Okay! So, sorry about the last chapter. Nothing really get resolved in this one, but you do find out a lot. Hope you enjoy!

Thanks to all my reviewers so far, and welcome to any new readers!

I seriously can't thank VergOfTowels enough. A wonderful and amazing author for this fandom herself, she has proved to be am AMAZING help to me and an invaluable source of inspiration and support. All of her stuff is wonderful, so go read them when you're done here!

November 11, 2013: 11:20 am, three miles outside Parkdale, Colorado

No one spoke.

Ariadne kept her hand over her mouth and her eyes averted out the window, trying to keep her sobs as quiet as she could, because every time one slipped out, she saw Eames's shoulders tense a little more in the rearview mirror.

Nash was driving, because he was the least emotional. Ariadne was worried, because Eames hadn't even protested when the other man had crossed to the driver's side. He'd just silently gotten into the back seat and kept his head down ever since.

Just to have something to do to keep her from going mad with grief, Ariadne shifted and popped open the glove compartment, its small click the only sound that had been heard for close to an hour now. She reached in, lifting out the stacks of papers in folders, neatly paperclipped and labeled with violently green sticky notes that, belatedly, she realized were in the shape of an E.

Browsing through them, from Danielson, Frances April—Oregon to Rafiq, Amil Hajra—Morocco, she found something that surprised—and concerned—her.

Spellman, Ariadne Marie—Pennsylvania.

"He was keeping tabs on me?" she muttered quietly, incredulous. She flipped through the papers, shocked breathless by the simple amount of information that was listed. Her home address, her work place, her school, her family and her boyfriend…

"Eames, why was Arthur researching me? This is a serious and creepy invasion of my privacy…" Her eyes bored into him from the mirror, but Eames never answered, never even looked up. Finally, Nash glanced over at her, eyes soft and sympathetic with the knowledge that she was just trying to find a distraction from everything that had happened.

"Arthur's a point man, that's why. He wasn't doing it to be invasive."

"A…point man? Like in the military? But I don't understand. What would being the first into a situation have to do with all of this?" Ariadne was confused and still a little out of her depth. It was still hard for her to wrap her head around the fact that Arthur—Arthur, all smiles, in his slacks and school uniform vest, playing in the sandbox with her, tugging on her pigtails and smearing wet sand onto her nose—had turned out to be a criminal. And a world-class one at that.

"Yeah, kind of like that, I guess. It was Arthur's job to go over all the plans before we used them, to check them for flaws. And sometimes, depending on how hands-on the job was, Arthur would always be the first into the situation, to test the waters. Aside from handling computers, Arthur was in charge of researching not only the people or businesses we were going to hit, but the team members as well. For safety and security for him and his close associates, mostly."

Nash smiled, a little sadly.

"The man lived and breathed information. And after everything, when the job was over, he was also in charge of getting us all out alive. If any cover ups had to be done, Arthur was your man. You make a mistake, get lost? Arthur can help you, so long as he trusts you. I only worked with him as a peripheral on one or two jobs, but I bet he has a file on me stashed away somewhere." He tried to grin at Ariadne, but it came off as more of a nervous grimace as he craned his neck to look into the glove compartment.

"That still doesn't really explain why he was checking into my—oh, God. That's my social security number. And that's my credit card number, and my…okay, I'm burning these. It's in my best interest."

Nash laughed, but it sounded a little forced. "I'm one hundred percent sure that Arthur has a neat little file on everyone he knows. It's a guarantee of protection. If you know everything about everyone, he told me once, then you have no fear of surprises." He twitched again, almost like the very thought of the folder of his secrets was stabbing him with a needle. "You know, could you check if it's in there? I mean, he's not going to need it anymore, right?"

Ariadne narrowed her eyes at him. "That's not true. He's coming back, Nash. He is. But…" she hesitated for a moment, torn, before resolutely closing the file. "I still think it's unnecessary. Arthur and I've known each other since we were kids. There's no reason for him to be running background checks on me—"

"My younger brother turned me in to the police," Nash said.

"What? Why? That's horrible!"

