A/N: Ah, my second stab at an Inception fic. Fair warning to all- this will involve an OC pairing with a canon character (or two) and yes, there will be a love triangle. Expect mystery with a dash of angst, a possible Mary-Sue (a guilty pleasure, my apologies here) and guest appearances by almost all the people who you grew to love from the movie.

Please do read and review- I appreciate any and all comments!

Ouroboros

Prologue:

"Can it be done?" she asked.

"Maybe," he said. "But I think the true question is- should it be done?"

"And what do you think?"

"No. We meddle with dreams far too much already. The mind is still uncharted territory, despite all the so-called advances of science. No, it should not be done."

"But you think it's possible."

"Anything is possible but not everything should be. That is what I think."

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Chapter One:

She opened her eyes and winced at the shock of bright light. Without thinking, she reached up and pressed the palms of her hands against her now-closed eyes hoping to ease the sting, but then felt a sharp pain in her arm at the motion.

She cried out in surprise and jerked away but the pain intensified.

"Wait, stop moving- you're going to pull the IV out," a man said above her. His voice was mellow and deep and she felt hands pull her arms down firmly. She opened her eyes, blinking in confusion.

"See? You've cut yourself."

A man kneeled beside her, his head bent down as he examined her arm. He had dark, slicked back hair and pale skin. She could feel his breath on her bare skin and his hands gently pressed down as he slid a needle out of her.

Dark red blood welled up from a small wound and she both heard and felt him huff in annoyance. He looked up at her then with narrowed eyes accusingly. He had a thin handsome face but it was marred by the expression of irritation; it made him look sharp and fox-like.

"You woke up early," he said. His frown deepened and she realized that he wasn't angry at her, he was worried. In his hand was a cannula and he held it up. Next to him was a machine and she realized that she had been attached to it.

"What happened? You had at least another hour left."

She stared at him for a moment and then shook her head, taking in her immediate surroundings. She was sitting in a chair, soft and comfortable, and there was a man kneeling beside her, demanding answers to questions she didn't understand.

Something inside of her told her to observe first and not give her position, vulnerable as she was, away.

"The light," she said. Her mouth felt dry and she licked her lips, noticing the man's eyes look down at the movement. "It hurt my eyes and I-"

"Nasty little cut there. Are you okay, pet?"

She looked up at the sound of another man's voice next to her- British-accent and a deep, rumbling tone. Rough. A smoker's voice. This one was thicker than the other man, broader in the shoulders and chest and he was tan with dark blonde hair. His full mouth was stretched in a wide smile and he raised his eyebrow, pale blue eyes bright and curious, as if waiting for her answer.

"She almost tore her vein, Eames," the dark haired man said… Arthur. "You call that okay?"

The blonde man's expression- Eames- hardened slightly though he kept smiling. "Thank you, Arthur, but I wasn't asking you, was I?"

She felt Arthur's grip around her arm tighten and she hissed without meaning to, jerking her arm out of his grasp and holding it against her chest. For the first time since she'd woken up, she felt afraid.

Suddenly, the reality of her situation became apparent and she felt her heart begin to race.

She looked around properly, turning her head side to side to take in all the details. She was in a large room- she guessed a suite in a hotel, from the plush but bland furnishings and impersonal artwork on the walls. On the other side of the room, another man- almost a boy really, was studying something on a laptop on a table littered with glass tubes and different colored liquids. He was bobbing his head to music only he could hear from a set of massive headphones covering his ears. He was very thin and tall and his hair was blonde and curly. Despite his stature, he had the rounded cheeks of a child and bright blue eyes.

Across from him sat a young woman on a couch. She had brown wavy hair and a sweet face, with a cupid's bow mouth. She was sitting crossed-legged with a book in her lap and when she saw her looking, the girl smiled and waved.

Everyone around her looked at ease. Even Arthur, who was still frowning, was relatively calm.

It didn't really help quell the rising panic though.

She felt her breath quicken and she forced herself to slow down, deepen each inhalation and slowly let it out.

What do I see? What does it mean?

The boy and his headphones. The girl with her book. They were students maybe. Teacher's assistants? However, despite their youth both were well-dressed and seemed indifferent to the elegance of their surroundings.

Rich kids, playing with adults.

We're babysitting? Guarding?

