Thanksies: Lauraa-x: Yeah Dom was her saving grace =). Exactly! Who could say no?! I'm a diehard Art/Ari fan and I was like…damn, Ariadne, you marry that sweet Extractor. Well…it's not right or justified but at least he didn't go under with the intent of snooping, yeah? I MISS THEM TOOOOOOOO. That's why I've had to add little snippets of their past. It might be seven chapters…but including this one. cinematherapy: hahaha ALMOST. To be honest I'm glad a lot of you are on the fence. Yeah we're gonna get him to a place where he feels an equal amount of pain. If he isn't there yet. Whatshername76: Her telling Cobb, 'quick give me a kiss' was very much intentional. Of course it's her and Arthur's thing but that's why she used it so bitterly. She'd just glanced back at that note of his and wanted to stick it to him even if he was present for it. Yay thanks! Neverlandspirit: If your heart shattered then, I gamble it'll break a teensy bit more this chapter. Let me know ;) I'll try to make things better…even if they get to a point of civility and friendship again it'll be good right? We'll see. NakedVengeance: Yaaaay! You don't know how excited I am about a new reader and that you've actually felt emotional reading my words. I'm honored. Hope I can keep your interest up! CoffeeFilters: Mwuahaha I converted someone to Ari/Dom for a split-second! Success. (but I agree. A/A is my fave.) I know right? It's crazy how two people could have a past like they did and be so star-crossed like they were and turn into what they are now. And it only gets worse. And it's even crazier that they can know each other so well but still not comprehend where the other is coming from. THESE TWO ARE A MESS. Poor baby Yusuf. He knows nothing. He's in the midst of all this drama and is like 'herpy-derp, will someone test this Somnacin?'. Story Alerts and Faves get cybercupcakes: whatshername76 (both!), Tacitus Shadowrunner (both!), KingfisherWill (Follower!), NakedVengeance (both!). And Author Alerts and Faves get hugs and a dessert buffet: whatshername76 (both! WEE!) and NakedVengeance (both! YIPPEEEE!)

Warning: There are two timelines in this chapter. You might get confused. Just make sure on Arthur's you pay attention to the drinks he's drinking. That'll help you find the order. In real time the chronological order is scotch, then brandy, then the vodka. So the Arthur POV backpedals through the entire chappie. When it says: "That Day" it means the day he goes back and drinks. And "Next Morning" is the morning after he drinks. ALL other scene breaks (looks like: xxxxxxx) that don't specify in bold that it's THAT or the NEXT morning after the x's and before the paragraph are from Arthur's drinking timeline.

Chapter 29: Undone

Arthur was never a drinker. He relished being in control too much to forfeit that responsibility to liquor. He witnessed what it did to other men. How unintelligent, incompetent and downright prehistoric they became. Of course he enjoyed a nice glass of Merlot or Cabernet Sauvignon with steak or crème brulee every now and again. He didn't shun use of alcohol; he just made certain he kept it in moderation. It was fairly easy. He didn't have cravings for it. Wasn't too tempted by mini bars or high falutin' restaurant wine menus.

That was not the case now. Not as he downed another swig from the bottle of vodka in the mini fridge because the three shots of scotch and numerous glasses of brandy weren't working fast enough. Arthur in liquor stained sweatpants and wrinkled dress shirt hanging open on his form was a hot mess to see. No one would guess he was the person occupying the hotel room either. His suitcase was in the middle of the floor, clothes strewn all over the place, suits ripped in the hallway. Mirror smashed. The striped hotel comforter only covered half the bed; the other grazed the floor. The sheets were pulled out of the edges they were initially tucked in, stained in dark liquid. Glasses were everywhere you looked. It was a lucky, lucky thing all the files pertaining to their job were copied and sitting in piles on each member's desk at the warehouse because his laptop rested on the ground, the top attached to the keyboard by two wires. Screen cracked and half-shattered.

She didn't bother saying hello. He'd already called three or four times and should've gotten the hint when they were sent to voicemail, "It's three am, Arthur. Dom and I are trying to sleep."