"It's the business," Nash sighed grimly. "Be wary of anyone and everyone, because everyone is looking for something to own you with, be it your name, your family—hell, you can't even trust them. Arthur, that son-of-a—" he glanced back at Eames quickly in the rearview mirror and swallowed when he saw the man's fists clenching. "Arthur knew that, so he found out everything he could about everyone he knew. He was the best at digging out things I tried to keep—" This time, he shot a look at Ariadne and wet his lips nervously. "Things people tried to keep hidden. And he used it as blackmail, to get what he wanted. He used it to keep people in line."

Ariadne looked at Nash's hands, white-knuckled on the steering wheel, and then back at Eames, who sat staring blankly out the window. His shoulders stiffened every time he caught sight of an infected, his teeth clenching until Ariadne could see a muscle jumping in his jaw.

Finally, she sighed, sadly. "I wonder what would make him choose this life." She reached in and pulled out another handful of files, leafing through them until she found the one labeled Archer, Nash Robinson—California.

"Ah, here it—"

Suddenly, Nash flung himself to the side as best as he could, grabbing wildly for the folder. With only one hand on the wheel controlling it, the car began to swerve dizzyingly back and forth down the road, narrowly missing colliding with an SUV.

"Nash! Fuck, Nash, hands on the wheel!" Ariadne screamed, but the man paid her no attention, feverishly straining to finally get his hands on—

The car fish-tailed, sending most of the contents of the glove compartment spilling to the floor, then ran off the road and into a ditch, where it stopped, shooting all of them forward against their seatbelts.

Nash, now trying to pull the file out of Ariadne's terror-tight grip, was unprepared for when Eames launched himself forward and tore the papers away from both of them, dropping the folder onto the seat next to him.

"Nash, if you ever pull something like that again, I'm going to break both of your legs, dump you by the side of the road, and drive away." Eames's voice was low and dangerous, and Nash stopped trying to get to the file, eyes going wide with fear. "Ariadne? You're going to put whatever it is that you took out of there back and leave it the fuck alone. Arthur just finished organizing everything, and you've gone and cocked it all up again. Put it back."

Ariadne just stared at him a moment, muddled brain frantically trying to process what was going on. Her chest ached from the whiplash and her body was still stiff with shock from the crazy ride.

There was a moment of silence before Eames barked, "Now!" and Ariadne immediately scrambled to get her seatbelt off so she could reach down and pick up the scattered files as Nash started the car.

Eames turned to look back out the window.

-o-

It took half an hour for Ariadne to get all of the papers back into the correct folders (or as correct as she thought them to be) and reverse alphabetize them, like they had been. She glanced down to make sure she hadn't missed any, when a small, paper pouch caught her eye from where it sat innocently on the floor by the center console.

"What's this?" she muttered to herself, leaning to pick it up. Upon closer inspection, it proved to be a small, red die in a napkin from a casino in Monte Carlo. She started to tip the die out onto her palm.

"Don't."

It was the first thing Eames had said since the file incident. Immediately, Ariadne stopped what she was doing and turned her eyes to Eames, confused.

"Huh?"

"I said don't do that. Just put it back in the glove compartment." His eyes were cold and hard when they met hers in the mirror. "Now, Ariadne."

"O-okay." Still a bit frightened of him, she did as she was told, reluctantly putting it away. "What's so special about it, anyway? It just looked like an ordinary die to me…"

"Don't touch it. No one but Arthur is allowed to touch it." Eames had directed his gaze back out the window, but not before Ariadne had seen the pain flash in his eyes.

"Eames, do you…do you want to talk? We can talk about Arthur, if you want. Sometimes that helps."

"It won't, Ariadne, because talking about the fond memories you have with a person is something you do when they're dead. Arthur is not dead."

Nash scoffed, quietly, before he found himself pinned to the dashboard by Eames's glare. He fell silent, paling, as Eames looked over at Ariadne. "He's isn't dead, Ari. Therefore, it isn't necessary."

