Hellooooo :-) I missed you guys, honestly. So I'm back and the show goes on. First of all: you might want to re-read the last chapter as I redid it! I hope you are not too upset with me for picking this fight between the boys, but this rivalry has to come from somewhere. While watching the film I thought: they regard each other and the other's talent, but at some stage in their life they must have been rivals, always keeping a careful eye on the other one. On the other hand I think they went through a situation that brought them very close together (which is still to come in this fic). Well, read and enjoy, my friends!

Arthur snapped his phone shut and waited for his mother's voice to fade away inside his head. He had been gone for three months now and the air got thinner. Eames' behaviour was best described as hostile while Turner proved to be a first class brown-noser, every second sentence seemed to be 'yes sir' or 'no sir', which made him deaf to Arthur's need of discussing things. 'Things'; that was all the strange feelings he had when finishing a day's training, heading back to his dorm, questioning the methods and purposes and eventually drifting off to a fretful (and thank god) dreamless sleep. Somehow he was losing the grip on things. His psychological tests were top notch, he was reliable and catching on to new things quickly. But something bothered him, something was missing. Since the first few weeks in Camp Erne the question WHY he did all this kept preying on his mind. The official reasons were easy. Dream Sharing had been invented for physical training without physical damage first, but soon the Army favoured its other benefits: Extraction. Mind theft. Reed had been quite clear about the use of this powerful feature. Only on enemies, only in order to gather information on hostages or plans that involved American soldiers getting killed, for example planned ambushes. Arthur was sure he got along with the moral codex, it was easy: good guys try to save their buddies from getting killed by bad guys. Mind theft only made him feel uneasy because it was a new technology, a secret technology. At least that was what he told himself.

Arthur shoved the cell phone into the pocket of his blazer, readjusted the tie and buttoned the blazer up. He winked at the mirror before following Turner out of the room.

"You think you'll manage?" He asked his comrade as they strode towards the main building.

"Major General Bernstein says we were trained to succeed, and so we will."

"Ah, that's what Bernstein says. Yesterday he said the damn rain would stop and the cantine would come up with something new. Now what? It's still raining and we had broccoli for like the sixth time in two weeks."

"Major General Bernstein wouldn't approve of your criticism, I think."

"The hell he won't" Arthur scoffed and held open the door for them. With one last look at the soppy November weather he turned to walk down the corridor. Eames had taught him (although no words had been spoken since that day weeks ago) one thing: respecting authorities was a good thing if you did it once in a while, not on a daily basis. Although Eames was 'only' Commander he always seemed to get his way, even with Reed, who favoured a clear hierarchy and no fussing about when it came to rules.

Arthur settled on the frugal chaise longue and tried to calm his furiously beating heart. Today was another of those crucial days where one little mistake could end your career here and now. The task was to go into a three layer dream, receive the kicks and come back mentally sane. It didn't sound too difficult and they had practiced before, but Arthur knew this was not as simple as he wanted it to be. With the soft hiss of the PASIV darkness rushed over him like a surging tidal wave washing him onto the shore of someone's subconscious.

The first thing he sensed was irritation. Nothing had changed. He was still in the small room with other sleepers, among them Eames and Turner. Their eyeballs moved vividly beyond the lids, hands were clutching stiff uniform fabric or were clenched to fists.

Arthur blinked. Nothing. Still there. He pulled the needle from his wrist and got up. Some adjutant he didn't know was watching carefully over the different vials and cases, only looking up briefly as Arthur passed him and opened the door to the corridor. He had to find a PASIV to link on to in time, he would go as deep as the third level and – if everything went according to plan – he would ride the kick up to the surface. The klick of the safety on his gun echoed along the empty corridor. Someone was down here with him, and that made him shiver.

The second PASIV stood in Reed's office on the desk, ready to use. Arthur searched the room for explosives he knew were stored somewhere. As he pulled open drawers and filed through the bookshelf he found a picture of a much younger Reed holding a little black haired baby. What really caught Arthur's attention was the rear fender of a dark Mercedes in the left hand corner, the end of the number plate barely visible, but what stuck out well was a small sticker featuring the American flag. His mother used to have a car like that with a sticker like that. On the other hand, probably everyone linked to an American soldier had this sticker somewhere on their car. Arthur put the picture back, but a sick little idea had formed in the back of his head and refused to go back on the shelf alongside the delicate frame and faded photograph. The explosives were hidden in Reed's briefcase and Arthur rushed out of the room and downstairs to stick them to the ceiling of the office below. The first kick.

Once again he pushed the button and sank even deeper into someone else's mind without thinking of the photo again.

Arthur awoke with a start to the noise of someone clearing his throat. Reed stood in the doorway, cap in hands, smiling down at him.

"Catching up with your circadian rhythm?" The Major General joked.

"Um… I'm sorry Sir." Arthur sat up straight and looked at the still open PASIV. Its display flashed no digits at him, and he wasn't sure if that was a bad or a good sign. But then again if he was supposed to wake up on a PASIV in a level he had just entered it would of course not show a timer, because he hadn't set one.

