Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.

THANKS REVIEWERSSS- cinematherapy: you and me both. Guest: thanks, I love that you check so often! I think Eames is pretty mixed up too, honestly. L: ALL the male characters? I don't agree with that statement... ;) and I don't think they're done, either. Eeyore08: Let's see how Micah's attempt goes, hm? PrettyPlease: updating now! thanks so much! Knuckiducki: Sorry about your sadness, but glad that Arthur's reasons are understandable! Iole17: I think Arthur has some pretty deep self-esteem issues in general, something I've personally reflected onto him from myself, I imagine. But I think it still makes sense with his character. He's only confident with his skills, not with people. recey2010: I'm not into hyperbole unless it's funny... but we'll see.

You guys make me want to update. And I think this is my favorite chapter.

Chapter title from the song originally by Kate Bush, though I prefer the Placebo version and I think Micah would, too.

Running Up That Hill

Tuesday, October 18, 2011: Los Angeles, California: The Warehouse: Micah

It was almost like they were waiting for an execution. For the sword to fall, the arrow to hit, the bullet to embed.

Micah was sitting beside the PASIV, on one of the long beach chairs in the center of the room. His eyes were locked overhead, at one of the massive fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling. It was early morning, the sun partially obscured by gray clouds. Micah watched as a fly appeared, buzzing impatiently around the light. He stared at the fly, thinking of how boring a life like that would be. Always buzzing impatiently, never really getting anywhere.

Footsteps forced Micah to snap out of it. Cobb was approaching him, carrying a walkman and set of headphones. The older man sat on the chair beside Micah's, the only sounds of his shuffling breaking the silence.

It was just the two of them in the warehouse. Yusuf had stepped out to pick up a few things he needed for Ariadne's stitches, which were being removed today. Eames and Ariadne, who Micah assumed were coming together, hadn't arrived yet. Neither had Arthur, but Micah honestly didn't know if Arthur would even come today.

It's not how I would want to spend one of my last days, he thought. The fly buzzed again.

"Here." Cobb's voice was quiet and a little hoarse. Micah faced him as the extractor held out the headphones. He reached to take them but stopped when he noticed how the man's hands were shaking.

Micah let his own drop, gripping the chair. He knew what they needed to do—train him some more in preparation for the third level—but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Wasn't there something more important?

He found his voice. "What did you say when he told you what happened to him?"

Cobb sighed, not requiring explanation as to who or what Micah was talking about. "I was speechless. I'd never heard of such a thing, except maybe in the movies. He kept it a secret for a long time. I would never have guessed it."

"Yeah," Micah agreed. "I knew his legs and the water were connected, but I didn't really… I didn't put it together."

"Not many would," Cobb agreed. "Arthur has had a truly difficult life, one I would wish on very few, and certainly not him."

"It's pretty amazing," Micah continued, not really responding to Cobb, but vocalizing what he'd been thinking since the revelations were presented yesterday. "How he's still such a great person. He's a good guy, Dom. He puts others before himself."

Cobb slumped forward suddenly, burying his face in his hands. His shoulders began to shake and Micah realized he was crying.

No, not crying: sobbing.

"Jesus Christ," Cobb whispered. "I know, Micah. You're absolutely right. Arthur is wholly unique in how incredible he is. Very few would still be sane and so selfless after that experience. And I fucking threw him away."

Micah couldn't speak. He didn't know what to say, partially because he hated Cobb so much for what he was vocalizing at last.

"I handed him to Browning," Cobb continued. "I threatened the woman he loved so I could get my way. And Arthur will pay for my selfishness with his life. I will get my children back, and he will die. And he's… He's okay with it." He raised his eyes to Micah's, the blue shimmering with tears. "Arthur has been nothing less than a brother to me. My best friend. He was my best man at my wedding, and he's godfather to my children. He's saved my life countless times, taken bullets for me… Eames is right. Arthur and Ariadne are right. I'm the scum of the Earth for doing this to him."

Micah swallowed as Cobb continued to sob. His mouth opened and closed several times, as he struggled to come up with words. He wasn't good with the comforting words. It'd never really been a problem, even with Arthur, because Arthur never sought comfort.

"You should tell him," Micah said at last.

Cobb raised his head. "What?"

