she sent a text - Are you ok? Ari – to Arthur. A gnawing feeling was growing in the pit of her stomach. Something was going on.

The door banged, and Eames and Cobb walked in. Her face, which had been twitching with anticipation, fell.

"Where's Arthur?"

"Home. Bed." Cobb spoke more curtly than he'd wanted. The enormity of the situation was beginning to hit him. He rubbed his forehead, and walked to the water cooler. Filling a cup, he drained it before turning to the Architect. "Where's Yusuf?"

"In his lab."

"Get him." He spoke more gently. "I need to talk to you both."

Arthur shifted in bed. He was standing in a room. A room lined with mirrors. He began walking.

As he walked, he looked at his reflection. Short, squashed, fat. Everything was rippling, everything was soft. He felt his flesh wobble as he walked, his thighs rub together. His neck felt as though it were shrinking into his collar.

As he walked, he saw a light. A doorway.

He went towards it.

Cobb had instructed the team to sit down. They had, except Eames, who opted to stand, smoking another cigarette.

"Ariadne, Yusuf", Cobb spoke briskly, as though he were about to explain the finer points of a job. "There is something you need to know. About Arthur."

Eames silently blew out a lungful of smoke.

"Arthur has been...different lately," Cobb began. "He's not been looking too well, and today he just disappeared. Eames and I thought we should go and check up on him."

Ariadne looked surprised and confused. Yusuf's face showed bewilderment. The thought of the calm, collected Point Man being trailed like a wayward teenager was a shock to them both.

"We went to his apartment and found that he-" Cobb's voice trailed off.

"That he's been bingeing and vomiting." Eames broke in, smoothly. "We think he's bulimic."

Ariadne looked horrified. Yusuf's mouth fell open.

"Arthur – he can't be –" The Architect's lip trembled, and she burst into tears. Eames stubbed out his cigarette, and walked straight to the chair next to her. Opening his arms, she laid her head on his chest, and sobbed.

Yusuf swallowed, keeping himself composed. He looked at Cobb.

"What do we do?"

"I don't know. We still have a job to do, and we need him for it. But...he's sick. I need to get him a doctor's appointment, get him to a therapist-"

"Which will do bugger all good if he doesn't want to go."

"Eames." Cobb looked fixedly at the Forger, who was stroking Ariadne's back. "You suggested those ideas."

"But he may not want them, Dom. Arthur doesn't think he has a problem. He'll think we do." Eames looked at Cobb. "Arthur may not want help. He may not want to see us again. We've seen him."

"But-" Ariadne was choking slightly. "People can die from eating disorders!"

"Yes." Eames spoke gently.

Cobb shuddered.

He was dazzled by the lights. The lights in the room, shining off the reflective surfaces. All he saw was the food. Expensive, rich, gelatinous food.

He wanted it. Wanted it so much.

Cobb opened the fridge, and pulled out a bottle of Bud. Reaching for a bottle opener, he flipped off the top. Taking a swig, he moved to the balcony, hanging over the edge, looking at the smoky city.

Arthur was bulimic. Arthur was bulimic. This had played in his head, like a jammed CD, since the early afternoon. What had happened at the apartment – Eames' explosion, Arthurs' tears – had shocked him. But so had the reaction of the others' , with Ariadne needing to be comforted by Eames and Yusuf's visible concern.

Cobb took another swallow of beer, letting it dull his senses for a second. He moved inside, sitting on an easy chair.

Arthur had always been controlled. He'd always been slightly obsessive about his health, with regular running, and attention to his diet. But he'd enjoyed life too – Cobb could remember finishing a job, and the two of them heading for a bar. Beer turned into wine, wine had turned into shots, and a delicious meal had been consumed by both. Arthur, his suit slightly dishevelled, animatedly eating and drinking and talking, had picked up far more admiring glances than his careful, well presented persona.

Cobb finished his beer. He knew that he had to help the Point Man. Talk to him. But the defensive aggression in his face had startled him that afternoon. He looked at his watch. 10.15pm.

Cobb stood up. He needed to talk to Arthur again.

Arthur couldn't believe what he was being offered. Food, food and more food. Except he could feel his waist thickening, his arms beginning to swell like puffed sleeves of flesh. And then he heard a familiar, mocking voice.

"Eaten too much, have we darling?"

Eames. How did he even appear in this? What had happened? Arthur turned, glared at the Forger. Opened his mouth to yell –

-"Arthur!"

A loud banging was echoing in the corridor.

