DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN INCEPTION.

Apologies for the rather long delay on this chapter, but it was rather hard to write. Hopefully this will give it the kick-start it needs into the solution for the escape. Thanks for reading, and please, let me know what you think!

"You think it's a good plan, right?" Arthur asked, kicking his feet along the pathway.

Ariadne nodded. "Of course. Anything that gives us a shot of getting out of this place is a good plan." Seeing Arthur's small grimace, she placed a gentle hand on his arm. "Ignore Eames, he's not himself." She knew that the Point Man was slowly getting worse. Physically, he seemed so much weaker than she was used to. It was unnerving, seeing his brown eyes clouded over with tiredness and stress, and his normal designer suit attire to be replaced with sickly hospital clothes.

It was not how she was used to seeing the Point Man. She remembered a strong, controlled gentleman who seemed to know the answer to everything. He could force even the toughest of men into cowardice with just one look. Who could talk his way out of anything. That only seemed like a memory now, the old Arthur being backed away furthur and furthur into what this place had made him.

"I know," Arthur sighed. "God, it seems like everything started going wrong after the Fischer job." He looked down, his lips spreading into a tight line. He seemed distant. Perhaps it was his clash with the Forger, or maybe it was his lack of faith in the plan that he and Cobb had conducted. Ariadne knew however, that the sooner they got out, then the sooner they could all return to the small sense of normality they'd preserved for themselves.

"I don't think that's true," she said gently. "Cobb got back to his kids, Fischer got closure, and we all got a load of money." She'd tried to add the humour in her voice, but it somehow fell flat and unnoticed as Arthur continued to stare at the ground in deep dispair.

"I suppose," he mumbled.

"You can't always pinpoint where things go wrong."

"I wouldn't be a very good Point Man if I couldn't do that."

She didn't know what to say to that. She felt as if she were somehow making the situation worse, as opposed to helping the Point Man, which is what she'd set out to do. Feeling useless, she sighed. "Personally, I think this whole situation started from cruelness and a bitter person."

A chord in the converstation changed as soon as she'd said it. Arthur's steps had suddenly slowed, and his expression had quickly darkened into a hateful look that Ariadne didn't particularly care for. He could be rather frightening when he wanted to be."Nash," he muttered, venom positively dripping in his words. "I never liked him."

"Then why did you work with him?"

"We needed an Architect. Fast."

"Well, if you ever need an Architect, I'm here," she said, a small smile lightly playing on her features.

Arthur's expression suddenly turned into one of deep thought. "Ariadne, if- when we get out of here, do you think...you'd like to work a few extractions?" he spoke very slowly, as if he were afraid to ask. Afraid of what she might say.

"I was thinking about it, yes." She shrugged, letting her shoulders rise and fall. The subject matter had played across her mind many times before."I just figured that if a job came along, someone would come and find me."

"I would have. I just wasn't sure if that was what you wanted," he said gently. He then let a small smile pull at the corner of his lips. "We'd be lucky to have an amazing Architect, such as yourself."

Ariadne rolled her eyes, hearing the same thing once more. As confident as she seemed, the young Architect was still cursed with the same self-doubt and lack of belief that everyone had. "You keep saying that, when I doubt I'm any better than any other Architects you've worked with."

Arthur instantly frowned, crinkling his features. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," he said. "You're the best I've ever worked with, and I know Cobb feels the same way. Your designs were amazing, and your use of mazes and paradoxes are phenominal. Just about saved my ass on the Second Level."

"Glad to hear it."

He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, and didn't let it go until they began walking once more. Ariadne remembered the Second Level vividly. Despite the fact that the First had nearly killed Satio, the next one down had seemed more dangerous to her. They knew what would happen if they messed up. To her, knowledge was far more frightening than cluelessness. At least if you had no idea, then you had a calm sense of mind. And the Mr Charles gambit was too risky, she could tell. She remembered how nervous she felt, how uncomfortable she'd been sitting in the open with the Point Man, just waiting for confirmation that something had gone wrong. But he had managed to calm her, with his calm tone, his seemingly cool exterior, and above all, one kiss. A quick one-liner aftwards and she had almost forgotten that they were on a life-threatening job.

But what was most strange, was that he seemed to completely forget about it afterwards. Acting as if it never happened.

"You kissed me," she said suddenly. It was so abrubt, that she quickly blushed and wished she hadn't said anything. But it was too late, and the statement hung bluntly in the air between them. Arthur turned and looked at her from over his shoulder. His eyebrows shot up and a slight red tinge crept up his neck.

