A/N:This chapter is a bit wordy. I'm trying not to give away too much but at the same time, I want to make sure you lovely folks understand where the characters are coming from. Let me know if it's too much/too little- love hearing from you guys!

Also, Eames as an architect? Why not? Remember, he was the one who advised Ariadne to add a shortcut in the hospital level. I don't see him going to architecture school exactly but he's a creative thinker. I would imagine that he can build dream levels just as easily as he can build people.Or maybe I'm just reading too much into his name.

Anyway, thanks for reading and reviewing! The next chapter will be a vignette and it will look into some of the jobs they worked on together.

Chapter 8:

Gideon Klein was a dangerous blend of ambition, intelligence and ruthlessness, with a stubborn streak that could have been seen as obsessive. Once he latched onto something- a minor detail on a case or a possible suspect, he pursued it relentlessly. He was territorial and possessive; he was Ana's partner.

Arthur thought he was a lunatic.

It was only Ana's influence that kept Gideon from going after Arthur and tearing through the dream-share world. Now, with her memory loss, Arthur knew that Gideon would be like a rabid dog off its leash. When he found out what had happened to her and who was involved…

"Slow down," Eames said tightly from the passenger seat. Arthur glanced at him. Though he was in a characteristic slouch, his expression was tense. "We'll be no good if we get pulled over for speeding. It'll be easier for Klein to track us down."

Arthur eased off the gas but gripped the wheel as he drove to the school where Avery worked. It was lucky that the hotel doorman had flagged down a cab for mademoiselleand he'd seen the address she had given the driver. However, time was against them. It had been an hour since Ana's escape. She could have easily left the school grounds by now and Arthur wasn't sure if Avery would be inclined to talk to them.

He may have been working with her this whole time,Arthur thought.

He may have helped her do… whatever it was she did to herself.

Peter Avery was a good man but he'd been an indirect casualty of Arthur's work. As Ana became more embedded in dream-share, she slowly pulled away from her work. As a profiler, Ana had a certain freedom that Avery didn't have but they had been tight. Arthur knew that Ana usually accompanied him during investigations but after Arthur's reappearance into her life, she'd drawn back.

The end for Avery came when Ana had chosen a job from Arthur over an active case.

It wasn't her fault. Avery should have been more careful.

He'd gotten shot while Ana had been on a job with Arthur in Brussels and his injury was bad enough to put him out of commission permanently.

She never got over the guilt.

At the time, Arthur had considered it a point in his favor. While Ana had done well for herself at the FBI, he knew that her talents were being wasted there. As a child, she'd marveled over the great explorers and adventurers of times past- Arthur wanted to be the one to bring her that sort of life.

It was one of the reasons why he'd kept tabs on her for so many years.

Yet he was a practical man and knew that eventually it would come down to her choice: he could show her the possibilities that awaited her but she had to choose him first. The more dreams Ana entered with him, the further away she withdrew from reality.

And in the beginning, Arthur was perfectly fine with the way things were.

And then it all started going bad, he thought grimly.

Things began to sour soon after Avery's replacement had arrived. A series of circumstances unrelated but significant followed one after another, and Ana had begun to retreat.

...St. Petersburg...

All told, it had taken little less than a year for Ana to turn away from dream-share completely, even with Eames at her heels. Arthur had let her go but he had had a glimmer of hope she'd return. He'd been convinced that all she needed was time, the itch would come back, the urge to create, to see clearer-

But then the Lewis job had happened.

"And what exactly did the steering wheel do to you?"

Eames's voice drew Arthur out of his thoughts. With a scowl, Arthur looked down. He was clutching the steering wheel so tightly now that his fingernails dented the surface like talons in flesh.

Arthur was suddenly overcome by the urge to strike the other man.

Eames had played his own part in their current circumstances. Capricious but brilliant, he was a Renaissance man of sorts. He was the best forger Arthur had ever worked with but it was well known he could also extract and build.

