Darling,

It’s called a Portable Automated Somnacin Intravenous device, or just PASIV for short. It’s developed and ready to go within the first year of Arthur’s career. It’s a small machine that fits in a simple, nondescript silver briefcase. It allows for meticulous control over the dosage of Somnacin to the dreamers and is far easier to repair and maintain than the giant, clunky machines they’ve been using up to this point. Each PASIV device has various twelve-foot-long IV tubes for the various dreamers as well as an automated timer, just like the larger machines. Basically, it’s everything the original machines are, but smaller, more compact, more practical for people to use. It’s a breakthrough, by any definition of that word.

“Is it safe?” Dom asks, inspecting it.

Arthur shrugs as he rolls up his sleeve, just as a couple of the others are doing, Mal included.

“Only one way to find out,” he says. “We’ve got to try it.”

Dom looks at each of them, his eyes lingering just a moment longer on Mal, and it doesn’t take any sort of perceptive skill to see that he’s a little nervous about this. It should be safe; the PASIV has passed all inspections and tests so far, but no one has gone under yet, and it’s impossible to know for sure how it’ll function once people are hooked up to it.

“I’m coming with you,” Dom decides and begins rolling up his sleeve as well. It’s pretty obvious that he’s only going because Mal is, but Arthur’s a good friend and professional colleague like he always is and doesn’t say anything.

The test run goes smoothly, and they all make it out in one piece and perfectly sane. They consider this an accomplishment, a big one. They tell their overseers (the “big guys,” the government officials who are funding this project) about it immediately. They’re congratulated for their achievement and Arthur has never felt more accomplished.

They all celebrate with a night out and plenty of alcohol. Even Arthur, recently twenty-one but not really one for excessive drinking, gets terribly, terribly drunk. It’s a night of boisterous laughter and hearty congratulations accompanied with friendly slaps on the back. Arthur passes out in his apartment that night feeling warm and content, wakes up the next morning with a killer headache, but it’s all worth it. He feels too proud of himself to throw too much of a fit about it. He’s never done anything this important in his life.

Not even one month passes before they’re shut down.

When their department is shut down at the university, it’s without explanation or even much warning for that matter. No one knows quite why it’s being shut down; they just show up at the lab one day to find some official looking man in a sharp suit telling them they have a week to pack up their things and leave. He spits some vague terms out at them, things like “liability” and “insufficient funds,” but doesn’t tell them much more. They’ll all receive their paychecks for this month, and then that’s that. No more. Project Somnacin disappears from the map, like it never even existed.

At first, Arthur doesn’t know what to do with himself. After working nonstop for upwards of a year, it’s hard for him to adjust to having so much free time. And then it hits him that he needs to find a new job, because the bills won’t pay themselves and he needs to keep himself fed and clothed. He starts looking, but nothing seems quite so appealing after the dream research he’s been working on.

Sometimes, when the afternoon seems to stretch on endlessly, Arthur opens his closet and looks at the top shelf, where a sleek silver briefcase is stored. It’s the PASIV device they developed, and it’s the only functional one they still have. The others had been sent off for government inspection and never came back. The research team had agreed to let Arthur keep the PASIV; it’s kind of his lovechild after all. He put in so many hours of endless work, tedious tests and drills to ensure that none of them would be in any danger once they went under. It’s only fitting that he’d be the one to have it.

Sometimes, he takes it off of its shelf and sits for hours with it on his lap, tempted to open it and give it a go, but knowing that he really shouldn’t. What’s the point in losing himself in dreams when nothing will ever come of it? No, he needs to stay grounded, stay in reality, focus on the life he’s living up here, stay awake, only sleep naturally.

Sometimes, Arthur thinks he might just loose his mind. He needs to find something to do or he’s not going to be able to stay awake much longer. He’ll go under, set so much time on the clock that when he wakes up, he won’t really wake anymore.

It’s Dom who saves him from his own restlessness, once again, just like when Arthur had just graduated from college. Arthur is lying on the hard wood floor in the middle of his kitchen, hungry but not willing to get up to make something or even go out to buy something to eat. His cell phone rings from where it’s resting on the kitchen countertop, and Arthur has to force himself to go get it. Only a few people have this number, he thinks, and this might be something important.

“Here,” Arthur says, sitting down again on the wooden floor and leaning back against the cabinets.

“You sound bored,” Dom says, amusement in his voice with an unspoken of course. “How would you like something to do?”

Arthur’s ears perk up, but he doesn’t get his hopes up too far for fear of getting disappointed. “What do you mean?” he asks, hoping for some sort of clarification that he knows he probably won’t get.

“Come on over,” Dom says, and Arthur sighs. “I’ll tell you when you get here.”

Arthur groans unhappily. He really doesn’t want to move – or no wait, yes he does, very much so. He just doesn’t have the motivation or energy to do anything.

“We have food,” Dom offers, and Arthur’s will cracks.

“Fine,” he says. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

“Great,” Dom says, and Arthur can hear the smile in his voice.

Arthur snaps his phone shut without saying goodbye and slumps back, simply sits in his kitchen for a few more minutes while trying to muster up the energy to stand. He eventually does, and checks his reflection quickly, deciding that he looks decent enough, and simply smoothes his hair back once before grabbing his keys and heading out the door.

He makes it to Mal and Dom’s in record time (he drives fast when he’s wound up) and when he gets there, he’s greeted by Mal, who pulls him into a comforting hug and tucks his hair back behind his ear.

“You need to learn to take care of yourself better,” she says. “You need a haircut.”

Arthur shrugs. “Dom said you have food for me,” he mumbles.

Mal laughs and says that yes, they do, and leads him to the kitchen. She sets a plate of food in front of him on the kitchen counter and goes to put Phillipa down for a nap. Dom makes small talk with Arthur while they wait for Mal to come back, and Arthur notices that neither Mal nor Dom seem any different, that they don’t seem affected at all by the loss of their jobs at the university. He’s a little jealous, but doesn’t say anything and instead scoops another forkful of the salad Mal gave him into his mouth.

“So,” Arthur says once his mouth is no longer full, “About this ‘something to do.’ I’m assuming you mean a job?”

Mal chuckles softly and Dom just smiles, but he nods and Arthur feels an immense sense of relief wash over him.

“I don’t know if you’ll want to do it, though,” Dom adds quickly.

Arthur scoffs. “Try me,” he challenges, and he probably sounds a little desperate, but he doesn’t care. He just needs something to do.

Dom smiles and there’s something a little dangerous, a little reckless in his eyes. “It’s not, strictly speaking, legal,” Dom warns.

Arthur’s mouth curves up, more a smirk than a smile. Mal laughs and puts a hand on Dom’s arm. She knows that look well; he’s got his mind set, no changing it now. And sure enough, the next thing that comes out of Arthur’s mouth is:

“If you think that’s going to scare me away, Dom, then I’ve severely overestimated our friendship.”