"Tell him," Micah repeated. "Tell him what you just told me. And make sure you let him know how sorry you are and how much you love him for everything he's done for you."

"He won't forgive me," Cobb said, shaking his head.

"Probably," Micah agreed. "That would be wishing for a miracle at this point. But he'll be glad to hear what you think of him. I have no idea what he thinks about you these days, but maybe, saving you is just a nice benefit of saving Ariadne." Micah paused. "Because that's the only reason he's doing this. He wants her to live; the rest of us are kind of on our own."

Cobb nodded swiftly. "I know. Makes this all the more unfair. He's so in love with her…"

"But he's convinced she doesn't love him," Micah finished. "Yeah, I know. I kind of want to lock them in a closet together and force them to realize they're supposed to be together." At Cobb's look, he added, "Not anymore though. And I would never do that."

"Sure," Cobb said, chuckling. He looked at the PASIV and ran a hand over his hair. "I can't do this right now. I'm sorry, Micah."

Micah shook his head. "Don't be. I don't really want to go under either." Dreaming had no allure right now. He was too depressed to want to do anything.

The door of the warehouse opened, and Eames and Ariadne walked in. Ariadne looked hardened, her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and her hands gripping her bag with determination.

After Eames and Arthur had left the warehouse yesterday, Ariadne had thrown herself into work. The change was noticeable and a little alarming. She worked for five hours straight, long after both men had returned. Though many would assume it was just a burst of creative energy, Micah thought otherwise. He was pretty sure the real reason she'd worked so hard and non-stop was because she knew it was all she could do to protect Arthur, to maybe save his life. He'd wanted to grab Arthur by the shoulders and show him the sight and yell, "Look! She's working so hard because she doesn't want you to die! You fool, she loves you!"

But he knew how Arthur would've responded: "Of course she doesn't want me to die. Just because I'm her ex, it doesn't mean she doesn't care at all." Then he would've patted Micah on the arm and walked away, leaving Micah more frustrated than ever.

Back in the present, Micah studied Eames. Neither he nor Arthur had offered up an explanation of where they'd gone or what they'd talked about (they'd been gone for less than an hour). Instead, they were cordial and polite to the other. The good thing was that it looked like they'd repaired their relationship a bit.

Other than that, Micah was more confused than ever.

Eames looked tired this morning, his hair scruffier than normal and his eyes heavy. He wasn't even wearing a dress shirt; instead, it looked like he was wearing a gray sweater with long-sleeves along with khaki pants. He sat down at his desk, while Ariadne reached hers, immediately pulling papers and models from her bag. She cleared her throat, causing everyone to look.

"I'm done," she said with relief. Micah frowned and realized her eyes were surrounded by dark bags; she must've been up all night. "Completely done. The levels are ready to go, all three of them."

Cobb looked happier than he had in days. "That's great news, Ariadne."

She smiled and looked around. Micah thought she was looking for Arthur and was surprised when she asked, "Where's Yusuf?"

"He went out to get stuff for your stitches," Micah replied. "Why?"

"Oh." She frowned. "I wanted to show him the first level, I added some updates to it last night." She shrugged and shuffled paper around her desk. "When's he getting back?"

Cobb checked his watch. "Soon."

"Okay," Ariadne said. "I'll wait to show you the third level then, Edward." Across the room, Eames nodded at her words and returned to his laptop. Micah stared; it was most unlike Eames to not comment on something Ariadne said to him.

Especially with Arthur's theory in mind and all, Micah thought to himself. A moment later, he froze.

Was that what Arthur and Eames had talked about yesterday? Ariadne? Micah's mind spun as the puzzle pieces fell into place. That would make sense. He remembered Arthur saying he needed to talk to Eames about something he'd put off for too long… Did that count? It did make sense why he'd chosen to speak to Eames first like that… Micah would have expected Arthur to want to be alone after hearing his past exposed like that, but Arthur had chosen Eames, the last person Micah had expected.

That has to be it, Micah thought. He studied Eames, and wondered what specifically Arthur had told him. It seemed to have caused Eames to back down. In shame, perhaps?

Or biding his time?

Micah hoped the former thought was correct. He didn't want Eames to be that low of a human being.