But no, that didn't feel right either. There was a small scale model of a building on the floor next to the girl and a pile of long, rolled-up sheets of paper. Different colored pens and pencils were scattered around the room and on the whiteboard in the corner were lines and curves that seemed to depict a space that folded into itself.

The chemistry set on the table was professional grade and when she glanced up at the ceiling, she saw all the smoke detectors had been turned off.

Curiouser and curiouser.

Finally, she looked back at the two men beside her.

The one named Arthur wore a dark blue sweater over a buttoned down shirt, pressed gray slacks and dark brown shoes. Deceptively simple clothing, tailored for his build but interesting. The stripes on his shirt were multicolored and his slacks were patterned. Though he seemed young, there were lines around his eyes and his mouth that betrayed his age. Even on the floor, on one knee, there was a stiffness in the way he held himself that made her think-

Military. Government.

Former, because he's comfortable in his civies. He takes pleasure in them.

-and though he was slender, his arms were lightly muscled. He gave off the impression of a tight coil, ready to spring up when released.

He's likely stronger than he seems.

"What happened?" Arthur asked again, slowly this time. His eyes were fixed on her face and she could tell when his worry began to deepen, to become something else.

"There was something wrong with the new formula, wasn't there?" His dark eyes flashed. "Why did you even volunteer for this? It's not your thing."

She ignored his question because she couldn't respond and looked up at Eames.

Though on the surface he seemed nearly the complete opposite of Arthur, there were similarities in his bearing that made her think he was also military. Whereas Arthur was crisp clean lines and small, curious features, Eames' clothing seemed tailored to clash and confuse, the details amplified to distract. At first glance, he seemed to be a man given to eccentricities and a low budget. But on closer inspection, the seams on his shirt and pants indicated they were bespoke and the garish watch on his wrist was real. Gold and vintage and well-cared for.

There was stubble on his cheeks but she could tell it was a cultivated look- there was a small, red cut on the side of his jaw that looked less than a day old. His shirt was unbuttoned to the point where she could see the hint of a tattoo at his collar and his hair was short but parted severely to the side.

The look of an ex-pat. Smarmy and sly.

But it's all flash and surface, isn't it?

Arthur and Eames.

They both were more than they seemed.

Add it up then.

What do I see? What does it mean?

These people were working, probably on something under the radar… maybe something illegal. Why else would they be in a hotel suite in the middle of the day, curtains half drawn and smoke detectors turned off? There was a newspaper on the floor next to her and though she couldn't read it, she knew it was in French and a paper cup on a low coffee table a few feet away had the masthead of a French bakery. Arthur was American and Eames was British, at least from what she could tell.

International drug trafficking?

She rubbed her arm again and felt a tug at her torn flesh. She was still bleeding and when she looked down, there was smear of blood on her hand. Drugs explained the chemistry set but not the scale models. Drugs explained the expensive equipment and clothes, the need for men like Arthur and Eames, but it didn't feel right.

I don't feel ill. I don't feel giddy or high or… anything. Except confused.

And afraid. Just a little.

"Hey," Arthur said. He reached up and put a hand on her shoulder. Concern was now alarm and he leaned in, seeming to study her eyes. "How do you feel? What's the last thing you remember?"

The game's up, she thought. Time to show my cards.

"The last thing I remember," she said honestly, "was waking up."

"What?" Eames said. His smile disappeared and his expression became dark. He glanced at the young man with the headphones and then looked back at her. "Before that? You were only a level down, no? What happened?"

"A level down where?" she asked. "I think I must have been asleep. Where could I have been?"

She looked at Arthur again who seemed stunned. She knew he understood then and she wanted to apologize for the dawning look of disbelief on his face.

She spoke again, this time so that there was no doubt. "The last thing I remember, before this moment, was opening my eyes. Before that… nothing."

"Tell me your name," Eames said, in a low voice. "What's your name?"

She opened her mouth and then closed it, willing down the growing panic in her chest. She shook her head and shrugged.

"I don't know."

"Where are you?" Arthur said. His hand squeezed her shoulder. "Do you know where you are?"

In the background, she saw the girl stand up and she heard her book fall with a thump to the floor. She rushed to the boy and grabbed his arm and he looked up, startled, as he pulled off his headphones.

"In a hotel?" she said. The boy and the girl seemed to argue and the boy was shaking his head, his face drawn up in an expression of disbelief.