Creation, though, was his first love.

As an architect, Eames wasn't quite up to Cobb or Ariadne's technical skills but he was always keen to develop what inherent gifts he had. Eames could create fantastical worlds that went above and beyond mere office buildings and cities. However, it was difficult to forge, extract and build at the same time.

Like Arthur, Eames only wanted to work with the best. He may not have liked Eames personally but he respected his abilities. Mere competence wasn't enough for men like them.

After Eames worked with Ana the first time, Arthur knew he'd made a tactical mistake. Eames was an opportunist and once he witnessed Ana's abilities, as raw as they were back then, merely aligning himself with her would not be enough.

Arthur really should have known better.

It soon became clear that Eames wanted to take what Arthur waited so patiently and worked so hard to secure - an exclusive partnership with the best extractor. Not only would it generate more interesting jobs and more money, it would give him the chance to improve his other skills. When Cobb left, Arthur had paved the way to establish Ana as the clear successor.

Eames was a thief, pure and simple and he'd inserted himself between Arthur and Ana like a crowbar. Not content as a freelancer, he'd wanted to force Arthur out of his own enterprise. Their world was fraught with wary partnerships and political motivations; teams formed and disbanded and the best workers climbed over the fallen bodies of their former colleagues.

Eames had manipulated Ana. As Arthur had scrambled to repair the cracks that had formed between them, Eames stepped in and-

He played me to get to her. I pushed her too hard, too fast and...

Arthur clenched his jaw as he drove.

And I made it too easy for him. For too long, I made it easy for him.

But now… now he had an opportunity to set things right. Maybe, just maybe, he could undo a little of the damage they had inflicted on her.

I'll let her go this time.

I'll make sure nothing touches her and I'll walk away.

I won't make the same mistake twice.

"What are you planning?" Eames said, in a deceptively innocent tone. Arthur didn't have to turn his head to know that the other man was looking at him with a raised eyebrow. "I know that look. What are you thinking?"

Arthur didn't bother to look at him. "None of your fucking business."

Eames tutted at him. "Language, Arthur," he said. His voice was serious when he spoke next. "According to my sources, Ana flew here under the name Keller-"

"That's what was on her passport, yeah."

"It's not one I created for her," Eames said. "So I did more digging. It turns out Analiese Keller owns properties around the world and she's got enough money to last her a good amount of time. Seems our little girl has made some very smart investments over the past couple of years."

That made Arthur pause. "So she was planning this," he said. "I was right."

"Cold comfort, isn't it?" Eames said. "Now here's the interesting bit. My contacts tracked down the Keller alias using Ana's description and approximate time of arrival but truth is, I didn't need to go that far. Yesterday evening someone left an interesting package at one of my local drop boxes."

"And?" Arthur glanced at him and was surprised to see Eames looking troubled. He rubbed his mouth and looked out the window, his brow furrowed in thought.

"It was a packet. A flight voucher for Analiese Keller out to Seattle, copies of her birth certificate and SS card and a key to a safe box with an address attached to it."

Arthur felt his blood grow cold. "Anything else?"

"Yes," Eames said. He looked back at Arthur. "There was note in there. In Ana's handwriting."

"Well?" Arthur said, frustrated. "Eames, what did it say?"

"It said, 'This time, make the right choice.'"

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Ana looked down at her fists and found it took an effort to unclench them. She had opened a few stitches and bled onto her notebook but no serious harm was done.

"I had an accident," she said, looking back up. "Yesterday. It's nothing, really."

"An accident…" Peter trailed off, bemused. He hesitated before sitting back down and reached into a drawer to pull out a handkerchief. Ana took it without protest, wrapping it around her re-injured hand.

"So what's next for you?" he asked, after a moment. "Are you going to finish whatever it is you're doing here and go home?"

"I don't know where to go from here," Ana said honestly. She let out a half-hearted laugh. "What do you think I should do?"