"...What?" he echoed, his voice quieter than before.

"On the second level. You...kissed me," she repeated, hesitant. "Why?"

Arthur blinked, before straightening his shoulders. His eyes softened, his gentle expression still not slowing Ariadne's racing thoughts. He finally spoke, his voice quiet."...Because I wanted to."

Ariadne couldn't let her shoulders relax. "I don't know what you mean by that."

Arthur gave her a small shrug. "Neither do I."

Letting her expression form into a small frown, Ariadne tilted her head. "...Did you mean it?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Did you mean it? The kiss."

Arthur looked rather clueless. "I wouldn't have kissed you if I didn't mean it."

"You never acted on it afterwards," she stated.

He sighed, letting his head fall, growing tired with the complication of the matter. "It's a lot more complex than that."

"No it's not," Ariadne shot back. "Complications and complexities come and go, but you should always be able to see your feelings clearly."

"I wanted to kiss you yesterday." They both grew quiet. Ariadne blinked, stunned. Arthur caught her eyes, quietly studying her face. "I thought that's what you wanted too." A small grimace grew on his features. "But I guess I was wrong."

"Arthur-" She couldn't respond. How was she supposed to answer that? He wasn't wrong, they had started something the previous day, and she knew exactly what they would have done. It seemed right, her and Arthur. But in the end, she couldn't do it. She simply could not allow herself to be distracted when they had so much at stake. Distractions would not bode well in their favour. And besides, how was she supposed to let him be with her? Touch her? Kiss her? She couldn't, not after what she'd been through. The feeling of dirty hands on her body was still too prominent to allow her to be comfortable with him. With anyone. Why would he want her now? Now that she'd been tainted, scarred. She wondered if she would ever feel comfort or pleasure in being with the Point Man.

She wanted the conversation to drop. She wished she'd never brought it up, then maybe she would have this sick, grinding feeling in her stomach. But seeing Arthur's waiting face forced her to continue. "You can't just want to kiss me," she said, feeling incredibly feeble in her response. "We haven't seen each other since the Fischer job, and this isn't exactly the most romantic thing on my mind. I don't want to be lead on, Arthur. I don't deserve that."

Upon hearing this, Arthur frowned, creasing his features. "Who said anything about leading you on?" he replied, a bitter tone in his voice. "What if-" He stopped, a look of frustration growing on him.

Ariadne waited. "What if what?"

"Nothing," he muttered, turning his head. "Just forget it."

Ariadne quickly grew angry. She hated this feeling of him leaving her out of the loop. Never letting her in. "You can be a real jerk, Arthur," she spat.

He turned, the previous annoyance on his face softening. "What is this really about, Ari?" he asked, his voice gentler.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice snappy. She was determined to stay mad, but the soft gaze he was giving her made it very difficult.

"Something's not right. I know it." He reached out, his hands closing over her arms in a firm grasp. "Talk to me, tell me what's going on. You can trust me."

Her throat quickly became dry. "...I can't."

He pulled her into him, enveloping her in a strong embrace. As she melted into him, she realised that she felt the safest she had in days, comforted in a way that only Arthur could offer. She did trust him, in ways that she never could with another person.

He nodded. "Yes, you can."

Eames found himself being roughly pushed forward, tight handcuffs linking his hands together, preventing any angry outburst. The bright lights of the hallway were practically burning his eyes.

A tinge of guilt crept up on him as he remembered the previous conversation with the rest of the team. He truly believed that the plan that Arthur and Cobb had come up with was far too risky, and the cons had too big a consequence to even consider. But if they needed him to take part in their scheme, then what choice did he have? Even the slimmest of chances still provided an opportunity, no matter how small.

Being escorted down the hallway, Eames saw a familiar face from a distance. John- the one person who actually cared in this god-forsaken place.

"Hey, newbie!" the guard called.

Eames watched as John looked up. Both men caught eyes, and it was only a second of recognition that Eames could catch before the younger man had to hide it. "Hmm?"

The guard roughly pushed Eames forward, a dark grin spreading on his face. "Take this one down to the medic. Needs his meds." His voice was taunting, and Eames found great difficulty in denying himself the pleasure of using some of his colourful language.

John didn't look at Eames, remaining seemingly clueless. "Sure."

Without another word, the guard turned and sauntered off, his back disappearing down the hallway. After a few moments, Eames looked up, seeing the other man's sympathetic look.

"Hanging in there?" he asked, twirling his finger, motioning for Eames to turn.