The door of the warehouse opened again, but it was Arthur who entered. He was dressed as formally as he always looked, his clothes and hair impeccable. He certainly didn't look like a man whose life was numbered in hours.

He raised his eyebrows in greeting (everyone was staring at him, expressions ranging from grief to anxiety to sadness to speechlessness) and walked to where Micah and Cobb were sitting. Arthur pulled off his shoulder bag and sat down next to Micah.

"Ariadne," he said, his voice quiet and smooth. "I ran into Yusuf outside. He has to run and pick up an order at the post office, so he asked if I would take out your stitches." As he spoke, he revealed various medical tools from his bag, lining them up neatly on the table in front of him.

Micah glanced at Ariadne, who swallowed but nodded, getting to her feet. She walked over to Arthur, looking nervous.

He glanced at her. "You'll have to take off your shirt."

She nodded again, pulling her knitted sweater over her head without any hesitation. Micah automatically blushed, getting to his feet and attempting to hurry after Cobb.

"Micah," Arthur called. "Can you get a warm towel for me?"

"Okay," Micah muttered. He shuffled off to the cabinet and took a towel, running it under warm water before returning to the center of the room.

Ariadne was lying on her back on one of the long beach chairs, her arms resting at her sides. She'd already tugged down her black pencil skirt a little, exposing the end of the long line of stitches. Arthur was sitting beside her hip, on her right side, drenching a pair of small scissors in cleaning alcohol.

"Thanks," he said as Micah passed him the towel. Arthur raised his eyes to look at Ariadne, who was watching him.

"This won't take long," he told her. "But it'll feel a little odd. Just stay still."

She nodded. "Got it."

Micah watched as Arthur studied the ending of the stitches at her hip. He reached forward and very gently took one of the knots there, holding it up. Ariadne bit her lip, but she didn't seem to be in pain; just maybe uncomfortable. Arthur didn't look at her. Instead, he clipped the knot neatly with the scissors, quickly seizing its opposite twin.

Micah stared, entranced, as Arthur slowly began to unwind the long string of Ariadne's stitches from the long cut. The point man's fingers were slow and gentle, his eyes focused only on his work as he ran his hands from Ariadne's hip up to just under her right breast.

The whole process barely took five minutes. And then Arthur was straightening, shoving the long thread at Micah, who realized he was supposed to take it. He did and watched as Arthur gently pressed the towel to Ariadne's scar.

"It's clean," he told her softly. "It looks great."

She grimaced. "I doubt that."

"Don't," Arthur replied. "Yusuf is brilliant. This was done very neatly." He removed the towel and reached for a clean new bandage, leaning across Ariadne to do so. Micah couldn't help but notice how Ariadne stiffened, her eyes locked on Arthur's face. He remained impassive and casual, sitting up again and firmly placing the bandage around her scar.

"Leave it on for a couple days," he advised her. "I'd wait five days before taking it off. The scar is temporary; it'll fade soon. You won't even remember where it is one day. It shouldn't hurt anymore, so make sure to tell Yusuf if it does. He'll check it out and maybe give you something for the pain."

It hit Micah and Ariadne at the same time that the reason Arthur suggested Yusuf was because Arthur wasn't planning to be around at the time Ariadne's scar hurt.

Ariadne blinked furiously. "Okay. Thank you, Arthur."

He smiled at her, a warm smile that didn't reveal any fear about the upcoming days. "You're welcome, Ariadne."

Micah's eyes flickered to Ariadne, who looked like she was trying to say something. But Arthur got to his feet, taking the towel with him and going to the bathroom. He closed the door behind him.

Ariadne watched him go, and Micah felt more frustrated than ever at her expression.

"Jesus," he muttered. "Just tell him."

He blushed furiously when he realized Ariadne had heard him. Luckily, Cobb and Eames hadn't; he could hear them having a discussion by Eames' desk. Ariadne looked at Micah, and she looked sorrowful.

"It's not that easy," she whispered.

"The man is going to die in two days," Micah stressed, ignoring how Ariadne's eyes closed. "Tell him you forgive him and that you love him. Don't waste this time, or you'll regret it for the rest of your life."

Ariadne studied him, her head cocked to the side. "Arthur's right. We don't give you enough credit."

"Yeah?" Micah sighed. "Prove that by listening to me."