Peter looked at her kindly. "I think you should walk away from living in dreams. I know how… attractive that world is to you but you've lost so much of yourself to it already. Look at what you've become. Don't let it take anything more from you."

"And what exactly do you think I've become?" Ana asked, raising her chin. She looked him in the eye and leaned forward.

"You don't think I didn't see what was happening?" Peter said. He shook his head. "All that time… it changed you. Even before I got hurt, I could see it. You went from being happy, content, to constantly looking over your shoulder. It was like you stopped trusting yourself and everyone else around you."

Peter looked down and shrugged. "Whatever secrets Arthur made you keep weren't good ones. I only wish I had known then what I know now- maybe I could have kept things from getting to this point."

"What does-"

"I think you need to take care of yourself," Peter said, looking up. His words came out in a rush, as if he were afraid that she'd leave before he had finished speaking his piece. "Leave this madness behind you and just move on. Hurting Arthur or Eames won't bring Matt back and it won't make things easier for you. I know we hadn't kept in touch much after I left but… when you came here yesterday, you weren't the woman I once knew. You were so angry. Don't let the past poison you."

He paused and then went on in softer tone. "Think about it, Ana. What kind of life would you have if you had accomplished what you set out to do? Cut off from everyone you know, everyone who loves you - what kind of life is that?"

She closed her eyes briefly, feeling ill. Because… she was cut off now. She had accomplished at least part of what he was suggesting.

"I know you don't want to hear this but what Eames did…" Peter sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "I can't say I wouldn't have done the same. If I were in his shoes at that moment, if I had to make that terrible choice- I can't say I would have chosen differently."

What are you saying? What choice did Eames have to make?

"Eames…" Ana repeated his name. "And what about Arthur? What do you think of him?"

"I don't know Arthur," Peter said. "I never met him, after all. But what I do know is that you thought the best of him at one point and he would have razed the world for you. And he almost did, in fact. Despite everything, I'm grateful to him for keeping you alive."

"Do you think I should forgive them?" Ana asked, falteringly.

"I've come to realize just how short life can be," Peter said, with a half-smile. He looked away and picked up a framed picture on his desk, staring down at it with a sad expression. "I don't want you to regret the things you've done under the guise of vengeance. Especially when you're the one who would lose the most."

He handed her the picture. "You've changed so much, old friend. It's time for you to let go of all the hatred and guilt you've carried around since Matt's death. If you don't, I'm afraid you'll look in the mirror one day and no longer know who you are."

Ana took the picture from Peter but she felt light-headed and unable to respond. His words had struck a little too close to the truth and she was finding it difficult to reel back her reactions.

She stared down at the frame in her hands and for one horrible, frightening second, Ana wanted to cry.

This is who I was.

She looked younger in the photograph, or perhaps it was because she was smiling so brightly. She wore a pale yellow dress and her bare arms were slung around the shoulders of the two men beside her. Peter was standing without a cane on one side of her with his mouth open in mid-laugh. Another man, this one with dark hair and light eyes, stood on her other side looking at her with an amused expression.

My brother.

It was obvious they were related. It was in the shape of their faces and their eyes, the way they were physically angled toward each other in a familiar, protective way. The look on his face-

My brother.

Ana put the picture back on the desk and pressed the back of her hand against her now tightly shut eyes. She drew in a breath and let it out slowly.

I'm not doing this here, she thought. Not here. Not now.

But it was so hard not to give in. The loneliness was suddenly more than she could bear. Once, she'd had a brother who looked at her with such fond affection that there could be no doubt she'd been cared for. Once, Ana had been someone's little sister.

What happened to you, Matthew? Why am I here?

Why aren't you?

She couldn't remember her brother, couldn't really feel for him, but here now was his face. She couldn't remember how much she'd loved him but the knowledge of that missing piece, the longing for someone to trust, was painful all by itself.

"Do you want some water?"

