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Chapter 9- Here We Go Round The Prickly Pear

Ariadne had just wanted a sip of soup. It was the only way she could think of even beginning to make it up to Arthur. Eating the soup he took time to make and bring to her would show appreciation, a sign of life, show that she would start cooperating and bettering herself. The first spoonful was delightful, although the awakening of her taste buds and the drip of it gliding down her throat and resting on a stomach that's been empty for so long was vexatious. It was immediately clear Ariadne wouldn't be able to stomach the whole bowl but she thought she could manage enough to make a visible dent to Arthur. The fourth spoonful was traveling in when it happened. A flashback. All in the matter of a minute. Drops of the creamy tomato fell on her t-shirt and began to look like drops of blood. Suddenly, the bowl in front of her was blood. Confused and petrified, she shrieked and squirmed causing the bowl to topple over on her and staining her peach sheets and pajamas with blood. The ominous feelings inside her clouded her judgment and it seemed that blood clouded her eyes. She tried to crawl away from the bowl off the side of the bed and ended up diving into the nightstand. It jammed into her as it collided with the ground and force threw her on top of it. The lamp smashing beneath her. Suddenly the nightstand was Browning and she was frantically trying to get away from it, getting tangled in the wires of the alarm clock and phone. She cried in fear as she rolled around only making the wires wrap around her neck and arms and waist tighter, kicking the bed in last ditch efforts to get rid of these torturers. The jostling of the bed made the bowl roll over and shatter on the ground. Tomato soup going everywhere. Her mind telling her it was James' blood and it was all over and no matter how she writhed she couldn't get out of his puddle of blood, her clothes and hair now soaked in it. She started screaming, "Get off me! Get off of me!" Her cheek beginning to ache and the feeling that she was bleeding as well settling into her. That's when the room morphed into the warehouse they were held hostage.

And that's when Arthur blasted through the door, hand on his gun. He was expecting someone to be in there with her, hurting her. Three thoughts registered in his mind: Tangled in wires. Glass everywhere. Red substance all over her. His mind hurtled to the conclusion that she was bleeding. He'd left the spoon…could someone stab themselves with a spoon? No. Glass was everywhere. It was the glass. He made haste to get to her, Ariadne still trapped in that alternate universe. He reached out to untangle the wires and she swatted at him, "Get away!"

He ignored her as his hands worked to untangle her despite her protests, "Where are you hurt? Where is the blood from, Ariadne?"

She was freed of the "ropes." Arthur extended his arm to assess the cut on her cheek and she pushed him off, not in her right mind. "You're scaring me, Arthur! Get away!"

"I'm just—" He reached out again.

"NO!" She stood, tripping over herself to press against the bed and get as far away from him as possible. "Where's Eames? I want Eames!"

The Point Man diligently took a step towards her, " NO! I WANT EAMES!"

After giving a shifty glance between Arthur and the bathroom, she made a run for it. Only made it two steps before pieces of the broken bowl pierced her foot. She bent over and howled.

"Just let me carry you over the glass…" He coaxed.

She pushed herself to make it around and lock herself in the bathroom. Wailing for Eames to come save her and the kids.

xxxxxx

He hadn't knocked once before the door swung open and he was ushered in.

"You rang?" Eames drawled out.

Arthur had called him, not knowing what else to do and wanting to give Ariadne whatever she wanted, whatever she asked for. All he told Eames was that he needed him to come over ASAP and that it involved Ariadne. The Architect had long quieted but was still locked in the bathroom. Arthur had however cleaned up the aftermath. In his usual swaggering manner he strolled in, threw his jacket on the couch and bumped something with his foot.

"Arthur, no need to buy me presents now, Love." He picked it up and raised his eyebrows tauntingly.

"Eames. Put that down." His eyes steely.

"Oh, is it for Dear Ariadne? I hope it's not lingerie…is it?"

Arthur stepped forward to snatch it out of The Forger's hands glaring at him but Eames evaded and raised the box above his head. "Let's have a little peek, eh?" He undid the ribbon—

"Eames!"

Opened the lid, "What the hell is this shriveled thing? Are you demented? It looks like a-"

"Baby?"

Eames laid the box on the counter and closed the lid. His entire aura changing to genuine condolence, "Oh…Arthur. I didn't—I'm truly sorry for your loss. I feel despicable."

"You should." Arthur said with no inflection of his voice but while tying the red ribbon carefully back around the box.

"When?"

"About two weeks ago." The Point Man hid his emotions well. Keeping his tone level.

Eames squinted, "And you've kept it?"

"I thought we'd need closure. I wanted us to bury him together but Ariadne—"

Eames leaned on the counter with his fists, "Ariadne. She's not taking it well, is she?"

Arthur exhaled heavily. "She's—Eames…She won't even look at me. She screams for me to get away if I even come near her. She doesn't want me in our room…"

"Ouch."