"ARTHUR!"

He started to struggle, tried to scream – and felt the kick.

He sat upright, his heart pounding and hair falling into his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he realised that the banging was someone at the door.

Feeling that he'd had more visitors in the previous two days than last two months, Arthur moved towards the front door.

"Who is it?"

"Cobb."

"Are you alone?"

"Yes. I'm not lying."

Arthur slid back the bolt, and let the Extractor in.

Ariadne was too upset to go out with Eames and Yusuf. The Forger had suggested they all go for a drink at a local bar, but she had told him she was too tired. Upon getting to her small, cozy studio flat, she'd shut the door, and felt the tears welling up again.

The thought of Arthur being ill or in pain was upsetting. But to think of him being bulimic, tormented by his weight, and unable to stop it, was painful. She swallowed. At her High School, one of the cheerleaders had been rumoured to be bulimic. So had a girl in her Math class.

But...Arthur? Arthur was the Point Man, impossibly elegant and self-controlled. Both women and men turned their heads to look at him on the street. How could he possibly have developed an eating disorder?

Ariadne slumped on her sofa. She felt powerless.

Yusuf winced as Eames lit another cigarette. The Forger's consumption was going up, he thought wryly, from about a pack a day to possibly two.

"So what can we do?"

Eames put his lighter way. "Hmmm?"

"About Arthur."

"Nothing." Eames exhaled. "Nothing, Darling. Unless he wants help. And from what I saw today...he doesn't."

"You don't sound too concerned."

"You're wrong. I am. We've an important job coming up, and the Point Man needs to be fit and alert. Not obsessed with food and sickly with no strength or stamina. Ariadne will last longer on this job than him."

Yusuf swallowed. "He's...he's not that bad-"

"I've seen him, Yusuf. He's as thin as a stick, with no concept of how thin he is. He was clearly gorging himself before we went round today, and then went and threw it up. He was challenged. He got angry." Eames shuddered slightly at the memory. "He needs to eat, digest, put some weight on."

Yusuf looked at the Forger. "Or...?"

"Or he leaves the team."

Arthur looked at Cobb. The silence between them was heavy.

The Extractor spoke first. "So...how are you feeling?"

Arthur's mouth twisted. "How do you think I feel? You –and that, that ape – come into my apartment, shout at me, grab at me, and accuse me of being bulimic. My so-called best friend – no, scratch that, my only friend - accuses me of suffering from something that afflicts teenage girls. Oh, and women. Thanks Cobb, thanks a lot. Nice to know you're so trusting of me and my judgement."

"Arthur." Cobb tried to remain calm and composed. "We are concerned about you. Your behaviour in the restaurant, what we saw today-"

"I had a stomach upset a couple of days ago, I shouldn't have eaten all that rich food." Silence. "And today...I just had a craving for something sweet."

"A craving?" Cobb looked his Point Man full in the face. "A craving for a candy bar or a bagel, fine, but together? Plus ready meals? Plus ice cream? Arthur, do you think I'm stupid?"

The Point Man flushed. "No."

"Then stop lying! As Eames said, don't ever fucking lie to us! We need to trust you! I need to trust you!"

"You can trust me." Arthur spoke with a razor edge to his voice. "You can trust me Dom, but my private life is none of your business. I don't see you going round to Eames, telling him to stop gambling and fucking-"

"Eames isn't in danger of killing himself." Cobb's voice was like ice. He winced. This was all wrong.

"Neither am I." The Point Man's expression was stony. "So I got sick in a restaurant. Big deal. I ate too much today. Big deal. You and Eames come round here, claiming I'm sick, crazy. You don't trust me, but you trust him. Thanks a bunch. Remind me, why do I put my life on the line for you?"

Cobb walked towards the Point Man. His face was inscrutable.

Eames left the bar and stumbled home. Too much whisky, bad idea. Too much whisky and the lure of the card deck, even worse idea. It had helped him forget for a couple of hours, forget about the impending job, Arthur's problem, and Cobb's difficulty in dealing with his right hand man. Whisky and cards, Eames thought to himself. Perfect antidote.

Climbing up the steps to his own small apartment, he noticed a figure huddled by the door. A slight figure, dressed in dark clothes.

"Ariadne?" Picking up pace, he walked towards the petite Architect. "Ariadne, pet, what's wrong?"

She looked up at him, her face streaked with tears. "I can't sleep Eames. I can't stop thinking about-"

Eames held out a hand to her. She clasped it gratefully.

"Let's talk, shall we?"