The Point Man gripped his cell phone with white knuckles and swollen eyes, "I just need to as—"

"Stop calling me."

xxxxxxx

That morning:

No one ever suspected Arthur's journey through the happy couple's memories. He achieved great success in suppressing everything that came with beholding Ariadne's relationship crossover. He struggled through the weekend but sufficiently appeared on the outside to be—at most—miffed he wasn't told about it. The other men believed him when he acted disinterested about the whole mess. Cobb expected Arthur to close up and pretend as if the situation didn't exist…but Ariadne knew better. She knew him the best. She felt him watch her. Felt a little piece of him wilt across the room each time she smiled at Dom or allowed him a kiss. Part of her wanted to stick it to him and be openly and brazenly in love with their mutual friend. The other part insisted she was a better person than that and tried her best to keep their public displays of affection more discreet.

They danced around each other by use of uncomfortable glances and trails that avoided the other's desk or kept to the borders of the warehouse completely. When they had to converse about the levels, it sounded forced. Practiced. Like they were going through the motions and asking questions to blanket over the real issue. It was enough to make anyone sick. It was a chore to breathe the same air. She was to him like that close friend we all grew up with. The one where one day you turned around and all of sudden the entirety of your history was wiped out. You didn't realize it was building up to that point until it was already there. And then they're a stranger. You're afraid to speak to them; do they like the same things they used to? Do you still have some things in common? Have they changed? Do they remember what you do? And how do they remember it? Do they care? Do they wish things were different too? Do they wish you could go back? Do they miss you as much as you miss them? Do they think about all the old times…relive them over again because that's all they have of you? Like it's all you have of them?

If Arthur couldn't have Ariadne in the way he wanted, he'd take her in any way he could get. They couldn't be lovers? Fine. Absolutely fine. Whatever she wanted. He would suck it up. And stuff the pain down. He would be her best friend again. Or a simple friend. Or a tolerated companion. Hell, if Ariadne would agree to be fond acquaintances—if she would just talk to him as a normal human like she used to—he'd be anything. "Good morning, Ariadne." The man offered politely as she passed his area.

"Morning." It was the way she looked at him. Like he might as well be a piece of furniture in the room. Simple, hollow, no motive. It was worse than being hated because to hate someone you still have to care. Hate is an all-encompassing strong feeling. Indifference is no feeling at all. Ariadne was over him in every way a person can be over someone else.

He sat in the hotel parking garage for an hour and a half that evening before going in. Blankly staring at his steering wheel. Just because the last song on the radio had been Bad Romance by Lady Gaga and almost got in three wrecks because of it.

xxxxxxx

Arthur was never a drinker. And for good reason. He'd only gone overboard twice: once in University where he woke up half naked in a tub of jello and spent the day throwing up in Dom's apartment (and missed exam three of psychology which was crucial for his grade, dammit. That's why he passed that class with only a 96). And in the other instance, he made a laughing stock of himself on stage in front of his team and hundreds of Italians. Those moments weren't exactly his proudest but proof enough that the world would be a better place if he stopped when he got buzzed enough to relax.

In this moment he was buzzed but nowhere near relaxed…the scotch did nothing. Arthur broke out the brandy and practically inhaled his first glass of it in one gulp. Alcohol was supposed to make you think less, right? Except it made him think more. Think about that emptiness in her beautiful brown eyes when she looked at him and then the contrasting depth and soulfulness they used to hold. It made him think about the way she used to whisper his name in the mornings and pull his arms around her at night. About her laugh being the cutest thing he'd ever heard and the last time he'd been the cause. He thought about saying goodbye at the airport in Berlin that day. AGAIN. About promising to dream of each other, about how much he couldn't bear missing her. About allowing himself to be persuaded by madmen with PASIV's, allowing himself to believe them when they said Ariadne weakened him. About choosing work over loving her. Keeping his reputation unhindered over keeping her warm.

Work.

