AN: Thank you to those who followed and Birdy21 and kenz1717 for reviewing! :') Much love sniff.

Disclaimer: Inception belongs to Christopher Nolan and Warner Bros.

The Absolute Basic

Chapter Two

The roller coaster was trembling as it climbed up the ramp overlooking the colourful amusement park. People were cheering, children were screaming, and carnival music was booming in everyone's ears, intermixed with the low grumbling and whining of the rollercoaster machinery, chugging and heaving its cargo up the steep slope. The smell of sticky, cotton candy rose to her nose, mingled with the tang of the ocean spray on the other side of the carnival.

Clara stared at the chaotic scene. She was seated on the second car of the roller coaster and was surrounded by jittering families and friends. They paid her no mind as she sat, alone, in her seat with her hands folded over one another. She wasn't scared at all by the prospect of the ride. She merely sat and observed with a bland curiosity.

They climbed higher, higher, until the people below were erasable dots, and the music was hollowed out. She thought that the air was thinning, but she didn't care, really, because there was suddenly someone wedged next to her, existing and breathing and occupying the empty space.

And there was nothing - nothing - more frightening than being with the man next to her.

She stared ahead of her, not daring to look to her left, to see those familiar blue-grey eyes that had held her gaze so many times before, not unlike how a wolf might stare down a frightful rabbit.

"You left something," he said, and out of the corner of her eye, Clara saw a glint of metal under the brilliant sunlight.

She swivelled around, walnut-brown eyes shining with malice. "Give that back!"

And just as she lashed out to snatch her world back, the roller coaster rumbled past its peak and suddenly shot down like a bullet. And, in a terrifying flash, the necklace was gone. Her's life dictator, her necklace, was flung away into the air, and he was still next to her, leaning toward her, eyes pained and nervous yet she could barely see it as they tumbled down toward the earth at lightning speed-

"Stop!" Clara yelled, and she scrambled up in bed, her hair sticking to her skin with sweat.

Warm light spilled past the neat, cream blinds and into her peach-walled bedroom. Clara stared around her wildly for a few seconds before she realized she was panting. Taking a few shuddering breaths, Clara's hand shook as she reached out to her bedside drawer. She found her necklace and held it in front of her. The necklace was simply a thin metal chain on which five small, silver beads hung from; there was a letter elegantly engraved on the surface of each one, and together they spelled out a word. Clara quickly studied these letters with ferocity in her eyes, then exhaled, satisfied, and put the necklace back on.

Don't think. Don't remember.

After a cold shower and a change of clothes, Clara stepped into her kitchen in jeans and a tank top and fixed herself breakfast. She had been living by herself for quite some time in her Hong Kong apartment, which was situated along a hill so that she had to walk up a slope every time she came back from the supermarket. She enjoyed the tranquility the white, minimalistic rooms and wide, generous windows gave her, but this morning she fervently wished there was someone to talk to, to confide in. Despite the heat, she felt chills run through her body as she poured cereal and milk into a bowl. Coco Pops, she had always enjoyed them as a child.

Clara moved into the living room and sat down on her two-seater sofa, tucking her legs under her body and switching on the television. But even as the Saturday morning news played out before her, Clara couldn't help but feel removed from reality. She ate her cereal steadily, trying to hold back on the shivering in her hands.

There were dreams, and then there were those dreams. Those dreams were the ones that really got you. They were the ones that really caught you off-guard, so that when you woke up, it would be like your shadow was still living in the dream, and you thought, maybe, you were the one who was still asleep.

Battling on through her breakfast, Clara went back into the kitchen and washed the bowl, then stopped, remembering the phone call from last night. Arthur. The memory brought a reluctant smile to her lips. She had always admired him, seen him as someone she could trust without feeling tied down by anything as mundane as friendship. And even though they had been strangers for the past four years or so, talking to him again had been as easy as slipping into a bubbly, soothing bath.

There was a short moment when her friends went to the toilet.

"What's your name?"

"Arthur."

