Disclaimer: Inception does not belong to me.

Arthur sighed irritably, and threw his pencil down. He was not getting through the notes he'd planned - in fact, they were barely making sense. He rubbed his forehead, exhaling slowly.

"Arthur?"

He looked up. Eames was looking at him directly, and quizzically. He shrugged. "Bad day."

"Indeed." The Forger's tone was wry. "So bad, in fact, you broke your pencil."

Arthur's eyes widened. He had thrown it down with such ferocity it had snapped. "Oh." He leaned back in his seat, deflated. "I-"

"Do you fancy a drink?" Eames interrupted.

"Eames. Its only half eleven."

"Are you getting any work done?"

Arthur threw his pen down in disgust. "Why not."

Without a backward glance, the two men began to leave the warehouse.

Ariadne swallowed as she walked down the street towards the warehouse. Everyone, she felt, was looking at her. And looking at her critically. She smoothed the loose clothing of her top down, and tried to walk past, causing minimum amount of fuss.

She noticed people were looking at her. Feeling fearful, she began to hurry.

"I said water."

"You said, water, but look as though you need Scotch." Eames' tone was practical. He set the glass down in front of the Point Man, and looked at him. "What's going on?"

Arthur sighed. "Its Ariadne."

"Thought so."

"I think..." he swallowed and leaned back. "I think she has a problem with food." He toyed with his glass. 2I've found a few things out."

Eames looked at him. "Such as?"

"Well, she used to be overweight." Arthur felt himself flush as he said it - it felt invasive to be discussing the Architect in these terms. Eames frowned and took another sip.

"Is that a problem?"

"No. But she thinks its a problem. I -" Arthur swallowed. "I used extraction to try and find out what really happened. Turns out she was mocked for it in High School. She lost a lot of weight. But-"

"The memories remain. And you stirred them up."

"No, its more that she seems to think that she's not good enough for me, due to how she felt and looked then." Arthur slumped forward. "But its not true. I think she's -"

"You think she's lovely," Eames interrupted. "And you want to prove it to her."

"But if she won't eat-" Arthur felt his throat constrict - "then I'm not sure what I should do."

Eames fell silent.

"I let her into my thoughts. Showed her when I was a teenager my mother thought I was anorexic, how I needed to go to a clinic to be made to eat." He smiled, sadly. "But it didn't work. She thought I was mocking her, making her feel worse." He rubbed his forehead. "And last night-"

"What happened?"

"I asked her to come over, I cooked for her. She barely ate anything." He reached for his scotch glass. "And we argued. She told me I didn't understand how she felt."

"And then?" Eames asked, quietly.

"I persuaded her to go to bed." Arthur took another sip of scotch. "Did I manipulate her into it? I wanted her to feel loved, to feel desired. But- she left. She left in the morning, without even telling me."

Eames looked into his scotch glass. "Arthur-"

"What have I done?" Arthur looked up at him, his brow creasing. "I wanted her to feel better about herself, and I just seem to make things worse." He looked at the Forger. "What would you do?"

"Help her." Eames said softly. "Help her realise that these fears she has are not true. They're not real."

"No," Arthur whispered, tears forming in his eyes, "they are real. They're real because I disturbed her memories, and she's now dreaming. She's dreaming with projections of me, projections of me bullying her, making her feel badly about her weight. I started it, because I invaded her thoughts."

"So what are you going to do?"

Arthur swallowed. "I'm going to start having to be firm with her. Make her understand I do care, and that I want her to eat."

Eames nodded, his face concerned. "All right. But Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"Be careful. Please."

"Oh, I will be." Arthur looked determined, his face grim. "I'll make her eat. Trust me."

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