Work was the evil villain here. Arthur resented it. Was bitter about his addiction to it, the hold it had. The false strength it vowed to give him. Hated himself for taking its hand and letting it undo all the labor the Architect had done. Let it remold him into the man he was before her. Cold, careless, lonely. Unfeeling. Selfish. In a fit, Arthur snatched up his laptop and tried to rip it apart. To take out all his regret and frustration on it. When he couldn't tear it in half he slung it against the wall. He didn't even flinch when the screen cracked, the machine sparked and his prized working tool fell destroyed. Maybe he didn't believe he actually did it? Maybe he thought he was imagining it in his head…he blinked dumbly at it. At how it laid there broken, useless, pitiful—the very same way he made the Architect feel. The Point Man blinked at the reminder of the memories he stumbled upon. His girl tossing and turning, wet tear stains on her pillow, clutching the shirt she wore of his like it was a life jacket in the middle of the ocean. Another glass of brandy got knocked back. Arthur had a high tolerance for pain. He was very much a head-case, firm in the belief of mind over matter. He could tell himself it didn't hurt, make his mind up that he was fine and it would work. He could handle pain.

He couldn't handle this because he couldn't pretend it didn't wound him. And Arthur couldn't handle the ugly truth that this same torture was what he cruelly and numbly subjected Ariadne to. How could he put her through that? Who did he think he was? More brandy entered his system and gave him the urge to wildly go to his closet, pull some suits out and begin ripping them at the sleeves, "You think you're so perfect, don't you?" he chastised himself and pulled buttons off, "So damn perfect." With an aggravated grunt he tossed them into the hallway in front of the door, "You think you're so proper, so fucking diplomatic." Arthur heaved and tore the rod from inside the closet and rammed it into the mirror, "You're selfish!" He peered at his enemy in the shards left of the mirror, "You're just an easily scared robot without a heart." The man angrily stomped over to fill his glass again, sloshing it on himself in a rush. He paced the room, sipping at it, and when it was empty, dropped it where he was standing and retrieved another from the mini bar to fill up. That glass, he drank half of and tossed the rest—including the glass—onto his bed (also completely disregarding the growing stain on the sheets) so he could drag his suitcase out and dump its contents on the ground. Out of one of the pants pockets bounced a broken laser point pen. Her broken laser point pen.

His alarm goes off at 5am so he can get up and video conference with the client. Usually Ariadne sleeps through it but this morning is particularly chilly and she notices when his chest pulls away from her back even as he covers it with the blankets. He's lying on his back in the middle of putting on his watch when the soft pressure of Ariadne's body rolls on top of him and her face nuzzles his neck, "Don't get up. I need you to keep me warm." Her button nose is tracing his veins and her eyelashes are ticking his skin. To satisfy her, even just for a second, Arthur wraps his arms around her again and kisses her hair, "I have to. But I'm not even leaving the suite and I'll be right back," he promises in whispers. She fidgets and brings her laser pointer out of hiding from inside her pillow. The green light races around the room and lands on his laptop charging in the corner, "Bang. Aww, its broke. No conference." Arthur laughs, rolling them over so that he's on top, "If I had the choice, you know I'd pick keeping you warm." He kisses her neck and is amused by the fact that she's almost dozed off again. So he carefully—"No." The Architect sensed his movement and whined, arms holding him in a sweet headlock. "Give me an hour. You'll be asleep, you won't even notice." He presses his lips to hers lightly, feeling the pen poke his chest. She says against his mouth, "Bang. You're dead. You can't move." His secondary alarm rings causing him to roll over to it quickly and shut his phone up. The Point Man forced himself out of bed then. By his third alarm, he would only have ten minutes to make himself presentable and set up office in the living area. Ariadne sleepily pouted of course, blinking profusely. Only trying to stay awake and watch him to guilt him into staying. Fully dressed, he squats by her side of the bed, "I'll make it up to you. I'll bring back hot chocolate, take all these stuffy clothes back off and get you very, very warm." Arthur smiles at her mischievously, subtly rubbing her hip. Ari just yawns, attempts to nod and slips fully from consciousness as he tiptoes out.

"You wanted space!" Arthur takes a tentative step back in surprise. Ariadne's voice has been low and lazy. Now it snaps and echoes. "So I'm giving you space! All or nothing man, right? That's what you said?" The Architect points to herself bitterly, "You're giving me nothing, so why should I give you any more than that?" Arthur huffs and fixes his eyes on the PASIV. He doesn't want to let her know that she has a valid retort. Once Ariadne is riled up, she tends to keep going. The Point Man scarcely has enough time to lick his lips before she yanks her laser pointer from her back pocket and throws it at his chest. With a resounding clank, she lets the tiny bulb break on the floor. The Point flinches at that. "I'm not fawning all over you any more, sweetheart. If your bruised ego is missing its attention, go find a cheap whore!"