"She has nightmares and hallucinations and she won't let me help. She won't eat, she just sits in bed and stares at the wall all day…Eames, she's been sleepwalking. Pulling out butcher knives and scissors to cut the baby out. Thinking she can save it…I've had to throw away everything sharp in the house for fear of waking up to find her bleeding to death." His voice broke at last. His gruff tone tattle-tailing how big a toll it's had on him.

Eames rubbed his forehead. "She won't ask for me. No matter what I do, how much space I give her, how much I beg and plead. But she asks for you and that's the most she's done. She reaches for you…" Arthur's eyes started to shine with water uncharacteristically, "Try to get her talking. Please, I can't handle this. I can't lose Ariadne."

He pulled at his hair.

Eames patted his back and nodded sympathetically, "She upstairs?"

The Point Man just gravely answered, "Bathroom," and Eames went looking for the troubled Architect.

xxxxxx

He rapped softly.

"Go away, Arthur."

"It's Eames, Darling."

A brief pause before her face was revealed behind the door. Cautiously the forger asked, "Why don't you come out here and let's have a talk?"

Without saying a word she walked back to her bed, noticing the cleanliness and crisp scent of the new sheets. She hopped on, leaned back and waited for Eames to initiate. Instead the man sat on the edge of the bed and stared at her intently, taking in her disheveled appearance. Eyes sunken in, thinner than before, paler. Her clothes stained with the same soup that dried and coated her hair. Feeling judged and wanting to turn his attention to other matters Ariadne started the conversation. "Did Arthur—"

Eames met her eyes vigilantly and she started over, "Did Arthur tell you about the…"

She couldn't say 'baby.' The man understood and simply hummed his response. Ariadne shielded her eyes with her arms and prepared to open up fully to someone once and for all. "I'm embarrassed."

"Why on earth?"

"Because…my being pregnant was such big deal. To everyone. You, Cobb, Miles, Yusuf…everyone was so supportive. And Arthur was beyond enthusiastic. Everything we did or talked about for months was the—was me being pregnant and what it would be like. He keeps the baby in a box downstairs like a keepsake… I let him down…" She started tearing and her real feelings poured out, "I wasn't strong enough. I couldn't handle enough." Her hands curled into fists, "My stupid body couldn't handle it." Then Ariadne started pounding her stomach frustratingly, "My stupid body killed the baby!"

"Ariadne—" He moved to hold her fists away from herself.

Her eyes held too much anguish for him to bare, "I hate my body…Why should I nourish it? Why give it what it needs? Why protect it when it didn't protect my baby?"

"It's not your fault," He said slowly and taut, "You didn't put yourself in that strenuous position."

"I still hate myself…" She relaxed her body and he released her wrists. Her now free hands rubbing circles on her temples. "James and Philippa should be alive. Not me. If I hadn't been selfish and pursued my relationship with Arthur…"

Gently, Eames interrupted, "Your relationship with Arthur isn't what caused Fischer to act so devilishly. Your relationship with Arthur didn't make Fischer want revenge, Dom's Inception did. It would've been between Dom and his kids anyways. Dom would've died anyway. And it's hard to say whether the kids getting caught in the crossfire could've been avoided. You didn't willfully kill them."

"They were sweet kids…" She hiccupped.

"I know, it's a shame. I'm going to get us some water, ok? "

She shook her head, "No, don't go."

The forger promised as he headed for the door, "I'll be right back."

"Wait, don't leave!"

xxxxxx

"Auntie Ari! Auntie Ari, don't leave me!"

xxxxxx

Eames saw it. He saw the change in her eyes. They way her pupils darkened and suddenly she was looking at phantom people. "Arthur, go back! James, don't! Arthur, Stop!"

Eames rushed back and took her head in his hands, "Ariadne, look at me."

"Arthur, let me go! Monster!"

"Look me in the eye."

"Eames?"

"Yes. It's me. Now look around and tell me where you are, what do you see?"

Her eyes searched above and behind him, "We're in the warehouse! I—James!" She lunged over Eames but he held her back.

"No. What do you see with your eyes? What color are the walls?"

Ariadne's eyebrows furrowed and she covered her ears with her hands and began rocking. She heard a loud shrilling sound and couldn't get rid of it no matter how hard she pressed her hands against her ears. Her vision was blurring. She shut her eyes tight and continued rocking and screaming. She felt Eames pry her hands off and force her to look at him. "Ariadne, come on, do this for me. What color are the walls?"

She shook her head to try and physically rid herself of the phantom chaos and concentrated hard on the wall behind Eames, "Peach?"

He nodded, "Good. Where are you sitting?"

Her head turned sharply to the right like someone had called her name. Distractedly she answered, "The floor. The concrete floor…Arthur, go back, please! Arthur! ARTHUR!" Swiftly the Architect's fingers flew up to her shoulder and began pinching hard while she screwed her eyes shut. Gasping with the pain of her fingernails.

"Stop!" Eames shouted and managed to make her stop pinching. "No. No concrete floor here. Feel it. Feel where you are." He took one of her hands and pushed it on the bed.

Ariadne looked at him, bewildered how could a concrete floor feel so, "It's soft? Am I dreaming?"

