a.n. Things really start heating up this chapter. Also, Arthur's name is 'Lautus' for the purpose of this story. Apparently, it means refined in Latin. I thought it suited him perfectly.

edit. I put this chapter up, went out and thought, wait... There's not nearly enough angst happening here. So I changed the ending a little. Much better, I think :)

disclaimer. Inception = not mine!

Changes

.No Choice.

I make a point of getting up before Arthur gets home. It's a struggle but it's a hell of a lot easier than having to explain my desperate wanting to spend my every waking moment asleep.

I drag myself to the kitchen table and plonk myself in front of this week's course readings. I flick over them – reading the headings and skimming the paragraphs – but I might as well not even bother. My heart's just not in it. My brain is a sieve. Every sentence, every word, just slips straight through.

Still, I persist, more to distract myself than to further my knowledge. It seems to help. Before I know it, it's three o'clock. Then four. Then five.

Six o'clock follows, and it strikes me that Arthur has still to return. The first inklings of worry begin to gnaw at my chest, and by seven o'clock they've mutated into full-on bites. This isn't like Arthur. Punctuality is a virtue to him; he's meticulous to the marrow. In all the time I've known him, he's never once been late.

I pick up my cell phone, hoping that perhaps I missed his call. No such luck. His last call to me is dated yesterday, a courtesy call to ask whether I needed a lift home from university. I hadn't, and there's been nothing since. I suppose I could call him but then again, there's really no point. He never has his cell phone on while on a job because in this line of work, one distraction can equal instant failure.

I call him anyway, and his phone rings out. Straight to message bank, no surprise there.

You've reached Arthur Lautus. Leave a message after the tone...

I've always believed the messages people leave on their answering machines suggest a lot about them. Arthur's is clear and to the point, laced with innate sophistication much like he is. It comforts me to hear his voice. It would take something big to pull one over on a man with a voice like that...

I've barely completed this thought when suddenly, I hear the unmistakable sound of someone sliding a key into the front door lock. I straighten and leap to my feet, just in time to see Arthur walk in. A breath I didn't know I was holding flutters from my chest. He's okay, he's...

Arthur turns to look at me, and the expression on his face is enough to inform me that everything is most certainly not okay. I open my mouth to ask what's wrong but before I know what's happening, he's baring down on me, grabbing my face in both his hands and kissing me until neither of us can breathe. I've never been kissed like this by him before, not by anyone. It's wild and out of control, and against his very nature. It's almost almost as if he feared he'd never see me again.

He crushes me to his chest as a small involuntary sound of distress escapes my throat. He kisses my head, and I grip the lapels of his suit in an effort to comfort him. I can't help but notice he doesn't smell like his usual cologne. He smells like sweat. Like blood.

"What the hell happened to you?" I ask.

He pulls back from me slightly, but doesn't quite release me. I look into his eyes. They're hollow in his head and there are creases around them that I've never seen before.

"The guy was a fed."

My mouth falls open a little at that. If what Arthur says is true, then he's lucky not to be having this conversation with me over a prison phone. "You're kidding me?"

"No." He steps back from me and walks towards the kitchen bench, taking the edge of it in both hands and gripping until his knuckles are white. "I went to the meeting place just as we arranged and before I knew it, two guys in suits came up to marching up to me, flashing badges. Told me I could either go with them or have my arse thrown in jail."

"Where did they take you?"

"No idea." He hangs his head, and I can't help but notice how he shudders a little at the memory. "They shoved me in the back of a car, put a bag over my head and drove for what felt like an hour. When we finally stopped, they marched me into the elevator of some building and took me down to what looked like a basement. Some four-star general called Mac was waiting for me there." He pauses and pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger as if to stave off a headache. When he finally speaks, his voice is almost a groan. "He knew about our operation. He knew everything."

"But how?"

"Jesus, Ariadne!" He swings around, suddenly sounding angry. Though I know he'd never hurt me, I can't help but jump a little. "This is the feds we're talking about!"

This isn't good. The business of extraction isn't exactly legal so despite the fact that Arthur's standing before me now, I don't imagine we got off scot-free. I brace myself for what's to come.

"They want me to do a job for them. They want you to help."

I press my lips together in an effort to keep my expression neutral. Though Arthur's tone suggests that the job is going to be far from pleasant, I can't help but feel a tingle of excitement in my belly at the thought of architecture work.

"What do we have to do?"

"They've captured a prisoner. Part of a terrorist cell, apparently. The feds want information out of him but he refuses to talk so they want us to perform an extraction."

"Don't they have their own people for that?"

"Of course, they do. But this guy's mind is so heavily fortified that apparently one of their own men died during their last attempt to get in..."

"What's the big deal about that? He would have just woken up, wouldn't he?"

Arthur doesn't reply to that, but I know from his expression that my assumption is wrong.

The colour drains from my face a little. This is beyond anything we've ever faced. As much as I love architecture, I'm not sure I'm ready to put my life on the line after what almost happened last time. I'm not sure that I'll ever be ready. "Can't we just run? Go somewhere far away where they can't find us?"

Arthur squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. He looks scared and the sight alone is enough to make the bottom fall out of my stomach. "We can't hide from these people. If we don't go back, they're going to drag us back. And it won't be pretty..."

"Are we even prepared to do this? I mean, you're good at extraction, you're getting better, but Cobb was always the one..."

"Don't say that, Ariande! Don't even think it!" His voice rises an octave as he says this, as if phoning the man who was once his best friend for help is the worst possible thing he can think of.

My heart breaks a little. "But Arthur..."

"I said, don't. We've got a week, we can work something out."

I don't believe it.

I don't think he does, either.

a.n. Gasp! Poor Arthur and Ariadne! What are they going to do? Please review!