Eames is, to be put plainly, frustrated. Arthur, two months after the Fischer case, still won't even kiss that girl, Ariadne. He knows they're attracted to each other. Really attracted. And they look good together. Both of them are mildly good-looking (of course not as good looking as he is) and they have a perfect spark that only Housewife and Maid could have. But how? How can he get them to second base?

Now he knows. He isn't a kind person. He isn't a gentle person, either. And he sure likes to get a kick out of Arthur and his misfortunes. So he wasn't going to just "talk" to them and make them "realize" their feelings. He was going to force it out of them. Maybe it was going a little bit too far for the girl—Ariadne, was it?—but Arthur...Oh, Arthur had been through much worse.

So that fine morning...

"Eames! Eames, what are you—"

"Aaaaaahhh! S—stop, let go of—"

"This is for your own good," he says as he locks the door. He winks at Arthur before closing the door. "Feel her up for me, will you, darling?" Then he's gone, leaving Arthur and Ariadne bright as tomatoes inside of the room.

"Please don't," Ariadne says after a while.

"I won't. It's more of an Eames thing, anyway." They sit in awkward silence by the door where they were pounding to get out.

Click.

"What was that?" Ariachne says, suddenly standing up.

"Ow, no need to hurt me in the process," Arthur says, rubbing his wrist.

"What—I didn't—" Ariachne looks down to her hands and gasps. Arthur looks down too and his eyes get wider.

Arthur looks up, frustrated, and begins muttering a variety of curses all directed at Eames. Ariachne looks down, wondering how long this was going to last.

They were hand-cuffed together.

"I didn't believe the jackass would go this far..." Arthur mutters.

"You know, the jackass can hear you, you big arse." An intercom voice crackles to life as the two prisoners look up in surprise.

"Eames! You better get us out of here or I swear to God I'll—"

"—kill you?" Eames finishes for Arthur. "Now, now, darling, let's not get too violent here."

"You hand-cuffed me to my teammate and then locked us both up in a room! Gee, I don't think I'll be violent at all!" Ariadne is taken aback by Arthur's brash outburst, as she has never seen him so angry.

"That's the spirit, dear. Now, let's see, I was originally going to put you two in there for about ten hours, but I think I'll put you in for twenty-four instead because of Artie's little tantrum there."

"What?" Ariadne and Arthur exclaim at the same time.

"Let me remind you lovebirds that I would never do this if there was any other way," Eames says.

"Oh, please, you'd probably blow up the Eiffel Tower if there was a fly on there," Arthur retorts.

"Only if it were a housefly like you," Eames says. "Anywhoo, I'd also like to say that your attempts of escape will be in vain because there is no way out until the twenty-four hours are up. You can cook or sleep or whatever else you girls like do. I know Artie here likes to organize his underwear in his spare time." Arthur grimaces at this comment.

"While we're on the subject, there's only one bed," Eames says with a chortle. "So, feel free to be kinky, just not while I'm up here, Arthur."

"I must be dreaming..." Arthur says as he slumps down to the ground again, taking Ariadne with him.

"What an excellent premonition, Artie! Ta-ta, darlings, I'll see you in...twenty-four hours!"

Click.

Eames is off the intercom. Finally...

"Goddamn it! When I get my hands on that filthy bast—"

"Language, Artie, language." ...Or not.

Well, this is one short chapter. Probably because it's just a prologue. Hoped you enjoyed! Review. Please.