Ariadne sighed, but there was a note of steel in Eames's voice that told her not to push it. However, her curiosity was only held at bay for as long as Eames was looking at her. As soon as he turned back to the scenery, she found her hand wandering back into the glove compartment and to the small paper-cloth pouch.

She took it out again and examined it more closely. She wanted to know what about this die was so special. She wanted to know anything she could about Arthur, about the parts of his life that he'd hidden away so carefully and meticulously. She wanted to know how Nash had met Arthur, where and when and why. She wanted to know when Eames had first known he'd fallen for Arthur, and what about him he liked the best.

She and Arthur had been very close. They'd been the kind of friends that could tell each other anything, or so she'd thought. Arthur wasn't around to hide things anymore, but he wasn't around to give her any answers, either.

"Ariadne, I said put that back."

The biting tone shocked her, and once again she found herself staring into the reflection of Eames's angry eyes. His mouth was set in a hard slash, unforgiving.

"What's so special about it?" she asked again. "Come on, Eames, please. Just tell me. I never knew anything about this part of Arthur. Nothing, do you understand? When he showed up covered in blood and knew you, the criminal who saved my life, it was like meeting a completely different person."

She cut herself off, blinking back the new tears that had risen in to fill the space left by the ones she'd only just gotten over.

"Has that ever happened to you? Have you ever thought you knew someone only to have the rug pulled out from underneath you at the worst possible moment? I never got a chance to ask him about any of this. About his family, and whether they were okay or not. Hell, I don't even know who Cobb is, and yet Arthur was willing to drive all the way across the fucking country into a war zone to find him? I used to think he told me everything. But hell, I never knew about you either."

"There was never anything for him to tell, about me," Eames said, so softly that it was almost lost in the hum of the car's tires over the highway. "Things didn't work out, not even that messily, just sort of a mutual, sudden break of contact. No screaming, no fighting—not really. Just that once. We didn't even break up face to face. It was in a letter."

He sighed. "Are you happy now?"

"No," Ariadne said, "I'm sorry." She didn't continue for a long minute, choosing her next words carefully. "Will you tell me about him? Please?"

Eames didn't say anything, and when she looked in the mirror, he was staring out the window again.

Sighing and admitting defeat, Ariadne put the die back once more and leaned into the warmth of her seat, flipping through the papers again and trying to reconcile the man they whispered of with the man she knew as Nash drove silently beside her.

"It's lucky."

She stilled and looked up again. "What?"

"The die. It's lucky." Eames was barely speaking louder than a murmur, and she strained to hear the words that followed. "He got it in Monte Carlo. We were there, two or so years back."

"Lucky?" Ariadne wondered, thoughts slipping to the dimpled red surfaces, the distinctive feel of a weighted side even through the napkin. "Because it's loaded?"

"No. It's saved his life a few times. But he won't let anyone else touch it, because Mal—" For a second, he stopped, mouth pressing into a thin, pained line. Then he shook his head and sighed. "Because Mal said that that would rub the magic away."

"I never figured Arthur for one who would believe in luck or magic," Ariadne thought aloud softly. "What do you mean, 'it's saved his life'?"

"Once, he avoided being shot in the chest because he dropped it and bent down to pick it up. Another time, he was delayed from going into a booby-trapped room because he'd forgotten it on the table. Just little things like that, but you learn to take blessings in this kind of life. Everyone needs a little luck now and then."

Ariadne stayed quiet for a long time, thinking about that.

Finally, she asked, "And do you have a piece of luck, Eames?"

"I do," he answered, eyes fixed on the ever-shifting landscape passing the car, thoughts turned inward, fixed on a silver lighter. He held it in his mind's eye, gaze roving over all the small nicks and indents; every imperfection that made it what is was. "I'm always losing it. I'll leave it in a hotel room in Tibet, and the next thing I know, I'm looking at it in the stall of a merchant in Morocco. Or in the hand of a man from Long Island, or a woman from Jamaica. It always finds its way back to me, bringing tales I've never heard and people I may never have gotten to talk to otherwise."

"And that's lucky?" the girl asked, feeling like she was on the edge of something important.