Arthur squeezed the pen and began knocking his back against the wall, trying to beat out the memories. The good and the bad. He jammed into the wall until his legs got tired and slumped on the floor by the fridge. There was no hesitance to reach in and break out the vodka. He sat amongst the clutter and chaos his room had become as if it were as neat and organized as it had been that morning. One of his legs propped up on the edge of his suitcase as he sat on top of his favorite dress shirt. The bottle of vodka and laser pointer sat in his hands against the floor like a fork and knife whose bottoms were pressed against the dinner table ready to eat. The liquid swirled around the nose of the bottle and into his mouth while he picked up the hand holding the laser pointer and studied the tattoo on it.

He recognizes it right away, "The Penrose Triangle…the first paradox I taught you to create." Ariadne nods, "Also known as the 'Impossible Triangle' and we both know impossible is your favorite word." Arthur reads the phrase that lines up around the triangle, "Together," he tilts his head to read the other side, "Impossible," and then murmurs the words on the bottom, moved, "Is Nothing."

The Point Man blindly fished around behind him for the phone on top of his desk and dials her number.

Xxxxxx

The Next Morning:

The team pushed lawn chairs into a closer circle after lunch. Time was ticking on this operation and they had little time to perfect these drills before the real thing. Eames scratched his chin as he opened the spare PASIV for them and watched Yusuf put bottles of sedative in, "I don't know about you lot but I'm getting a little antsy. Where the hell is Arthur?"

"Yes, he's been acting a little…" Yusuf winced, locked in the bottles and pressed the timer on, "…off the past few days. I feel bad for him." The Chemist strode to the lawn chair across from the PASIV and sat so Eames could punch in the time, "I mean we've never been the closest of friends but even I can tell something's up."

Dom approved Eames' choice of time and caught he and Ariadne's leads when the Forger tossed them, "I'll tell you what's wrong with him…he's used to controlling everything. And now that he can't control Ariadne's feelings or who she's with he doesn't know what to do with himself." The Extractor sneered and bit, handing the Architect's lead to her and then wrapping his wristband around his wrist, "If you ask me, I think he's acting like a spoiled brat."

Ariadne straightened and looked apologetically to the Chemist whose speculation was nothing but innocent concern for his friend. Yusuf didn't deserve the heat of Cobb's annoyance, especially since he barely understood anything himself. Did he even know Arthur and Ariadne used to be a thing? They could all agree his company was less than savory. But not even the Forger—who was always quick to jab Arthur for sport—jumped in to bash on him. Eames glanced at his watch and then the door. Pursed his lips and silently conveyed to Ariadne he was more than antsy. He was getting incredibly troubled. Wasn't she? Thinking over the course of the day, she started to realize she was. "Dom," the Architect's eyebrows raised, her eyes fixated compassionately on his and it was enough to soften his rigid posture and smooth the lines creased on his face. "Eames has a point. Arthur's always the first person in. He's five hours late."

"Babe," he rubbed her shoulder, "I'm sure he's brooding alone in his room. He's trying to teach us a lesson…"

"I don't think so." The woman shook her head. She thought back to the night before, how many times Arthur called and she ignored. And the one instance where she answered but curtly told him off. What if he actually needed something? "No matter how upset he is, he's reliable. It's not like him to miss a drill—to skip a meeting and not even tell us. Work keeps him going, Arthur would never be this late without word."

"I don't know if you've realized but Arthur isn't himself lately."

Ariadne looked at Eames, found him checking his watch again. "I know. That's what worries me."

Cobb sighed. Whatever his Ariadne wanted, he had to oblige to. And she was hinting that she wanted Dom to find out what was going on. He had to admit he was starting to wonder too. "I suppose pushing the drills back a little longer won't hurt. Eames will you go back to the hotel, see if he's there?"

xxxxxxx

It was a form of salvation: Appearing in the kitchen in front of Ariadne in her sleep gear. The smell of her delicious pancakes filled the air. The pan sizzled with butter spray. Her cheeks were colored with happiness. It'd been too long since he dreamt of their family, Arthur teemed with joy. Shame was replaced with fantasy. Arthur grinned cheekily as the light caught on her ring, "Someone's up early."