"No. Take your totem, hold it and listen carefully."

She did as told and bit her lip, looking him in the eye. Occasionally, darting her eyes to the people running around behind him. "Concrete floors aren't soft. But beds are, aren't they darling? Look and tell me if we're on a bed."

The Architect obeyed and nodded confusingly, suddenly appearing on a bed in the middle of the warehouse. She flinched at the sound of a gunshot. Ariadne's hand moved to meet her shoulder but Eames caught before it did.

"Good. They didn't have beds in the warehouse. And," he quickly walked across the room and retrieved a framed picture of her and Arthur, "They don't have pictures of you and Arthur in the warehouse." Her breathing slowed and he pointed behind him, "They don't have closets full of clothes or high def televisions in the warehouse, do they?"

Ariadne looked around, the warehouse melting away into her true surroundings, the sounds of James' cries and the gunshots tapering into silence. "No."

Eames saw her eyes take on their normal, focused quality. Felt her tense muscles relax, "Where are you?"

"My bedroom."

Eames blew air out of his cheeks and let himself calm down. He stood and started pacing; it would take more than a soul talk to fix her problems. "Are those the episodes you won't let Arthur near you for?"

She affirmed with a dip of her head. "It used to only be nightmares. I've started having flashbacks too…"

"You need to tell him exactly what you're going through."

"He knows I have them…"

Eames became flustered, "What do you do? Lock the door until it goes away by itself? Or until you pass out in fear?"

"Both." She answered like it was a normal thing to do. "Usually I just…" she paused but then hesitantly lifted her shirt. Her stomach was covered with blotches of penny size bruises, indentations of her fingernails. Self-mutilation.

"Ariadne…" He was beside himself with shock.

She shrugged, "The pain clears my mind."

"What the hell…"

"When it's severe enough, I can't think of anything but the pain and then my flashbacks stop. I don't remember my nightmares anymore and I can go back to sleep."

Eames spoke through his baffled state, "Does Arthur know about these?"

She shook her head, "Another reason why I won't let him touch me. It literally hurts. I don't want him to look at me because if he analyzes me for too long he'll notice them. If he sleeps with me, he'll find out I do it at night to wake up and make the monsters go away and he'll make me stop. And I can't stop, Eames" Ariadne breaks into tears again, "I can't stop.. I can't—" Her fingers grasp at her shoulder again and Eames rushes to make her stop.

Eames decided to change the subject to keep her from being tempted to pinch again, "Why do you call out for me?"

"Because you saved us, I guess… When you came, it all stopped. I feel like if you show up, then it's over."

"You have to let him help you."

She raised her voice, "He's a monster to me when it's happening!"

"Is he a monster to you when it's not?" The forger countered.

Ariadne swallowed and shook her head. No, when Arthur wasn't the monster in her mind, she was. Eames kneeled in front of her bed and she turned crisscross applesauce to him. He stared into her eyes meaningfully, "If you feel like you need to push him away when your mind flares up, ok. But don't push him away when it doesn't. You feel guilty over what happened with the Cobbs and the baby but look at what you're doing to Arthur. He is a hot bloody mess down there. He comes undone just hearing your name because he thinks you despise him, you blame him. He's terrified over you. He loves you so much and Ariadne, I don't know what'll happen to him should he lose you. Please, be kind to him."

He stood, "I know my nauseatingly in love best friends are here somewhere, you just have to work to find them. And stop doing this," he gestured to her stomach and the tainted skin, "to yourself. Please. Call me instead. If you need my help, I'm in Paris for a while."

Arthur quietly looked through the crack. "Thank you, Eames," She smiled at the forger and then dipped her head for him to kiss the top of it. Dejectedly Arthur turned and headed down the stairs before the forger did the same. Arthur thanked the man graciously before he left, Eames telling him to get the shoebox out of the house for Ariadne's sake and letting it slip that she'd been harming herself so Arthur could monitor it. It really was a help but it mostly made Arthur more nervous and upset.

xxxxxx

An hour later Arthur was looking out the window and sipping some water when there was a creak from the stairs. He turned to look and there she was on the bottom steps. Freshly showered and clothed. Damp hair pinned out of her face. The only words he could find to say as her eyes wonderfully locked with his were, "You're up."

Silently, she made her way to him. Arthur not knowing what to do, stood frozen. A warm, bright feeling surged through him when she wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his chest. Tentatively, not knowing how she'd react, he brought his hand to the back of her head to hold her closer and kissed her hair. "I'm sorry," She muffled.

He began rubbing her back, "No, you have every right to grieve."

"But no reason to push you away," She surfaced to look up at him. "I did eat some of the soup, "she offered.

He shook his head, "Don't worry about the soup. Are you still hungry?" He smoothed her damp hair back.

"Yes."

"Do you feel like going out for a celebratory dinner?"

Missing the feeling of his skin she wrapped her arms around his neck, "What are we celebrating?"

Arthur put his forehead on hers, "This."

"Ok," She smiled, "Let me get my bag."

Xxxxxx

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