Reed gestured at the briefcase. "I hope you didn't expect lucid dreaming. The darn thing is broken since last week. God knows when they get around to fixing it."

Arthur froze. And for the first time in his training he wasn't sure if he was dreaming or waking.

"B-broken you said?" He stammered and ruggedly ripped the IV from his arm.

"Yes." Reed shot him a quizzical look.

"Excuse me, Sir." Arthur mumbled and raced outside the door. He ran along the corridor and jerked the door to the last room on the left open. Sure as hell, there they were – Eames, Turner, the others: sleeping peacefully while his own lounge chair was empty. The adjutant gestured him to get out, and Arthur turned on the heel, slamming the door behind him shut.

Is this a dream? Please let this be a fucking dream!

His heart raced, beads of sweat formed on his temple and trickled down beneath the collar of his shirt. The next PASIV waited in the basement. Arthur desperately searched for something to kick him, because no one had prepared a kick down here. The dimly lit corridors were mainly maintenance area, and after some seconds of thinking Arthur scanned the small labels of the different pipes leading over his head. Gas, hot water, cold water… he needed something that would wake him, something that would trigger the kick without killing him, as he knew that thanks to sedation death wouldn't bring him back up but hurl him into limbo. Whatever limbo was, but he chose to not find out. Cold water should do the trick. With one glance at his watch he hurried to the control panel. Carefully Arthur turned up the pressure inside the pipes. According to his (off the top of his head) calculations the pipes would explode under the rising pressure, drenching but not drowning him and thus waking him up.

Another hiss, another black wave – and he was down again.

Arthur tried to force his eyelids to stay shut, but they wouldn't. With one scream of fear, desperation and resignation he took in the maintenance corridor, the thick pipes above, the dimly lit walls leading off to the distance.

"Fuck!" he yelled into the darkness on either side of him. Stay calm, Arthur thought to himself. A look at his watch told him he had to get a move on. Gun toting he moved up the floors of the nearly deserted building until he came to the top. The rain was still pounding against the windows, the barracks were blurring from sight.

He opened the window.

Thirty seconds to go. Arthur felt sick like never before in his life. It was roughly twenty meters to the concrete below. Deadly, wet concrete. If this was a dream he would ride the kick safely back to the classroom. If it was not his tombstone would tell passers by that he had committed suicide before even reaching his twentythird birthday.

Arthur backed off from the window sill with another scream. He clenched the gun until his fingers went numb and doubled over. Panting he pressed both fists to the white of his shirt. Ten seconds.

"No!" He yelled into the empty yard below. "God damn it, no!"

Five.

Four.

He slipped as he placed his right foot in the windowsill.

Three.

Hopefully the wave of kicks was synchronised.

Two.

Rain drenched his uniform, wind whipped through his hair.

One.

Hopefully he….

Darkness.

Arthur woke up with a rhythmic 'beep' coming closer as the world came into focus. A young female doctor bent over him and pushed a strand of hair back into place.

"We're sorry for the overdose." She smiled softly and checked the needle in his arm, resting her warm fingers on his wrist.

"This is a dream." He muttered.

"No, this is Tuesday, November 3rd in Camp Erne and I'm rather real."

"Doctors are only beautiful in dreams." His headache was killing him, but he tried a lopsided grin. The doctor blushed and removed her hand from his.

"Thank you, Major Darling."

"Mind telling me why I'm here?"

"You didn't react to the sedation as we expected. Only a minor problem, you are allergic to one of the compounds. It's usually not used on normal sedations, more often contained in ataractics, so lots of people are allergic but never find out because they don't need psychotropic drugs." She smiled again. "Let the headache wear off and give us a shout when you're ready to go."

Arthur closed his eyes again. "Thanks." The cool cushion under his head helped a great deal. But the sick feeling was still there. Panic started to rise. Keep calm, he repeated over and over in his head. Keep calm, you did it.

That night after leaving the hospital wing he felt like hit by a bulldozer. Sometimes he thought about paying a visit to the shooting range, but there the temptation to put a bullet through his head to end the dream was far too big.

Still wavering between believing this was reality or believing this was a dream Arthur came to a decision. Leaving Turner's snoring behind him he crept outside their shared dorm in the middle of the night, manila folder in one hand, cell phone in the other. He had checked on the time zones to make sure it was no ungodly time in France at the moment. The number was at the end of the manila folder and he had quite some difficulties typing it without dropping his papers into one of the many puddles. At least the rain had stopped.

After several seconds someone picked up the phone across the ocean.

"Bonjour."

"Professor Dawson?"

"Yes. Who's calling?" the elderly man changed into English as soon as he realized he was talking to an American.

"Major Arthur Darling from the Dream Sharing Programme. Squad Davis. I'm sorry for bothering you, Professor, but it's urgent."

"What's the matter, Mister Darling?"

"I think I'm losing my mind."

Sorry for leaving you right there xD a little evil, maybe. Please tell me if I had any mistakes in the dream-or-reality sequence, it's been quite a while since I last saw the film. Apart from that I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I promise we'll have more interaction and different characters next time! For now I bid you goodnight (nearly midnight here) and a wonderful pre-christmas-season.