"Not really," shrugged the woman, pouring batter in the pan and sprinkling in chocolate chips, "The kids have to be at school at seven thirty. Speaking of which— Breakfast! Let's go!" The motherly tone she only took on in his dreams called to the children and beckoned them downstairs.

A minute passed without an appearance so Arthur backed her up and yelled up the stairs to his beloved kids, "Adelyn, Austin!"

The projection scrunched her face, amused but puzzled, "Who are you calling?" The question didn't register. Didn't make sense until a teenaged blonde bounded into the kitchen, listening to music through an ear bud in one ear. And flipping her hair back, "Morning."

"Morning Pip," the Architect smiled and handed her a plate ready to go as the girl sat on the stool next to Arthur. Pip? That was Philippa? She looked half grown…face all painted with makeup, no glitter or princess stickers in sight. Not playing with dolls but texting on her phone. The Cobb's must be visiting them and their family. Yeah, Adelyn would skip in with her book any minute and sit in awe by Philippa, admiring her. Like Pippa used to sit in awe and admire Ari. Addy would ask her to draw with her, would attempt to dress like her and wish she didn't have to go to school so she could spend time with the coolest 'cousin' ever. Philippa looked up from her phone momentarily, "Hey, Ari, homecoming is in two weeks. Do you think you could take me dress shopping this weekend?"

Ariadne slid the flapjack onto a new plate and started another, "You don't want to go with your friends?"

"Well, when I say 'me' I mean me, Grace and Bailey," she squinted shyly. As if Ariadne would mind dragging the girl's friends along.

"Sure, I'd love to." Arthur watched amazed as she tucked a hair behind her ear, left the flapjack and grabbed syrup from the fridge, "Do you want to ask them if they want to get mani-pedi's the day before the dance?"

Philippa squealed, "Yes please! That would be awesome." Right away, her head ducked to her phone and her fingers began typing with lightning speed, probably already alerting her friends of the exciting plans.

"Ok, pick a time this weekend and next and let me know." The syrup bottle was sat on their side of the island and Ariadne snapped her fingers in the direction of the girl's plate. The teenager knew it meant to put the phone down and eat before breakfast got cold so Philippa picked up her fork and laid her phone down on the bar. She cut her pancakes up but distractedly texted with one finger on the side while Ariadne continued her instruction, "And make sure their moms know too. I'm sure they'll be fine with it. Marissa may even want to come."

With mouth half full, Philippa halted her cyber conversation and plopped her fork down on the plate with wide eyes, "No, no…Grace's mom can't come. She's so dorky."

"As opposed to…" Ariadne jutted her hip out and gave Philippa a sarcastic look, "Grace?"

The blonde girl winced because it was true but trudged on in her begging, "Ari, please. We just want to go with you. You're the fun one."

"Ok, ok," she rolled her eyes (secretly loved still being called fun Arthur could tell). The pancakes and batter were rotated around on the plates and pan again, "If she says anything have her call me. I'll come up with an excuse." The Architect waggled her eyebrows deviously and the teenager nodded emphatically, "Maybe she'll take Maddie and Chloe to the park." After that pancake was cooked, three plates of six were ready. Ariadne picked one up, felt it for heat and once confirmed it was still warm enough placed the plate in front of Arthur with a warning, "Here you might want to eat your fill before the boys get down here."

Philippa hummed after a bite and then rolled her eyes, "They eat their weight in her pancakes."

"Smells super good…is it—" A blonde teenaged boy came sliding into the kitchen, bright eyed. Messy hair and letterman jacket on, "Yes! I love your pancakes." The boy hungrily scooted around the counter, hugged Ariadne tightly from behind, then stole a plate and started chowing down before he made it to his chair, "Hey Uncle Arthur!" he waved.

Making an educated guess, Arthur waved back, "Hey…James?"

"Glad you could visit us." His changing voice cracked with his half smile and Philippa pointed and laughed at him for it. He nudged her.

