Disclaimer: Inception does not belong to me.

Arthur let himself into Ariadne's apartment, with the stealthy use of a credit card. He frowned slightly - he was spending too much time with Eames. Dropping his bag and coat in the hallway, he walked into the kitchen.

Carefully, he began to open the cupboards. He frowned. Nothing of substance, except salted crackers. And, he noted, popcorn. Low fat. He shut the cupboard door, and began to look through the refrigerator.

"Lots of salad," he mumbled. "And...salsa. Milk...some cheese..."

"Arthur?"

Shocked, he slammed the door, and turned round. Ariadne was standing, looking at him speechlessly. "What are you doing?"

"I was looking through your refrigerator," he said, bluntly, not even trying to hide or excuse his actions. "Very healthy. Nothing in it." He slammed the door shut. "Why did you leave me this morning?"

"I-"

"Asked you a question. Why did you leave me?" his voice was angry and hurt. "I turn over, and you're gone. Completely. Clothes, everything. Was it that bad?"

She shook her head. "No..."

"Then what was it?"

"Arthur, please stop pressuring me." She turned, and began to walk to the sink, reaching for a glance.

"I'm pressuring you?" he blinked and looked at her. "Ariadne, I just want you to be a little more honest with me. And considering you walked out on me this morning, I think I'm entitled to hear the truth!"

"The truth? All right. I had a dream."

Arthur nodded. "OK. And?"

"I dreamed we were in a restaurant, and you called me a porker. Happy now?!"

"Ari!" Arthur looked at her, shocked. "You know I would never say that! Its your projection of me that's saying that!"

"Really?"

"Yes!"

"Well, I-"

Scowling, he walked towards her, and pulled her close. Pressing his lips on hers, he silenced her.

"Would I do that, if I thought what you claimed?"

She shook her head, taken aback.

"But, Arthur-"

"You have a projection of me in your head, which is encouraging you to behave like this." With her fingers laced through his, he lead her into the lounge. Together, they settled down upon the couch, meeting each others' eyes.

"What's your projection of me like, Ariadne?"

She looked at him, and swallowed.

"He's...a bully. He's always telling me awful things about myself." She looked at him. "And I wish he'd-"

"Shut up?"

"Yes."

"OK."

A silence fell.

"Arthur, you're trying to do to me what your mother did to you-"

"I know." He nodded, tears in his eyes. "So what do you suggest?"

"I think-"

He pulled her close, his mind whirling. "It'll be ok," he whispered. "I promise."

As they pulled apart, she got up. "I need the bathroom."

"All right."

As she left, he watched her walk, her figure drowned in her baggy clothing. Leaning back against the seat, he blinked, an idea rapidly forming.

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