Disclaimer: Inception does not belong to me. Nor does 50/50.

Adam sighed as the light, lemony rays began to fall through the partially opened curtains, dancing lightly across his face. He blinked, and turned his head to look at the clock. 7am.

He looked down. Ariadne was still asleep, cradled in his arms. A sudden rush went through him - despite his fears he wouldn't be able to hold her, make her feel safe, she was lying with her head on his chest, his arms looped round her. He shifted slightly, ignoring the nagging pain in his back.

What he couldn't ignore was the steadily increasing throb in his bladder. He swallowed - the chemo had definitely more unpleasant side effects than he'd been told, and his increasing inability to keep down liquids was one. He bit his lip. He had to relieve himself, in order to prevent an unpleasant and embarrassing accident; he didn't want to disturb her. He shook his head - he had to go. Gently, he disengaged his arms from hers, and pushed her onto the other side of the bed. As he got out, his back sent a spasm of pain that left him feeling winded, and made him gasp.

"Oh!"

He choked. The pain was there -not just a gentle throb, but a wrecking ball that threatened to demolish all the wonderful feelings he'd had from the previous night. Last night, he'd been with someone who'd made him feel like a real person again, and not just a patient. Now he was being brutally reminded, and as he hurried to the bathroom, he felt a sudden surge of nausea.

He relieved himself, and flushed. As he carefully washed his hands, he felt the pain settle back down again. Swallowing, he unlocked the door, and headed back to the bed.

It was empty.

His heart began to sink. She's gone, he tormented himself. She had enough of being with a sick man, she's gone to find someone healthy and-

"Adam?"

He blinked. Ariadne was standing behind him, still wearing the t-shirt he'd loaned her. Her hair was rumpled, and she half yawning. "Are you ok?"

He swallowed, relief mingling with annoyance. He chided himself for assuming that she would leave him at the first opportunity. She wasn't Rachel, he told himself firmly.

"I, um, needed the bathroom," he said, blushing slightly. "Can I make you coffee?"

She smiled. "That would be great. Let me help."

As they sat together in the kitchen, he studied her carefully. Her profile was composed, her features delicate. She was sipping the coffee, making no indication that she was uncomfortable either with the situation, or in his presence. As he shifted, he realised the person who wasn't relaxed was him.

"So, plans for today?" He realised how facile he sounded, but also slightly needy. As though he were trying to ascertain that she could spend the day with him. She looked into her coffee cup.

"I have to go to work." Her tone was apologetic, and he realised with a jolt that she was implying she'd rather spend the day with him. "You?"

He blinked. Did he have anything? His days were blurring into a one long mulch of chemo, chemo, and boredom.

And therapy.

Therapy! With a sense of shock, he remembered he was meant to be seeing Kathy, his therapist, today. He blushed. She was overly touchy feely, and tried too hard, but she had been the only person he felt he could be honest about regarding his cancer. He rrubbed his face. But he didn't feel like talking about Ariadne. That could remain private, no matter how much she tried to tease it out of him.

"I have a therapy appointment," he said, finally. "I have to see her, she helps me deal with my emotions." He looked into his coffee mug. "But I won't tell her about you," he added, with intensity. Leaning over, he grasped her hand, an felt reassured when she didn't flinch or pull it away. "You're something I want to keep-"

"Away?" her tone was neutral, without a shred of judgement. Blushing, he nodded. "Yes, I just feel that this is - special, you know?"

She nodded. "I do."

Adam sat on the couch in Kathy's office, noting how the table was covered its usual clutter - a half empty smoothie bottle, two open books, a pile of CDs. She was scatty, and disorganised, and he sometimes wondered how she'd managed to organise herself enough to get to doctoral level.

"So," she said, gregariously, with an overly friendly demeanour that reminded him of a perky first-grade teacher, "how are you?"

"Well," Adam said, choosing his words with care, "I still have cancer."

She blinked. He suddenly realised he'd come very close to sounding rude. He swallowed, and wondered guiltily if he'd overstepped the mark.

"I, um, appreaciate that," she said, too hastily, flipping through his file - which got fatter as he got thinner, he noticed. A dreary record of how chained he was to the place, with the chemo and blood tests and general health checks-

"Has anything happened?" she asked, and he noticed her tone was bereft of professional neutrality. "You seem on edge."

Adam swallowed. He looked at her, and knew that he was being difficult. But he wasn't going to tell her that he'd met someone. Ariadne wasn't going to be dragged into this nightmare. It was bad enough that she knew he was sick. He looked around for something to say, and like a drowning man clinging to a piece of floating driftwood, latched onto it.

"I'm sick of this," he said, his tone flat. "Sick of it all."

"Well, its natural to feel that way. After all you are going through a-"

He'd heard enough.

"You don't have a clue what you're saying, do you?" he snapped, turning to face her directly. And, he noticed with a brief stab of guilt, her face was turning scarlet. "You just sit there, and parrot things at me! Why don't you try being like this? Not feeling like a person anymore, but a blob of cells which has something unclean living inside it! Last night, I had someone stay with me, and I realised that-"

He stopped. He'd gone too far, and he noticed that her face, which was partially obscured by her long dark hair, was slowly turning from red, to white. He'd insulted her, and as he looked at her, saw that he'd upset her deeply. Suddenly, he felt like the world's biggest heel.

"I'm sorry," he said, the word brimming with guilt. "Kathy, I-"

"Look, Adam, if you don't want to attend these appointments anymore, you don't have to." Her tone was sharp, and he found himself recoiling slightly. "I just want to help you, and if you feel that I can't, then thats ok." She hastily closed his file, ad he realised, with a sinking sensation, that he'd overstepped the mark completely.

"Kathy, please, I am sorry." He blinked, trying to stop the tears that were threatening to spill. What was wrong with him? He was spiteful to his therapist, he ignored his mother, and he was effectively trying to blackmail a young woman into staying with him. When did I turn into this? he wondered.

"Adam, are you crying?"

"No." He sniffled. "Yes!" he admitted, as she handed him a tissue. "I'm so sorry," he choked out. "Last night, I had Ariadne stay, Rachel came over, it was hideous." He wiped his eyes, and she looked at him sympathetically. "Rachel left, and Ariadne and I spent the night together. We didn't have sex," he sniffed. "My back hurt."

She blinked. "Is thats whats wrong?" she asked, gently, leaning forward. "You feel that you let her down?"

He nodded. "I don't feel like a real man anymore." He leaned back, and blew his nose. "I looked at myself in the mirror last night - I look as though I've been starved! I didn't feel I can hold her and make her feel safe, plus there's the nausea, the irritated bladder, everything. She deserves better."

Kathy bit her lip. "Have you tried talking to her about this?"

He swallowed. "I have, but I haven't." He frowned.

"Listen." Kathy patted his arm, and was encouraged by the fact he didn't flinch. "Sometimes you have to accept that people may not view us in the way that we see ourselves. She likes you. Did she stay?"

"Yes." He nodded.

"There's your answer."

He swallowed, and wiped his eyes.

Ariadne sat at her desk, drawing, but her mind refused to leave Adam. She was remembering the scenes from the previous night, where he'd effectively broken down, admitting he no longer felt like a real man.

She frowned. He was gentle, considerate, and sweet. She didn't care that he wasn't overly muscled, or had a strapping build. But it clearly bothered him. She bit the end of her pencil, trying to think about how she could help him. And as she spotted Eames approaching her, she began to conceive an idea.

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