Visit? Visit? "Yeah, me too." Arthur answered without thinking, eyes running down past the pancakes on his plate to his left hand. It was ring-less. The Point Man was so accustomed to finding himself in his own dream house—a mix of her parent's home and his apartment placed in Paris. But as he sobered up from his excitement of naturally dreaming the Talesco's again, he realized the kitchen was not his kitchen. It was the kitchen in California he visited too many times to count. With perfect timing, Dom came around the corner in his suit for the day, smiling, "I know what's cooking…"

Ariadne giggled and took a break from cooking her batch to hand him a ready-made plate, "Here you are Mr. Cobb."

"Why thank you," Arthur was blown back when Dom kissed Ariadne openly and the kids thought nothing of it, "Mrs. Cobb." The Extractor sat the plate on the other side of James, "Sit and eat, sweetie. I'll cook Chloe's."

She obliged as Dom took her spot to cook a few more pancakes. She hopped up next to James' and poured syrup on her plate, "Chloe…Pippa, where's your sister?"

"She's up." Philippa dragged her cake through the maple, "She asked me to do her hair. I think she was coloring when I came down," as she finished her sentence she took a bite and nudged the Point Man's elbow, "Aren't you going to eat Uncle Arthur?"

All Arthur could do was stare. Ariadne sighed and got back up to retrieve the little girl. Dom scolded his son, "James."

"What?" he asked dumbly, mouth full and hung open. James had a moment of clarity and hurried to get up, "I'll get her ma. Sit and eat." Ma? James and Philippa called her mom? Sure they were young when their real mother died. Maybe they didn't remember her? All they knew for years was Ari. "Yo Chlo! Chlo-bird!" James came back in with a fair skinned, brown haired but blue eyed little girl the age of Arthur's Adelyn on his back. The boy laughed while the little girl grinned smugly, "Yup, she was coloring."

Dom dropped the last pancake on a princess plate and sat in next to where he'd sit, "She's definitely ours."

"Mommy look!" Chloe waved her drawing in the air before James put her down. When her feet hit the floor she was jumping and squealing, "Does it look like the buildings you draw?"

Ariadne caressed the little girl's cheek with an adoring gaze and commented positively, "Very close."

Chloe twirled and skipped towards Arthur, "See it Daddy?" He felt light and relieved until she brushed passed him and was swept into Cobb's arms, "Yeah Pumpkin, it's beautiful." The blonde man sat with her proudly in his lap as Ariadne requested, "Chloe, in your own seat, please."

"Babe, she's fine," Dom argued.

"This is why she's spoiled," Ariadne fussed but with a hidden satisfaction that Dom doted on their daughter so much. The little girl hummed and swung her feet while dipping her finger in the syrup and licking it off. Arthur felt lightheaded. "Here Uncle Arthur, you can have it." Arthur scanned over the Cobb family and nearly tripped on himself getting out of the kitchen as fast as possible. James' shocked question followed him. "Is he ok?"

He stood in the foyer by the front door. Rubbed his face with palms violently. Pushed his skull together because it felt like it was fixing to swell and pop open. Ariadne came out of the kitchen and tried to calm him down, "Arthur…"

"Where is Adelyn?" He demanded of her, furious. Projection Ariadne was his own subconscious. She knew who he was talking about. Who they were. What they meant. "And Austin? And Adam?" Yet his own mind turned on him and became vicious. Ariadne spat at him, "They don't exist."

He couldn't get vicious back even if he was only battling himself. Not when it was her face staring back at him. He would never lay a hand on her in anger but he did punch the wall behind her and yelled, "It's my dream. You are a product of my subconscious. They exist if I want them to exist. You're my wife if I want you to be!"

Ariadne crossed her arms at him with a cool gaze, "That's not how it works, Arthur, and you know it." The other people chatting and eating in the kitchen vanished. The sky outside turned red and the vividness of her eyes almost glowed, "I'm not yours anymore. And your little family isn't real."

"Shut up!" His hands clapped over his ears.

"They're never going to be real. Admit it."