"Where? What city? What country?" The questions were asked urgently and she saw Eames move towards the boy, saying something in a low tone and pushing his finger into the boy's chest angrily.

He thinks the boy did something. But he didn't, I can tell. His reaction was genuine, it's all in his-

"Hey, look at me," Arthur commanded and she forced herself to look back into his eyes. "Tell me where you are."

"I don't know," she said. "Paris, I think? From the newspaper and the coffee cup and the outlets… I think we're in France. One of the more popular, well-visited hotels. Most places don't require smoke detectors so…"

She trailed off, bewildered. "But how did I know that? Do I travel a lot?"

It was Arthur's turn to ignore her question and he pushed on, undeterred. "What year is it? How old are you?"

"It's 2014. I'm…" She paused, struggling. The year was easy, her age was close. She could feel it on the tip of her tongue. "Twenty-nine. Thirty or thirty-one. Around there?"

I don't know.

"Shit." Arthur's face seemed to crumple slightly and he ran his fingers through his hair, ruining the style. She wanted to reach out and touch him, tell him it wasn't his fault she couldn't remember anything but she didn't.

After all, she didn't know if it was true.

"You will fix this right the fuck now, Miron." She heard Eames' voice grow steadily louder and angrier. "She can't even remember her goddamn name! That wasn't one of the side effects you told us about!"

"I don't know what happened!" the boy said, distressed. His large, doe-like eyes glanced at her in supplication. "I will fix it but this was not supposed to happen! This was not my intention!"

He had a Russian accent and she could hear it thicken as he went on. I vill fix it.

"If you tried to pull something, I'll find out and-"

"Eames!" Arthur stood up suddenly and whirled around to face the others. "Dial it down. You're not helping."

He ran his fingers through his hair again and glanced back at her. His face seemed to soften slightly and she felt oddly reassured. She didn't know him but there was something inside of her, perhaps a ghost of a memory that told her she could trust Arthur.

He's a friend. A good friend.

He expects me to trust him.

He'll take care of things, she thought suddenly. The fear she'd been trying to ignore seemed to lessen at the idea. When Arthur's around, he takes care of things.

Arthur turned around and jerked his head at Miron.

"From this moment on you're working on figuring out what happened and how to reverse it, got that? You work on nothing else and you work for no one else. You understand?"

Miron nodded, glancing at her and then back at Arthur.

"She is a friend. I would not allow this to happen."

Arthur turned to the girl and sighed.

"Ariadne, call Greggori, tell him the job's his if he wants it. Ana's in no condition to extract and I'm dropping out. You can work with him and his team- they're good and they don't have an architect."

"Count me out too," Eames said suddenly. "Until she's better, where Ana goes, I go."

The air seemed to grow cold then and she saw Ariadne look at Arthur with wide eyes.

"That's not a good idea, Eames," Arthur said. There was a clear warning in his words and she sat up, suddenly feeling as if she had to get away. She put her feet on the floor and looked down at her shoes- high heels- wondering how quickly she could run.

Can I get away? The door is at least twenty feet away and the windows are shut.

"I don't think leaving Ana with you alone is a good idea either." Eames looked back at Arthur evenly. "Care to remind her what she said the last time you saw each other?"

She looked up, surprised at his words and glanced at Arthur. Arthur's mouth twisted down and though he stood tall and straight, with his shoulders back and chin up, she could tell that Eames' words had struck a blow.

"Guys, calm down," Ariadne said, walking between them. "You aren't helping Ana by talking about her like she's not sitting there."

Ariadne looked down at her and held out her hand.

"It's okay," she said. Her dark eyes were kind but shrewd. "We'll help you figure out what's going on. I'm Ariadne. The people behind me are Arthur and Eames and Miron."

She reached up and shook the other girl's hand. "Am I Ana then? Is that my name?"

Ariadne looked back at Arthur, seeming to ask a question without saying a word and he shook his head once.

"It's how I know you," Ariadne said, after a slight hesitation. "Come on, let's get a bandage on your arm and some coffee and we can-"

"Is this a dream?" Ana asked suddenly. "This can't be real, can it?"

Arthur looked as if he'd been slapped and Ariadne looked stricken. Only Eames looked back at her without flinching but on his face was an expression of regret.

"I'm sorry, pet," he said, in an oddly gentle voice.

"Ana, you're awake and this is real."

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