"No. That was never what was lucky about it. It could tell me all the stories in the world and keep the company of as many strangers as it pleased and that would never make it lucky," Eames answered, sounding far away, as if he were still back in all those back-alley bars, those marketplaces and high-end restaurants.

He pictured it, the flash of silver disappearing into Arthur's hand back in that room, imagined Arthur's slim fingers running over the green dragon, the indents and scratches, the inscription on the inside of the lid before dropping it into a pocket, somewhere. "But the last time I lost it, in Prussia, it—"

For a long minute, he didn't—couldn't?—go on.

"The last time I lost it, it brought Arthur back with it. If that isn't magic, I don't know what is."

-ooo-

1:00 pm, Villa Grove, Colorado

Ring, ring, ring…

"Whose phone is that?" Ariadne asked in the shards of the silence that were left after the shrill electric ring tone. "Nash?

"Not mine," the man replied. "No one on my contacts list is set to standard ring. Eames?"

Ring, ring…

"It's Arthur's," the conman replied, pulling it out of his pocket. The screen read Yusuf, and Eames pressed the confirm call button, raising it to his ear. "'Ello?"

"Eames? Why the hell do you have Arthur's phone? Have you guys split up? For God's sake, are you all all right?" Yusuf sounded worried and confused, and Eames spent a minute trying to calm him down to get the straight story out of him.

"What's happened, Yusuf? Are you all right?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm all right. A man and his family showed up, and I'm guessing they're the Cobbs, right? They have an infected woman with them, Eames. You didn't tell me that."

"It wasn't important. Just—just put her in a bedroom and lock the door or something," Eames said, sounding pained. "What else has happened? Talk to me, Yusuf."

"We—we got a call from Arthur."

Eames almost dropped the phone. He must have made some kind of noise, because suddenly Ariadne was turned around in her seat, watching him intently, mouthing, "What is it?"

"I need to talk to Ariadne, or Nash, or someone else, Eames. The infected don't really travel in groups, and I need to make sure you guys haven't been..."

Wordlessly, Eames handed the phone to Ariadne, who talked for a few minutes and then passed the phone to Nash.

When Nash gave it back to Eames, the conman demanded, "When Arthur called you, what did he say?" He ignored Ariadne's eyes going wide and Nash's accidental swerve, focusing instead on Yusuf's rather unsteady voice on the other end of the line.

"He said you had gotten infected and attacked him, but he'd gotten away unharmed. He said you took his phone, though." Yusuf sighed heavily. "Goddammit, does that mean that he's been—"

"Yes," Eames answered shortly. "Let me talk to Cobb, would you? He and I have some things to talk about, I guess."

"Y-yeah. Damn. But wait, did you get the formula?"

"Yes, we did. Arthur made sure that we did. Is there anything you're running low on in your lab? When you see the formula, we'll pick you up anything you need, but, for now?"

"Hydrogen peroxide. Lots of it. It should be available at the nearest drugstore."

"Nash," Eames said, pulling the phone away from his ear a little. "We need to stop at the drugstore and clean out their supplies of hydrogen peroxide."

Nash nodded, switching lanes to take the turn that would lead them to Villa Grove's pharmacy.

"But I think that's about it. Here's Cobb."

Eames waited until the bursts of static from Yusuf's phone switching hands had abated to take a breath and speak.

"Cobb? It's Eames. I—I'm sorry." He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the fact that Ariadne and Nash had started talking quietly so they could pretend they didn't hear his voice break. "I lost him."

An eternity passed in silence.

Finally, "Eames, tell me one thing. Just one thing."

"Anything," the conman replied without hesitation. He would tell Cobb anything the man wanted to know, and honestly. He remembered, all those millions of years ago, when Cobb had confronted him at the breakfast table after a job and made him swear that he would never let anything happen to Arthur.

And meaning every word, Eames had.

"You know it's not your fault, right?"

"What?" Eames asked, momentarily stunned. "Cobb—"

"No, Eames. Tell me you know that. I've spent that last hour talking to Yusuf, and he told me that Arthur was the one who decided to go to the headquarters. And when the zombies showed up, did he try to go back?"