Arthur's growl preceded the water works and the raspy groan, "I want my kids!" His hands found the hair at the base of her neck and pulled the strands towards him, "I want you back!" His fingers rubbed her tresses between them desperately, "Ari...I need you back…" The projection took true Ariadne form and felt sorry for him. Her eyes softened and her palm ran up his torso, grazed across his chest and then cupped the side of his face warmly. There wasn't but a hair's breadth in between their noses. Everything he had was melting into her gaze, his body felt brittle the longer she touched him. "Arthur—" The way she murmured to him was like she used to. With adoration coating every syllable, with devotion dripping from his name. It sounded just like the way she first sighed it, the first time he made love to her. And then her lips were on his and he fell apart. Completely apart in her tiny hands. He didn't care that it wasn't really her; it felt like her, he could pretend it was. He was content to lose himself in this imaginary reunion. So ready to get lost in this dream and live on believing she still loved him. But it was a natural dream. He had no control over whether he stayed or not, so he begged his subconscious, "Let me stay. I love you, Ariadne. More than anything. Please, let me —"

The projection grabbed his lapel and pulled him aggressively closer as his felt a sharp pain in his gut. He looked down to see her holding a dagger in his stomach. The pretense of his angelic lover gone, "You don't get to get me back." The knife twisted, "Not even in your dreams." Arthur jolted awake, sweating. Comforter almost kicked completely off the mattress from his thrashing. After some heavy breathing he ripped himself out of bed and paced the room. Mentally clawed at the leftover sensations the dream gave him so they'd disappear. How could he not even be with her in his dreams? How low had he fallen not to be granted even that by his own subconscious?

He fell asleep before accurately changing into his nightclothes. Not from physical exertion during the day but emotional exhaustion. It used up more mental fuel to bottle everything in than it did to let it out. But Arthur was certain that if the teeniest ounce of his real feelings saw the light of day, the rest would come roaring out like a tidal wave behind it. He wore sweatpants on the bottom but his dress shirt and tie on top. The tie he loosened and threw on top of the lampshade so more air would reach his brain and he could think (he could handle this). The shirt he unbuttoned and let hang open for the cool air to dry the sheen of perspiration on his skin. The room was closing in as he realized the last promise he made to her—the one he'd still successfully fulfilled to this day—the only one he'd kept, he was going to break. His subconscious wasn't going to allow him to keep it. To keep the scraps of her.

The pad of the man's thumb glides under her bottom lip, "I'll dream of you." "Don't turn me into a shade." Arthur smirks, "I meant naturally, Architect." "That makes sense," she nods and smirks too, clutches his shirt under his jacket, "It does sound more romantic that way." The girl attempts to memorize the way his clothes crinkle in her hands. He switches to caressing her jawline, "Dream of me too. Then in a way we'll be together." His chest is contracting. Arthur's spoiled. He's gone months seeing her every day. Not only is the change drastic and unwelcomed…it's unfathomable. Ariadne grimaces, "You're such a sap."

It was enough to make him fumble for the key to the mini bar and pull out some scotch. Arthur was never a drinker but he badly needed to ease his mind. He only needed one glass.

xxxxxxx

The Next Day:

Ariadne was studying and self-critiquing one of her models. There was nothing else to do and that was the only task she felt was partly productive. All the levels were completed but perhaps there was an aspect she overlooked. Finding room for improvement was never a waste of time. Yusuf was doing the same with his sedatives. Basically making more bottles for drills…you could never have enough backup right? Dom was standing by one of the boarded up windows on the phone with their client. The weekly check on their progress happened to be today. With the extra time, Cobb decided he could get it over with a few hours early. He pulled the cell away from his ear to look at it and then covered the mouthpiece to inform Ariadne, "Eames tried calling. He'll probably dial you next," then resumed his conversation.

The Architect was taking a sip of green tea when her phone shrilled. Sitting in her chair and propping her feet on her desk, she answered curiously, "He ok?"

"He's in the hospital."

The Architect dropped her bottle of tea and her feet came flying down to the ground so she could sit up straighter, "What?!"

Arthur never was a drinker.

xxxxxxxxx

I'm sorry, I'm really a mess right now.
I'm trying my best to get it together somehow…
Tell me where love goes when it's gone.
Tell me where hearts go when they go wrong.
Suddenly someone is no one
I've come undone, undone, undone.
Undone, undone, undone. –
Undone (obviously lol) by Haley Reinhart

Sad day…how shall Ari and Cobb react? Thoughts? Also: see the Cobbs' Dream Family on my Profile.