Disclaimer: Inception does not belong to me.

Arthur fell onto the floor, cursing and clutching his shoulder. As he pulled his hand away, he saw the bright crimson stain across his fingers.

He gulped. She'd shot him. Blinking, he started to get unsteadily to his feet, and headed for the en suite bathroom, intending to grab a towel. As he reached for a soft cream one, a voice startled him.

"She's a little bitch, isn't she?"

He turned. Allie stood in the doorway, dressed a in a crisp lemon and cream suit. Her long dark hair was falling over her shoulders.

"Here," she said gently, "let me help you with that." Grabbing the towel, she wound it round his shoulder, pulling it tight. He swallowed, feeling his throat contract. She gently brushed his cheek with her fingers.

"How does that feel?"

Arthur clenched his teeth. "Get off me," he snapped.

Smiling, Allie backed away, and headed downstairs.

Ariadne ran down the stairs, still clutching the enveloped. She paused, unsure of where to go. Hesitating, she turned and went into the kitchen. Opening doors to the cupboards, she searched frantically for a first aid kit. Lying the envelope on the kitchen table, she started to hunt for the items she needed.

"Think you can help him?"

She turned. A young woman was standing in the doorway. Dark haired, attractive, with large, almost doe-like eyes. Biting her lip, Ariadne turned her back. "I think and I do," she muttered.

The projection looked at her. "Give it up. You don't stand a chance."

She blinked. "Oh, I think I do." Ariadne was surprised at herself; her voice sounded strong, commanding. She continued with her search, and began to hunt through looking for a bandage, aware that she was under time pressure and not sure of where Arthur was.

The projection walked forward. "I want to tell you something." She crouched down, and smiled. "I've slept with him."

Ariadne paused, holding the door. "Excuse me?"

"I've slept with him." Allie smiled, sweetly. "He was so lonely, Ariadne. He wanted someone. He was very easy to seduce. He lay there, just begging me to take him."

Ariadne drew back. "Where have you come from?" Her voice was starting to sound more uncertain.

"I've come from the part of Arthur which feels guilty," she said, smoothly. "That can't handle what he's done. Arthur can never handle what he does. Its why he's ill. Why he's the way he is." She raised an eyebrow. "And he's not even yours."

Ariadne found a first aid kit, and opening it, pulled out a bandage. She turned to Allie. "He's not-"

She blinked. The projection had disappeared.

Arthur looked at Allie, who had left the kitchen, and walked back up the stairs. She sat on the bed, smiling at the wounded Point Man.

"I've just seen her, in the kitchen." She raised a manicured eyebrow. "She doesn't look like a bitch, but she acts like one."

Arthur turned his back. "Go away," he muttered. "Go and crawl into whatever crevice of my subconscious you came out of."

She smiled, and getting up, wrapped her arms around his waist. "Now now, not a nice way to speak to an old friend." She picked up the envelope. "Very thoughtful of her to leave this in the kitchen!"

"Give it to me." His voice was soft, but a command. "Now." He winced as a fresh wave of pain shot through his shoulder.

"No." Her tone was mocking. "Let's see what she really thinks of you, shall we?"

Opening the envelope, she tipped the contents onto the bed. Arthur felt his face contort with rage. She smiled, mockingly.

"Have a look."

Arthur leaned over the bed, his throat tightening. Inside the envelope were journal pages, scraps of notes, and, he noted, a pen and ink sketch. Of him.

He held it up.

"Very flattering." Allie's voice was spiked with spite. "She actually makes you look thin!"

Arthur dropped the drawing on the bed, and walking over, grabbed her by the throat. Pushing her up against the wall, he leaned into her face.

"Get out," he snarled. "Now!"

She swallowed. "Arthur, please, don't-"

"You know, we were all given pretty heavy dosages," he snapped. "If I kill you in a dream, Allie, you could fall into limbo. Know what that means? You'll be trapped in a dream for infinity."

"Don't," she choked. "Please."

"Why should I?" his voice was becoming angrier. "You were sent to me, for no other reason than to torment me. Don't you remember our time in college?"

She nodded. "Yes - I do-"

"Let her go."

Arthur blinked. Ariadne was standing in the room, holding the bandage, and a damp towel. She looked at the towel wrapped around the Point Man's shoulder. It was stained a deep crimson, and she swallowed. "Arthur, I need to help you!"

Arthur swallowed, and began to relax his hold on Allie's neck. She coughed, and massaged her throat. As he moved towards the Architect, she turned to them.

"Let's look at more of these memories," she said, sweetly. "Oh look, here's a journal entry!" She held it up. "Oh, I'm so worried about Arthur!" she crooned, her eyes sweeping triumphantly over the two of them. "He's so thin, and getting thinner!" She looked at him. "Care to share your diet secrets, Art?"

He flushed. "Stop it."

"Don't you see? She's worried about you!" She turned to Ariadne. "And this is why you need to burn these memories!" Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a lighter. "You need to let him go, Ariadne, need to let him-"

A gun shot rang through the room. Ariadne blinked. Arthur lowered his arm, as the woman crashed to the floor, a clean bullet wound in the centre of her forehead.

He turned to Ariadne. "Improvise," he said, slightly shakily. He winced, and sat on the bed. She sat next to him. "How did she get here?"

"My projection," he said, looking at the floor. "Guilt. My despair. Its what caused her."

Ariadne turned to him. "Your guilt, over what you are, and who you are, created her. Its what makes you weak and makes you a target to Fischer and Saito. Its whats ripping you apart, and powering your illness. You've convinced yourself you're not worth anything, and the bulimia tells you that, and you gravitate towards people like Fischer and Allie, who help compound it. If you're going to get over this, you need to start to trust yourself, and you need to leave it all behind."

"Ari-" He caught her chin in his hand. "Thank you." He spoke softly. "Thank you for believing in me."

She swallowed. "I do believe in you Arthur, but you don't believe in yourself." She bit her lip; she was beginning to sound like a hallmark card. "You need to trust me."

Leaning forward, their lips met. She pulled away. "Now, are you going to let me dress that wound?"

He flinched; he'd forgotten his shoulder. "Oh, yes."

She picked up the bandage. "What do you think we should do?"

"Well, I'm not erasing you from my memory," Arthur said, decisively. "We get out of the dream, out of the clinic, and just go."

Fischer frowned, and looked at the two sleeping bodies. Greenwood was checking his watch.

"How long have they been under?" he demanded.

"About ten minutes. Two hours in a dream."

Fischer scowled, his face darkening. "Pull her out. I'm going in."

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