Disclaimer: Inception does not belong to me.

Eames swallowed nervously as he looked at the receptionist. She had barely acknowledged him, preferring to stare at her computer screen. "Yes?"

"I'm here to see Arthur Ogilvie, please." Eames spoke perfectly politely, and she frowned slightly. "One moment."

As the Forger waited, he wondered what he was going to encounter. Arthur had seemed to be tearful and scared on te phone - a side of him that Eames had never before encountered. But then, he thought grimly, he' never encountered the sexist, womanising side of Arthur before, either. Swallowing, he waited.

"Come this way, please."

Eames followed the receptionist, noting the white starkness of the walls, and the coldness of the place. A place of safety or danger? He wasn't sure he could be sure.

"Ariadne? You awake?"

The Architect was cocooned in the covers, barely stirring. Cobb smiled, and got up, walking towards the kitchen. As he began to make coffee, he smiled again, suddenly overwhelmed by the new direction and purpose in his life.

He ha Ariadne. The person he'd wanted, to help pull him out of his suffocating loneliness, and despair. She understood him, he had decided, right from the first time they had gone under together. When she had found him, and discovered his memories, he'd realised that he needed her.

"A prison of memories to lock her in?" She'd argued. "You think that's going to contain her?"

It had not. It never would have done, Cobb ruminated sadly. He'd incepted his wife, and that had caused her to - he shut his eyes, shocked to find tears welling in his eyes. His guilt was still there, ever present, like the constant hum of an electrical appliance. Background noise you never really noticed, but when you did, it became unbearable.

He shuddered. Arthur. He shook his head, choosing to try and banish the unpleasant thought. Arthur would be allright, Cobb thought, angrily. He had given him an idea, he'd chosen to act upon it. He'd possibly always harboured the urge for sexual dominance to give him satisfaction. And he would never have deserved Ariadne. He was too self-absorbed, too interested in his work. He would never have given her the time, the love, the consideration that she needed and deserved. All he cared about was work.

The coffee brewed. Cobb poured two mugs of it, and began to take it back to the bedroom. There was a new lightness in his heart, his life, his eyes.

"Any weapons?"

"No."

"Anything you intend to give him - he is not allowed alcohol, caffeine, chewing gum, drugs including prescription medication and anything with sharp edges."

Eames blinked, shocked. The young male nurse smiled ruefully. "I'm sorry. No-one's allowed anything that makes they hyper, aggressive, or they could use to harm themselves."

"Well." Eames bit his lip. "I see."

"Please, come this way." The nurse led the Forger through to a door, and knocked on it. "Arthur," he called gently. "You have a visitor."

"ok."

Eames waited as Arthur began to unlock the door. After a few moments, the Point Man opened the door. Eames looked at him, and his heart began to sink. Arthur was pale, his eyes darkly circled. His regulation tunic hung on his previously trim, toned frame.

"You have fifteen minutes, and I'm right outside." The nurse left, shutting the door.

Eames looked at Arthur, and the two of them moved over to seats. Arthur sat on the bed, Eames perched on the chair. He looked at the other man. "So," he began, his voice suddenly trailing off.

"So." Arthur looked down at his hands. "Thanks for coming."

"What happened?" Eames' voice was soft.

"I...don't know." The Point Man looked at Eames, his eyes filled with despair. "I was arrested, in jail - suddenly I get told a form has been signed, and I'm here."

"But why are you here?" Eames insisted. "You didn't just turn up!"

"I'm here because I'm a danger," Arthur said bitterly, suddenly jumping to his feet. "A danger to women. That's what the therapist says. But, Eames, the thoughts I had - the urges- I don't know where they came from."

"Ideas," Eames said, quietly. "Ideas should be buried, deep inside-" He looked at the agitated younger man. "When did you start having those thoughts, those urges? You certainly didn't have them when we first met."

"Eames, I- I must have always had them, and not realised." He bit his lip.

"No, Arthur. Think about this. Think about it. What do we do?" A horrifying realisation was beginning to dawn on the Forger.

"I've been-" Arthur blinked. "Oh, God, no. Please don't tell me that that is what you think. He wouldn't." Arthur's eyes were large, and terrified.

"Ariadne," Eames muttered. "She's the key to this." He looked at Arthur. "I'm afraid, if pushed, he would."

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