The door of the bathroom opened, and Arthur reappeared. He was looking at his watch, a thoughtful look on his face. Micah got to his feet, giving Ariadne a meaningful look.

Do it now.

He'd taken one step away when Arthur spoke: "Micah?"

That stopped Micah. He turned, eyebrow raised. "Yeah, Arthur?"

"What are you doing right now?"

"Um…" Micah looked at Cobb, who was still talking to Eames. He shrugged, turning back to Arthur. "I don't know. Nothing, I guess."

Arthur nodded. "Good. Do you think you could spare a couple hours with me?"

Micah gaped at Arthur, shocked. He was pretty sure this was the first time Arthur had asked him to hang out with him, just the two of them. It sounded like something a friend would say.

"I… Yeah, definitely," Micah said.

Arthur actually smiled. "Excellent. Grab your coat and we'll go." He looked over at Cobb, who'd stopped talking to Eames and had listened to the exchange. "Micah and I will be back later."

"Alright," Cobb said hesitantly. "Er… Where are you going?"

"Huntington Beach," Arthur replied.

"For what?"

Arthur smirked. "That's something I'll discuss with Micah. Like I said: we'll be back later."

Cobb didn't object, not that Micah really expected him to. Aside from the fact he didn't control and own Arthur, he doubted anyone would try to stop a man who was going to die in two days from doing whatever he wanted to.

Micah followed Arthur out of the warehouse. It was only when he had his hand on the passenger door of the Mercedes did he realize Ariadne had never gotten to talk to Arthur. He hesitated.

Arthur noticed, pausing with one foot in the car. "Are you still coming?"

Screw it, Micah thought. It didn't seem like Ariadne really wanted to tell Arthur anyway. "Yeah, I am." They got into the car and Arthur pulled out onto the highway.

They rolled down the windows, letting the air stream in, even though it was only about 75 degrees Fahrenheit, which was considered cold for Los Angeles. Micah leaned his elbow against the window ledge, enjoying the air, while Arthur cruised with one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear shift. Micah routinely glanced at the point man, surprised and saddened by how peaceful the point man looked, his auburn eyes hidden behind sunglasses.

"Arthur," he said. "What's in Huntington Beach?"

"Hm," Arthur replied. "How much do you know about Huntington Beach?"

Micah shrugged. "Nothing. I assume it's a beach in L.A.?"

"Not quite," Arthur said. "It's a city about forty miles outside of L.A. And it is often referred to as Surf City."

"Wait…" Micah said slowly, the wheels turning.

Arthur grinned. "That's right. We're going surfing."

"We?" Micah repeated. "Arthur, I don't know how to surf!"

"That's okay," Arthur said. "I do. I'll teach you." He looked at Micah. "Remember what I told you: I won't let you drown."

Micah grimaced. "Why are we surfing?"

"Because," Arthur said. His voice was softer and less carefree now. "Because this is one of my last days on this planet, and I would like to spend it by doing something I enjoyed greatly while growing up in California but haven't gotten to do in over a decade. And I brought you because I thought you would enjoy it the most. You don't have to surf."

"No," Micah said quickly. He was glad he'd randomly chosen to wear contacts and not glasses. "I want to."

Arthur smiled. "That's what I thought. You'll have a good time, Micah."

The rest of the car ride was spend mostly in silence, with the occasional comment about the landscape. Micah learned Arthur had grown up in a small town called Oceanside, and that he'd visited his mother, who still lived there, a few days previously. He'd also reconciled with his twin brother, who was aware of the job and the expected outcome.

"And he's not, you know, happy about it," Arthur said in an alarmingly matter-of-fact tone. "But he's accepted my decision. That's something I really admire about Adam. He can respect the decisions of others without much fuss." He looked at Micah. "We're different that way."

At some point, Arthur turned on the radio, and they listened to classic rock. Micah learned more about Arthur's childhood through the music he knew the lyrics to.

"I'm a firm believer that Cream was the best band ever," Arthur said seriously, as they listened to the closing chords of 'I Feel Free.' "If I could see any band live, that would be them. They were brilliant." He smiled as Eric Clapton's 'After Midnight' came on. "But I've seen this man live, and I guess that's one third of the job done."