Eames complied, turning and holding out his hands. It not bring the first time he had been confined in handcuffs. "Just barely," he muttered.

"Don't worry. If you and your friends don't belong here, then you will get out." John's voice tried to sound reassuring, but even the Forger could hear the undeniable doubt in his tone.

Eames felt the cuffs click open and the cool air hitting the tender skin. He brought his hands forward and rubbed his wrists, feeling a little less confined. Turning, he straightening himself. The others needed him for this.

"Speaking of which," he said, his voice slow, hesitant. "We need your help with something."

John quirked an eyebrow, his arms folding across his chest. "Like a favour?"

Eames lifted his arm and brought it around to the back of his neck. He nodded. "...Yeah. Just a ...tiny favour."

"A few days ago," she began, ignoring the almost raspy quality in her voice. "I was in my room." She paused.

"Go on," Arthur gently encouraged.

"A worker came in. He was..." She grimaced. "Awful. Really agressive."

Arthur frowned. "Did he hurt you?" he asked. She noted the strange, ugly tone in his words as he spoke.

"...Yes."

"What did he do?" he asked, his dark eyes searching her face.

"He hit me...called me names..." She bit her lip, realising that small, prickling tears were forming, stinging her eyes. Talking about it was exactly how she predicted. It only made the images come back. How hot breaths had burned against her skin, sharp nails digging into her arms, like tiny knives. How she'd called for help, but no such thing had come.

"Go on, it's okay," Arthur assured, the pad of his thumb rubbing small circles against her arm.

Ariadne let a few tears fall before blurting out, "He- oh, Arthur!"

She fell into him, her shoulders shaking. Feeling his warm arms wrap around her was comforting, but simply not enough.

Confused, Arthur reached forward a hand and tentatively stroked her hair, brushing it out of her face. He pressed his lips against her forehead, so light, it was barely a ghost of a kiss. "Shh. I'm here."

"I tried to get out- he pinned me to the bed and- he...wouldn't...stop..." she choked between sobs, her hands crasping around the horrible fabric of his shirt, holding herself up.

Arthur looked down at her, his face hardening. His expression darkened in a frightening, dangerous glare. A awful feeling began to stir inside him, already feeling that he knew what had terrified her so. But he had to hear her say it. He had to hear the words. "What did he do to you, Ari?"

"Well?"

"Well. I...I don't really know what to say." The young worker's eyes were wide, his words stuttering slightly. "It's such a big..."

"Request?"

"Risk."

"I know." Eames sighed. "But it's the only chance we have. All we need you to do, is to forget to lock our doors one night. Nobody will even know it was you."

John looked doubtful. "Geez, I don't know..."

"Please," Eames muttered. "You know we aren't supposed to be here. We have a shot at getting out, but we need you to help." He looked forward, his eyes pleading. He knew that this would most likely be their only chance, and it was down to him to get the ball rolling. "Please."

John turned, and began pacing the floor. Eames waited quietly until he spoke. "How are you planning on getting out of the gates? They're locked 24/7."

"Ambush the guard," he replied.

"Christ..." John sighed, shaking his head. "...You might get yourselves killed. Or worse."

"Worse? What could be worse?" Eames asked, his eyes shining in astonishment.

"You don't know what they do here, Eames. What they really do," John replied, his face undeniably grim. His voice a far darker tone than Eames had ever heard him use. "That's why it's best to keep your head down and your mouth shut. Not to draw attention on yourselves." He looked up, his jaw tight. "Not to try and escape."

"But we're not sick! We're not mentally unstable, we're normal!" Eames spluttered, feeling the frustration return. "We can do this, if you give us that chance."

For a while, nobody spoke. Eames stood, his chest heaving with heavy breaths, desperation growing by the second.

After a few moments, John sighed and let his arms fall. "...I must be out of my mind," he muttered. He looked up, giving Eames a small shrug. "Fine. I'll do it."

It took a fair amount of restraint for Eames not to run and hug him. "Yes! Thank you!"

"But listen," John said, his face stern. "You must do everything I tell you, because you will need my help."

Eames nodded. "Yes, yes, of course."

"But how are you going to get the keys to the car?"

The Forger's expression of gratitude and relief quickly ran into confusion. "What car?" he echoed.

The door slammed open, and both men froze. A large, red-faced worker ran in, never even casting a glance at Eames.

"Daniels! We need you outside!" he barked.

John cast Eames a quick look. "What, why?"

"There's a fight in the front! Some crazy just lost it! Attacking a worker! Now!"