A quiet oath was uttered in the otherwise quiet night, alerting the man under the glow of the streetlight that he would soon have company. His stance, one foot lazily crossed over the other as he leaned against the pole, didn't change but the rest of him tensed, ready for the attack that was surely coming. It wouldn't be a physical one. He'd actually prefer that over the mental assault that he was about to walk into.

This time it was a short curse as a clatter shocked the quiet and a trashcan rattled across the far reaching arc of the light; it brought a small smile to his lips but he would have to enjoy it later.

A pair of much too expensive shoes stepped into the light followed by clean, well-pressed tailored pants, hands pushed deep into the pockets, a jacket and vest and finally the slicked back dark hair of a man that he'd grown to appreciate but hardly understood.

The man under the light straightened and placed a tight smile on his lips, "Troubles, darling?"

The man in the crisp clothing narrowed his eyes at him, the only sign of emotion, and said, "Couldn't find a field littered with landmines, Eames?"

Eames chuckled dryly. "It wasn't my choosing. Dom wanted the best forger around and sacrifices to safety…and pressed suits…had to be made."

A petite figure entered the circle of light to Eames's left, as far across the circle from Arthur as she could be. She glanced at the two of them, her gaze quickly shooting away from Arthur before she reached into her pocket, her hand clamping around something there. Eames didn't have to guess too hard that it was her totem.

She didn't look like a woman that had just earned the gross income of a small nation. Her gray hoodie was zipped nearly to her neck, hinting at a blue shirt underneath; one thumb was hooked into the back pockets of her corduroys, making her look like she was shrugging in an innocent, calm manner but the men knew differently.

"Why is she here?" Arthur asked tightly.

That's strange, Eames thought as he explained, "Bait." He noticed that both of them stiffened at that but he ignored it, splitting the distance between his two friends to enter the shoddy front door of the apartment building.

~I~I~I~I~

The first floor hallway made Eames feel like he needed a tetanus shot or a biohazard suit, whichever he could find first. The florescent bulbs overhead—the ones that weren't humming and flickering wildly—were dull, the ends orange with age, and huge close to anyone's head over six feet. There were only a handful of doors down the long hallway, two of which were padlocked from the outside, another two with several deadbolts lined up close to the jam.

Avoiding a pile of bound, aged newspapers, he peered over his shoulder to see a disgusted look on Arthur's face and a perplexed one on their mutual friend's. She was hugging her middle as if afraid to let her arms move freely, maybe afraid to touch anything, and several steps behind Arthur as if really afraid to touch him.

"Step lively, kittens," he jested, earning two bewildered stares before he stopped at the elevator doors. He pushed the "up" button in the console that was nearly falling out of the wall and heard the reassuring ding as it descended to the ground floor.

The doors slid open shakily revealing a cube with broken off handrails, a flickering light bulb and peeling Formica.

"Is that…safe?" Ariadne asked, peering around his arm into the lift.

"Safety's a relative term at this point, don't you think, luv?"

A thoughtful noise came from the back of her throat but she followed him quickly into the cubbyhole, tucking into the corner and looking expectantly at Arthur who was less willing to commit. Or maybe something else. Eames would have to get to the bottom of that later.

Silently, the point man entered the cabin and turned his back to them. There was definitely something going on and that was quickly moving up the ranks of interests in Eames' mind.

"Four please, darling."

A fist shot out, slamming into the number and quickly recoiled to Arthur's side—there was nothing better than pushing his buttons—and the elevator slowly started its climb, the gears whirring and grinding to the point of stopping but continued to pull the car upward.

Suddenly, it shuddered to a stop and Ariadne screamed a word that was hardly ladylike. The light went out overhead, immediately replaced with a red one allowing Eames to deftly move around Arthur and step up to the fire panel. The small metal door quickly slipped away, revealing a hi-tech, retinal scanner that scanned his left eye before flashing green.

The elevator doors slid open to a crisp, sterile white hallway. The quick exhale from Ariadne was enjoyable—he liked surprising people and he knew that this well concealed swank apartment was more of a see to believe type surprise.

Exiting the lift first, his feet sinking into the plush white carpet, Eames was suddenly having second thoughts about this endeavor. He knew what the letter said, he knew that this was the only way to achieve the ridiculous feat set forth in that letter but rounding the corner and seeing her lying there, he immediately wanted to tuck tail and run.

"Whoa! Wasn't expecting this," Ariadne whispered, pulling her totem from her pocket. "It's like a dream."

"More than you know," he said.

All the lights were on, showing him perfectly what he expected. Lying face down, her left arm thrown over the small of her back, her right leg and arm hanging off the high edge, she gave the perfect illusion of death which Arthur immediately believed, lunging forward and making it slightly difficult for Eames to stop him.

"That's the quickest way to catch a bullet that you won't wake up from."

He turned his attention back to the disheveled bed and the woman hanging out of it. Her hair was now blonde, long and slightly curling. It didn't suit her, washing out her already fair complexion, but he knew it wouldn't last. He wondered what color her eyes would be when they opened—maybe green this time.

"What's going on, Eames? Why are we here? Who is this kid?"

"Don't let her hear you call her that."

"Look," Ariadne whispered, pointing to the woman's hands as her index finger twitched and she mumbled incoherently.

"Dreaming? So she's not one of us?"

"Define 'us.'"

He knelt beside the bed, brushing hair from her face, watching as her lips puckered and relaxed. He wondered what she was seeing in her dreamscape, wondered what adventures she had on her own.

"Thanie?" he said quietly. "Thanie, wake up. I need your help."

He knew she'd wake and react fast but was hardly ready for her hand as it shot up, gun at the ready and cocked before he had his fingers wrapped firmly around her wrist.

"Than! It's me! Don't shoot me, luv!" he said, throwing her aim off to the wall.

Her eyes opened slowly but alertly. Brown. There was a hint of a smile there but it was gone too quickly and he was sorry for that. She had already taken in the other two in the room without moving her eyes from his.

"You're here for a ruddy job, aren't you?" she asked in the same cocky accent as his.

"You don't know—"

"Sod off!"

Quickly, she was out of bed and on her feet, pacing over to the bathroom in measured strides.

"Than, wait! We need to talk!"

But the bathroom door slammed shut and the shower was turned on, drowning him out.

"Real winner with the ladies, aren't you Eames?" Arthur smirked.

"Watch what you say about my sister, darling."

~I~I~I~I~

Well? If you like, please review so I'll know if I should add another chapter or few ;)