She lowered her hand and opened her eyes, swallowing hard as if something solid were stuck in her throat. She couldn't trust herself to speak so she merely shook her head in response.

I need to go back to Arthur and to Eames.

I need to find out what happened to me and what role they played in Matt's death.

And then… maybe I can come back here. Be with an old friend again.

"Peter, I need you to tell me something," Ana said carefully. Her voice was a bit shaky and she could hear the edge of a sob in her tone. "What I wanted to do- why wouldn't it have worked? What I came here to talk to you about. Why do you think I would have failed?"

What did I want to do?

"It failed because you can't destroy a part of yourself without destroying the whole of you," Peter said. He straightened up and seemed to pull himself together a bit now that he had something to focus on. "Maybe you're right- maybe shades in dreams are proof of memory consolidation but you can't fit a whole person into one projection. One human life is too grand to contain, Ana. The mind simply won't allow itself to be stuck in time like that."

"Not if the dreamer isn't aware of the dream. Not if the dream feels like reality."

The words she'd written down floated to the surface and she felt chilled. She didn't know exactly what Peter was talking about… shades and projections… but it gave her another dot to connect.

"I don't know what Dr. Janus told you," he went on. "But I should have never put you in touch with him. I didn't think he'd fill your head with theoretical nonsense so please, just disregard whatever it was he told you. He means well and I think he wanted to help you but… just forget whatever it was he told you, Ana. It's for the best."

Ana let out a mirthless laugh. "Consider it forgotten."

She looked around Peter's office again and frowned. There were many pictures, framed and loose, scattered about the room, along with novels and little mementoes of a life well-lived. And yet, there wasn't a dusty surface. She glanced back at his face, his young, handsome features and felt another wave of sadness pass through her.

He's surrounded himself with memories.

In all of the images she could see, he was standing straight with no indication of an injury.

What's better- a life surrounded by the past or one without memories?

"'A world without memory'," she recited the lines she'd read from the book in her bag, "'is a world of the present. The past only exists in books, in documents.'"

Peter looked startled and then he smiled. "From Einstein's Dreams by Lightman, right? I gave that book to Matt years and years ago. I didn't know you picked it up. It's not your usual literary fare."

"It travels well," she said. She looked down at lap and then took a deep breath before getting to her feet. "Peter, I should go now."

He nodded. His bright blue eyes were soft and gentle. Ana said nothing as he stood up, leaning heavily on his cane as he did so.

"Of course," he said. "And I should probably look over my lesson plan soon. Jeannine can call you a cab if you want. Just swing by her office on your way out."

"Thank you," Ana said earnestly. She walked around his desk and stood before him, feeling awkward but wanting to reach out for him nevertheless. "You don't know how much talking to you has helped me. I'm so glad that I came to see you. That you let me in."

Peter's cheeks flushed but he looked pleased. "You are always welcome here. And next time, I don't want you to wait nearly two years to come and see me."

Ana ducked her head to hide her surprise. "Of course," she said. "I'm sorry about that."

And then, to her surprise Peter drew her in with one arm and hugged her tightly, pulling her against his chest and pressing her cheek against his. At first she stiffened and then she sank into the embrace, aware that she was on the verge of tears again. She hadn't realized it but she was starved for touch and for affection and she was profoundly grateful that he couldn't see her face at the moment.

"I know you've had such a difficult time of it," he said, running his hand up and down her back as if he were soothing a child. "But it's going to be alright. You just have to be kind to yourself. Matt wouldn't have wanted you running around like this on his behalf, you know? And remember that your memories are treasured things. Even the bad ones, Ana. They make up the sum of who you are and you are not someone who should be forgotten."

Ana drew back and forced herself to smile, even as her eyes filled with tears.

"Thank you," she repeated hoarsely and looked away, embarrassed. She took a step back and held her notebook and pocketbook against her chest. "I'll see you soon, Peter."

He gave her a little wave and she hurried to the door, telling herself she would wait until she got outside before she allowed her heart to break completely.

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