"No," Eames said, brow wrinkling slightly as he listened to the thief, "but Cobb—"

"And did you push him into the zombie that bit him? Did you leave him to get eaten?"

"You listen to me, you bloody bastard," Eames growled. "I know you never fucking liked me, but for you to suggest that I would ever do something like that to Arthur—"

"Then how on Earth could it possibly be your fault?"

Eames paused. Then he closed his eyes and shook his head. "No, Cobb. I promised that I would look after him, never let anything bad happen to him. I promised you, but more importantly, I promised myself. There is nothing you can say."

"I know you and I have never really been the closest of friends, Eames, but do me one favor, okay?" Cobb waited for Eames to agree, and finally the conman did. "I need you to stop beating yourself up over this. There was nothing you could have done. The only one responsible for Arthur's life is Arthur, and I need to you try to remember that."

Eames sighed and leaned back in his seat and felt the closest he'd ever been to crying since that time Arthur had nearly died in Bangladesh. His throat was tight, and for some reason he was finding it difficult to breathe.

"I know it's hard. God, I know it's hard. But you can't change it. We need to focus on getting a cure made and then finding Arthur."

"I'll try to keep that in mind, thank you, Cobb," Eames said, trying to sound like he always did: mocking, like he wasn't taking the world at all seriously. He wasn't sure if he succeeded. "But we don't have to worry about finding Arthur. He'll come to us."

"Oh? And why is that?" the thief asked, joining Eames's attempt to pretend the world was normal, if just for a moment.

"Luck."

-ooo-

2:00 pm, Bonanza, Colorado

Nash got out of the driver's seat and tossed the keys to Ariadne. Eames followed them to the door of the house, sparing a look at the silver van parked a little ways in front of theirs and trying not to wonder about the dents in it that he was sure hadn't been there the last time he'd seen Cobb.

The kids tackled him the minute he stepped inside.

"Mr. Eames! Mr. Eames! You're all right! See, James? I told you there was nothing in the world that could get Mr. Eames!"

"Nuh-uh¬, Phillipa! I told you! Dad, tell her that I told her!"

"Kids—" Cobb began helplessly, but Eames cut him off by picking both of them up and swinging them around. Their fight was ended in peals of happy laughter that continued for a few beautiful seconds after Eames put them down.

"Well, aren't you two a sight for sore eyes? Just look at you! You're hair's really pretty, Phillipa. And is it just me or have you grown taller, James?"

The children beamed at him, proud in the way only young children can be. Still smiling, they returned to their grandmother's side at her beckon to give Eames and Cobb some space.

For a moment, they just looked at each other.

Then, Cobb stepped forward and they embraced; arms warm around each other under the weight of their sorrow. After a moment, Eames retreated a few steps and ran a critical eye over Cobb. He looked awful, quite frankly, but Eames supposed that that wasn't any surprise. He'd lost his wife and his closest friend to this hell.

"Um, sorry to interrupt, but are you Cobb?"

Ariadne inched a few paces forward, looking uncertain. Nervously, she swept her hair behind her ear before clasping her hands behind her back. Cobb turned to look at her, his eyes questioning.

"Yes, I am. Who are you?"

"I'm Ariadne Spellman. Arthur's friend." She watched Cobb's face pinch momentarily in pain before he smiled at her and extended his hand.

"Dominic Cobb. Nice to meet you."

She shook it firmly, a small smile finding its way onto her face as well. "Yeah, you too. I just wish it had been under better circumstances."

Cobb nodded, letting go of her hand as Eames shifted his weight impatiently. "Yusuf's downstairs, and Mal…she's at the end of the hallway, if you want to see her."

"Thanks," Eames said, and disappeared down the hall.

"Mal?" Ariadne asked after a few minutes of silence. The question snapped Cobb out of his reverie and brought his attention back to the situation at hand.

"My wife. She…got the vaccine." He didn't look at her. Didn't want to see the pity.

"I'm sorry," she said, honestly. "I really am. But she'll be all right. Yusuf will make the cure, and everything will go back to normal." Her smile was small but bright, and Cobb found himself shaking his head and smiling back.