"Do you go to concerts a lot?" Micah wondered.

"Not a lot, no," Arthur said. "Because concerts usually require advance planning; tickets, and all. But Ariadne and I managed to see a couple shows last year in Paris."

They reached a beach in Huntington Beach, which Micah was surprised to see was crowded with people. He climbed out of the car but stopped when he saw that Arthur seemed to be stripping, tossing off his shoes and socks and shoving them into the car.

"What are you doing?" Micah asked.

Arthur smirked. "I'm not about to walk on a beach like this." He gestured to his outfit. Micah watched as he pulled off his suit jacket, along with his vest and tie. Micah followed his lead, pulling off his jacket and sneakers, but leaving his t-shirt and jeans on. Arthur waited for him, still wearing his white dress shirt and black pants.

"Come on," he said, stepping onto the sand bare foot.

Micah hurried after Arthur, aware of the stares the point man drew; he certainly didn't look like he belonged there, even with his tie and vest gone. Arthur seemed oblivious to this, going straight to a shop that looked like a serious cliché to Micah, as it was called 'Surf Shack' and was colored brightly with suns and cartoon-like waves. He glanced at the ocean; the waves did look huge today.

Arthur spoke quickly to the attendant, saying phrases and comments that were foreign to Micah. The attendant understood them, and recognized that Arthur was a professional who meant business.

That didn't stop Micah's jaw from dropping when Arthur presented him with a wetsuit.

"You're kidding."

Arthur laughed at Micah's expression. "Not unless you want to freeze. September through November is the best time of the year to surf in Southern California, even though the water's cold." He waited for Micah to take the wetsuit, still grudgingly.

Micah still wasn't sold on the idea and was even less enthusiastic after he pulled the wetsuit on. Even if he was about as skinny, he wasn't nearly as well-built as Arthur; the stares the point man was now receiving were quite different. He hesitated as Arthur strolled towards the ocean.

"Arthur," he said slowly. Arthur turned. Micah raised his arms. "I have no idea what I'm doing."

Arthur nodded. "I know. But do you trust me?"

He looked at Micah, his auburn eyes clear and calm. And Micah felt like their whole time knowing the other, every little exchange and lesson given, came down to this moment. And he found the answer came readily to his lips.

"Yeah."

Even though he'd almost been drowned by this man, even though he doubted his sanity… It was true. He'd trusted Arthur the day he'd met him, and he still did now.

Arthur smiled and turned back to the ocean. With some hesitation and holding his surfboard tightly, Micah followed.

He should've known to never doubt Arthur as a teacher. He was every bit as patient and tactful as he'd been when teaching Micah how to fight, shoot, move around the dream world.

"I know you have balance," Arthur said calmly, as Micah fell into the ocean again.

Spluttering, Micah wiped his eyes. "Why?"

Arthur smirked. "Because you're always the last to fall when the dream collapses."

And as it turned out, Arthur was right. Before too long, Micah was standing on his own, and making it over small waves. Arthur stayed with him, commenting and offering further guidance, until he nodded his head.

"I think you're ready to go a little bigger."

'A little bigger' turned out to be pretty fricking huge, in Micah's opinion. He followed Arthur further out to sea, to the bigger waves. And even as he fell down (almost constantly) he kept trying, because it was worth it just to see the joy on Arthur's face.

He finally looked younger than thirty, the way his eyes shone, his hair flopped over his face and his smile widened. Micah watched in amazement as Arthur rode the waves like a professional, his easy stance and unwavering balance making it look effortless. He managed the biggest waves with ease, causing other surfers (many younger) to comment and praise him for this. Rather than feeling jealous, Micah felt only wonder. He was like a new man.

They surfed for hours, becoming more and more reckless and laughing almost non-stop. They drifted along the coast, until Micah felt his arms would fall off from paddling and his legs felt like jelly. When they reached a relatively calm section of beach, he flopped on his stomach on the board, hanging in the water. Arthur, beside him as he'd been all day, followed his example, letting his arms hang in the water.

He was still smiling. "Thank you, Micah."

"No, thank you," Micah said. "You taught me and everything."

"But you agreed," Arthur reminded him. He sighed, bring his arms in front of him and crossing them, resting his head on them. His hair was darker with water, and looked longer, hanging around his face. Arthur closed his eyes. "I'm glad I got to do this."

