"What do you mean she said no!" Dom foams, hair disheveled and unwashed.

Arthur opens his hands helplessly.

"She said no, Dom. We both know you can't make Ariadne do anything she doesn't want to do," he explains.

Dom shakes his head quickly and Arthur sees James in him clear as heatwaves.

"That's just it, she wants to do it, we made sure she'd want to do it," Dom scrubs the back of his neck, pacing like a restless animal. "Did you tell her—,"

"It doesn't matter what I told her, Dom, she already knew what I wanted the minute I started talking." Arthur moves from his perch on the sofa arm and takes Dom's shoulders in his icy hands. "It's over, Dom. We can't go through with it. It would be suicide without her."

Dom is stone, brows furrowed darkly over clear, unseeing eyes.

"No. No, no, there's someone else; I can think of someone else, if you'd just let me think…"

He tugs out of Arthur's grip to fling papers from the bull pen desk, searching for something impossible to find in words.

"But there can't be anybody left we can possibly trust with this!" Arthur protests. "Half the people that know what we know and can do what we do have been arrested, deported, extradited, murdered, suicided— hell, even Eames has gone into hiding!"

"You've seen Eames?" Dom grasps.

Arthur pauses, weighing if Dom should know or not.

"No," he decides, "but an old contact we used to go through says he's not been answering anyone's calls."

Dom smiles, still matching papers to other papers in an endless, sickening puzzle of information.

"Maybe he's waiting for the right caller ID," he insinuates with a glance over his shoulder. "Have you tried any of his old numbers?"

Arthur rolls his eyes, exasperated.

"I haven't, not since Canes," he reveals with a huff. "But Dom, even if we could get Eames, that doesn't mean either of us have enough RAM between us for something of the scale you're talking about."

Dom doesn't hear anything he doesn't want to hear.

"Correct, we don't, that's why we need Quinn."