"Where did Arthur pick you up? You're way too optimistic to be in our line of work."

"I'm not. I'm just a college girl from Philly." She reached over and grabbed Arthur's cell from off the counter where Eames had put it. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to call my boyfriend."

Leaving Cobb with a nod, she stepped into another room and shakily dialed the number she knew so well.

Ring, ring, ring…

Ring, ring—

"Moshi moshi?"

"Uh—huh?" Ariadne stuttered out intelligently. "Mr…Saito? Um, can I talk to Rob, please?"

"Oh! You must be Miss Ariadne. Please wait one moment; I will get Robert for you."

"Yeah, thanks," she murmured, still kind of reeling with confusion. Why was Saito answering her boyfriend's phone? Had something happened?

…And first names?

"Ari? Is that you?" Robert Fischer's concerned voice was no less soothing from 2000 miles away than it was in person, and she found herself desperately wishing he were there with her.

"Hey, Rob. How are you? Everything okay?" The relief in her voice was almost tangible. "Why was Saito answering your phone?"

"I was busy, so Takumi said he'd grab it." Fischer shifted the phone to his other ear, and Ariadne could hear the sound of a gun's slide slipping back into place. "It's…my father didn't make it."

"Oh my God. I'm so sorry, Rob," she gasped, horrified. "How are you holding up? You didn't have to—"

"No, thankfully. He got attacked, and he…died before the virus could take hold. Since then, Takumi and I have been holding our own here in New York. The city's quarantined, but there really isn't anyone left to enforce it. There used to be tanks at the edges of the city, and a fence, but the guards are gone. So far, though, no one's been brave enough to try it."

"Well, don't you and Saito be the first," Ariadne commanded. "I'm serious. I don't want you two to be shot by tanks after getting this far."

"Don't worry Ari, we'll be careful. Where are you?"

"Colorado. I came here with Arthur—you remember Arthur, right? The one who runs the weapons shop?—his ex, and an acquaintance of theirs we picked up at the side of the road. We met up with a scientist named Yusuf, and another family who Arthur's friends with. It's a really small town, so we're pretty safe." She tried but couldn't hold back her grin. "We're going to make a cure, Rob. An honest-to-motherfucking-God cure. Can you believe it?"

"That's amazing, Ari. That's wonderful."

She could hear the smile in his voice.

"You have no idea how relieved I am to know that you're safe." He paused, and Ariadne could see the incoming but. from a mile away. "But Ariadne, you shouldn't have to deal with this on your own. I'm going to find some way to come out and get you, all right? Even if I have to drive there, I'll come find you."

Ariadne sighed. "Rob, I can handle myself. I've made it this far, haven't I? I'm still alive! I'm still healthy! I don't need you to rush out here and protect me. I'll be fine."

"No, Ari, this is important. I'm not just going to leave you there with men I don't know. You're not safe, no matter how much you think you are. You're amazing, Ariadne, but you're just a college kid."

"Don't you dare try to pull that chauvinistic crap with me, Fischer. You have no idea what I'm capable of! I broke into a government office! I—" she broke off, her throat closing up for a second. "Do you have any idea how many people I've killed?"

Fischer was about to say something back, but he was interrupted by a quiet voice in the background. Ariadne could hear him press the phone to his shoulder, barely making out the sharp bite of his voice past the muffling of the fabric. Eventually he seemed like he was calming down. When he spoke again, he sounded a little surprised.

"Listen, Takumi says his pilot is still alive, and if you wanted, we could come and get you from Colorado. You and your friends, and anyone else who's there. I know you can look after yourself, Ari. I just—I want to help. I should help." Fischer sighed. "I don't know if anywhere's safe, but I've heard that it's not as bad in Europe."

And Ariadne smiled for him, for the attempt he was making even though he couldn't see it.

"I can't Rob," she said gently, patiently. "That sounds great, but I can't. I have to stay here until the cure's finished. Arthur—" For a second, her words caught in her throat. "Arthur got infected. We had to leave him behind. But I know Eames won't leave without him, and neither will Cobb."