"I wish this wasn't your last time," Micah whispered.

"Me too," Arthur agreed.

Micah shifted awkwardly. "It doesn't have to be."

Arthur opened his eyes, fixing Micah with a calm stare. "But it will be." Micah looked away and Arthur spoke again. "Micah. Look at me."

Micah turned back, letting his gaze meet Arthur's. The point man's face was perfectly calm, his skin pale in the light and unblemished. The lines that usually marred his forehead were gone, he was so relaxed. And in his eyes was something that could only be described as peace.

"Do I look upset?" Arthur whispered. "Do I look depressed? Angry? Scared?"

Micah shook his head. "No."

"How do I look?"

"Peaceful," Micah said honestly. "Almost happy."

Arthur nodded, still resting his head on his arms. "Yes. And I am those things. I'm ready, Micah. Don't pity me for dying."

"Don't you wish for more time?" Micah asked.

Arthur shrugged. "Not really. I feel like I've lived for twice as long as my physical age suggests. That's a perfectly respectable amount of time. I've been everywhere, gotten to do almost everything I've ever wanted to…"

"What will you not do?"

Even though he must've anticipated it, Arthur still looked disappointed at the question. "I'll never have gotten married. Or have children. I've also always wanted to skydive, like you…" He trailed off, his face brightening as he realized something. "Assuming someone recovers my body and follows my wishes, have Ariadne give you some of my ashes when you go. Then throw me out the plane with you."

Micah had to laugh. "Okay. Will she let me?"

"Sure. She won't know what to do with me anyway."

"You still want her to have your ashes?"

Arthur nodded. "I don't want to be with anyone else. But I will be dead; she can toss me out the window if she so desires to. I can't stop her, and I don't really think I'll care."

"Is your biggest regret still not telling your father you loved him, and that you would avenge him?" Micah asked quietly.

Arthur met his eyes, and they were sorrowful. "No. I wish I'd married her. So she'd be forced to remember me."

"Why didn't you?" Micah wondered. "A year's a pretty long time to date."

"You're young, that's why you say that," Arthur said. But he grimaced, acknowledging the truth of Micah's words. "But you're also right. And I did suggest marriage last summer. She told me she wanted to wait; she's the same age as you. And I agreed, because I thought she was right." He lifted his head, running his hands over his wet hair. "But I wish I'd convinced her otherwise now."

"What happens to all your stuff?" Micah wondered. "Your money, your place in Paris…"

"It'll all go to her," Arthur said. "I've got a very good lawyer who understands that I want her to get everything, and has high enough contacts in the French government to bypass some of their other inheritance laws. Everything should work out."

Micah nodded. "Of course you have a will."

Arthur smiled. "Everyone should have a will. You never know."

"If you could've chosen how to die," Micah murmured. "How would that have happened?"

"I'd be ninety-seven," Arthur replied softly. "And Ariadne would be ninety, and one night, we'd go to sleep. And we wouldn't wake up. Not attached to a PASIV, or anything; just naturally."

"That sounds nice," Micah breathed.

"Highly improbable, but a man can dream." Arthur looked over at Micah, his face still so amazingly peaceful.

"I'm glad Cobb found you," he whispered. "Because he is going to need you."

Micah nodded. "I know. He's really upset about losing you. You might not believe it, but it's true."

"No, no," Arthur interrupted, shaking his head. "I didn't mean he was going to need you to help him get past my death. His children will be more than enough to help him through that. Yes, he also needed me when Mal died, but I'm just his friend; his children will be plenty."

Micah doubted this, but was too curious to press. "What did you mean, then?"

Arthur fixed him with his gaze. He almost looked incredulous.

"You've known this since the beginning," he murmured. "Micah, Cobb and I went to Harvard because we were looking for a new me."

Micah nodded slowly. "Yeah…"

"Isn't it obvious?" Arthur asked. "Micah, you are my replacement."

There was a silence, broken only by the waves lapping against their surfboards, and the wind drying their hair. Micah blinked furiously, struggling to process what Arthur was trying to tell him.

"Cobb doesn't need a replacement," he said. "He's getting out of the business."

