Ya'aburnee is Arabic.

Disclaimer: I do not own Inception!


"Both morbid and beautiful at once, this incantatory word means "You bury me," a declaration of one's hope that they'll die before another person because of how difficult it would be to live without them."


Arthur ran his tongue over his teeth and tasted blood-metal-dirt, the same taste he'd grown used to over the past two hours. His tongue and lips felt gritty, his eyes dry and raw. His knuckles were aching from his grip on his Glock; one of them had split earlier and stung now, an annoyance. His breath was coming too fast. His heart was pounding erratically.

He had never felt so alive.

From across the room by the door there was the faint sound of a radio squawking. Calling for reinforcements. Arthur's face lit up with a fierce grin. "There're more coming, Eames. You all right?"

Off to the left, behind an overturned desk, Eames muttered something unflattering about the boundless energy of youth. Arthur scoffed.

"Just because you're looking at thirty doesn't mean you can start pulling that shit." He slipped the safety off and laughed a little. "But I'm serious. You all right?"

"Few nicks here and there, but nothing I can't handle." The nose of Eames's Browning M2 peeked over the desk. "They still asleep?"

Arthur shot a look over his shoulder. Stretched out on the floor, heads pillowed on their suit jackets, Mr. Cobb and the client whose mind he was training were still under, faces smooth. "Yeah. Man, I guess this guy wasn't really paranoid after all."

"Mal ought to have dug that up," Eames sighed. There was a bang on the barricaded door and a muffled curse from outside. "I should have stayed in Mumbai."

"Then it wouldn't have been a very good birthday for me, would it?" declared Arthur, aiming at the door.

Eames was quiet as another clang reverberated around the warehouse. "Arthur… If we don't get thr-"

"Oh, no, none of that crap," snapped Arthur. He rolled his eyes at Eames. "I'm not the sentimental type."

Eames frowned. "Well, then one wonders what type you are. Not the romantic, surely, and, after this, I wouldn't be able to say the sensible type without lying through my teeth."

Arthur laughed. "You'll just have to live to find out, won't you Mr. Eames?"

The hinges exploded with a protesting shriek and the door fell to the floor. Eames let his mouth twitch into a smile as he pulled the trigger.

"I guess I will."

Reviews = love! :D