"And if I know you, you aren't leaving either. Ari, Arthur owned a weapons shop for Christ's sake, and he still got infected. I really think you should come to new York."

"Rob, are you really trying to tell me that there aren't more zombies in New York than there are in a fourteen-person populated town? Seriously?"

Fischer sighed, sounding impatient but fond. "Point. So I can't change your mind?" Her silence was really all the answer he needed. Reluctantly, he finally bent in the face of her resolve. "Fine. When you're ready, we'll come get you." He stopped again, and Ariadne could hear a muffled voice in the background. When he came back, she could close her eyes and see his grin.

"Takumi says that his company's lab facilities are open for your friend who's working on the cure."

Her own smile widened. "Really? Oh my God! That's—that's fantastic! Thanks so much, Rob. And tell, um…Mr. Saito that we're so grateful. I'll tell him, and I'll call back if he decides to take you up on it."

"Great. I think he should, Ari. The technology will be undoubtedly better at Takumi's labs. The cure could be that much closer. And besides, then I could keep my eye on—"

"Rob, if you say 'keep an eye on you,' I swear I will go to New York just to punch you. Honest to God, I can keep an eye on myself!" Irritated, she paused to take a breath and ran a hand through her hair. "But—" she shot a look over her shoulder to see if anyone was listening, but no one was. "If you do end up coming out here to get us, be careful. Cobb's wife is infected, and he brought her with him. She's tied up in one of the bedrooms."

Fischer was silent for a minute, thinking. Finally, "I can't blame the guy. If you were infected, I would never leave you."

"Oh, Rob" Ariadne pressed a hand to her eyes to stop the tears she could feel prickling at the back of her eyes. "You know I love you, right? And I miss you?"

"And I love you, Ari. I'm sorry about Arthur. Call me back whenever, and I promise I will answer. Always. Stay safe, Ariadne."

"You, too, Rob. And tell Saito I say thanks again, for everything."

And after another three or four goodbyes, she hung up and let the phone fall to her side.

-ooo-

"Mal?"

The room was still as he pushed the door open. The lights were off, but the meager light from the sunset was streaming in through the windows, catching on the dust in the air and giving everything a kind of ethereal glow.

Mal was sitting in a chair by the window. Her head snapped up when his eyes landed on her.

"Eames," she acknowledged, eyes flicking back to the window as if disinterested in him. "How nice of you to visit me in my captivity."

"Mal," Eames began, but found he couldn't continue. She looked…healthy. There was no gray tinge to her skin, no fevered glaze to her eyes… She looked normal.

"How are my children? Dom won't let me see them." She trailed off, low and sad, and Eames found himself wanting to go to her, to comfort her. He steeled himself from those emotions, though. If Cobb said she was infected…

She caught the look in his eye and dropped all pretenses, tipping her head back to gaze at him coldly.

"Cher," she cooed, grin laced with malice, "Eames, cher, you look so sad. What's the matter? Certainly a little sickness isn't enough to get you down?"

"Mal," he said again, more firmly this time. "Stop. Please."

"Or what, you'll shoot me? Dom may be useless, but even he won't allow that. He won't let you stop feeding me, either. Il n'y a rien you can do to threaten me, mon cher. Rien. I am alone, and I will do as I please." She laughed, then, her head thrown back and eyes shining.

Suddenly, she stopped, just staring at him from the chair with the blank look of the zombies on the stairwell.

And that's when he knew; that thing on the chair before him was not Mal. Had been, once—and maybe would be again—but no longer. Not now. Fighting the urge to vomit, he began to edge toward the door, reluctant to even show her his back.

Just as he reached the doorway, her gaze snapped up to him again, and she smiled. There was nothing pleasant about it; it was more a baring of her teeth than anything else. Her eyes, dancing with amusement, glinted wickedly in the room's half light. Like she knew.

She opened her mouth.

"Oh, and how is cher Arthur?"

He slammed the door behind him.

So, do we like Mal? How's her first appearance? I hope this chapter was enjoyable, and I'll see you next week!