"But Eames isn't," Arthur murmured. "Yusuf isn't. Ariadne might not, I don't know. They will all still need a point man, and they know people who will need a point man. If you say that you were trained by me—which you were—you will instantly be in demand globally. I've said this before, as have Cobb and Eames: I'm the best at what I do. Dream thieves will be itching to find my successor."

Micah was speechless. He stared at Arthur, filled with fear, anxiety and utter stupefy.

"It's a pretty good introduction to the world of shared dreaming," Arthur said.

"Shit," Micah whispered. "Arthur, I… I can't replace you. You're one-of-a-kind. I'm nowhere near as brave, or smart, or… Just good at it."

"Maybe not now," Arthur conceded. "But you will be. Don't doubt yourself, Micah. I might've in the beginning, but I learned my lesson. You are a force to be reckoned with. You're determined, a fast learner, and you're dependable. That's all they need in a point man."

Micah swallowed. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," Arthur said. "You don't even have to do any of it. You can leave the dream world and never come back. I'm just telling you this so you'll know it's always an option." He smiled. "Believe it or not, but I don't regret any of my time in the dream world. It's been the best thing my life could offer, and I wouldn't change a thing. I wouldn't give it up. Don't give up dreaming just because I died."

Micah felt tears stinging his eyes. "I don't understand you. How can you be so calm about this?"

"I'm ready."

"Jesus Christ," Micah choked, letting himself cry without abandon, his sniffles and his shaking disturbing the water. He could barely look at Arthur, whose face was full of sympathy. "I've known you for two weeks, and you've killed me in a dream and half-drowned me in real life, but I'm crying because you're going to die. How is that possible?"

Arthur smiled. "I grow on people."

"Still," Micah sniffled. "That's not a good enough reason."

"I think…" Arthur paused and Micah looked at him, signaling for him to continue. "I think it might be because I remind you of Seth."

And it was true, Micah realized. Arthur did remind him of Seth, the best friend he'd given up, cast aside, only for him to die. He was still trying to save Seth; through Arthur, a man who did not want to be saved.

"God, I never had to do this," Micah croaked. "I never had to say goodbye to him, and now I have to say goodbye to you…"

"Micah. Look at me."

He did, forcing himself to again. Arthur faced him with clear eyes.

"It's okay," he whispered. "I'm okay. I'm ready to go, Micah. Seth was leaving a dark place for somewhere better, and so am I. Remember that we both wanted this."

Micah cried more. "Fuck, Arthur. I can't believe you have to comfort me. I'm not the one who's going to die. I feel like I need to do something for you."

"Make sure Ariadne survives the third level," Arthur said. "You can do that for me."

"Okay," Micah said. He regained his composure, happy to have a task, a last request from Arthur. "I will."

"Thank you, Micah." Arthur straightened. "Let's go back."

They paddled back to shore, in sync with the other. Micah felt dazed as he returned the surfboard and changed back into his regular clothes. He found Arthur waiting for him, standing and watching the ocean, the sleeves of his shirt rolled back to his elbows. His arms were marred by needle pricks, but he didn't mind. He was just enjoying the sunlight.

Arthur heard Micah coming and smiled, pulling his feet from the sand. He beckoned and Micah followed him to the car.

"I was thinking," Arthur said, pausing in front of the car. The ocean framed him. With his sunglasses on, Micah realized that Arthur really did fit in; he was a true Californian. "I was thinking we could go to this ice cream place my brother and I always went to after we surfed here."

"Okay," Micah murmured. Unable to help himself, he stepped forward and hugged Arthur.

He could feel Arthur's surprise, but was relieved when he felt the point man's arms come around him, returning the embrace. They were almost the same height (Micah barely taller) and in that moment, Micah felt like they could've been brothers. Even though they looked so different and had completely opposite lives; they were bound by their understanding of the other, and of what the future held.

And the fact that today, Arthur had essentially approved Micah succeeding him.

"Thank you," Micah whispered. "For everything."

"You're welcome," Arthur replied softly. "Everything is going to be okay, Micah."

"I know." Micah looked at him as Arthur released him, taking a step back. Micah still gripped the older man's shoulders, and Arthur clasped the back of Micah's neck in a friendly brotherly gesture.

He jerked his head at the car. "Let's get ice cream."

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