They had met when Clara was studying biochemistry at her university. On another typical night out, she and her friends had run into him, sitting at the bar with nothing but a glass of brandy and an exquisite smile. He had had a serene aura about him. The quiet, observing gentleman. Clara's friends had fawned over him, and she was sure that one of them had even managed to bring him to bed. But from that instance a platonic bond had been formed between the two unlikely acquaintances. He had never given her his full name, but that was fine for Clara. She had not needed to know; she had simply found subtle companionship in him. And so they had exchanged numbers.

They had talked a lot, over phone, e-mails, enough to make her roommates question whether or not they were dating. Clara had dismissed their gossiping and her own little bouts of excitement. They had rarely talked about anything other than this idea of Dream-sharing. She had believed that he was a scientist of sorts, and was on the verge of a breakthrough. He had told her that his colleague - a man named Dominic Cobb - was doing all sorts of experimenting to make what seemed impossible possible.

'Dreams. They can be shared.' She read his text message over and over again.

She replied: 'Prove it.'

Clara often wondered why Arthur had decided to share with her this idea. He was, after all, allowing her an insight into his illegal activities. He hadn't told her outright what he did, but he had implied it, and Clara had taken it up from there. But Arthur hadn't seem dangerous at all. In fact, he had seemed quite neutral and...average (though he was a tad better-looking than most men; Clara had to give him that). Perhaps his unusual outgoing nature had a lot to do with her degree. She had been interested by how one's brain was capable of so much, especially under the influence of drugs and sleep. She had always been intrigued by the subconscious, and had appropriately carried out experiments related to her course. But what Arthur had been inviting her to take part in was incredible.

"Simply, bloody incredible," remarked a broad man (Eames) with the eyes of a fox.

So she had helped, first, as a Chemist. After graduating, she had been recruited by Arthur to help alter and improve the drug that put them under. The chemical in the PASIV device Eames (don't think, don't remember) had stolen from the military had run out, and they had needed more. She had been so eager, it made Clara feel stupid just thinking about it. She had had a part-time job training in pharmacy, but she had spent most of her time in Dom's house, or in a basement, or in a garage, pouring over mind maps and plans on how to expand and deepen the world of Dream-sharing. She had felt so alive, so useful and vital to these entrepreneurs - felons sounded harsh in Clara's head, especially when Cobb and Mal had not used their skills back then for thievery. And Arthur just didn't look like a criminal whatsoever.

Her first visit to Dom's place. "You and Eames are like spies. Living a double-life."

"It's not as exciting as it sounds." He dipped his head modestly, but smiled.

And that was when things had begun to turn grey. It hadn't taken long for Clara to realize that what she was now a part of (she had abandoned her job as a pharmacist before long), all those files and experiments and trial runs, were illegal (at least, Eames' and Arthur's plans were; Dom and Mal had simply been too entranced to shun them away). Yet, she had not been repelled. There had been a certain spark in their activities that had appealed to her. She had never done anything of the sort before; she had shied away from drugs, and had never tampered with alcohol. This, this world of dreams and Extraction, was pure and tainted and as real as a fantasy could be.

Arthur found her one day.

"Come with me and I'll prove it."

So Clara waited. She waited at home, pacing around restlessly for that phone call. She was sure that any second now, her phone would vibrate and ring and she would say 'yes'. How silly of her, to do something so obtuse, to simply leap back into a dangerous life that she had exiled herself from. Yes, she still dealt with the dream world, but what she was doing now was legal. In the last decade, Dream-sharing had expanded, and companies were all threatened. They needed a new form of security, and that was where Clara stepped in. Could she just throw away three years of work?

The sun rose. Then it started to descend. It was the afternoon, and Arthur still hadn't called. Clara was starting to become worried. Had he forgotten? Or had he decided not to bother? She cursed herself for being so impatient and headed out to the small coffee shop just up the road on the hill. The walk brought little peace of mind. She ordered a lemonade for the tropical weather and sat by the window, gazing out blindly.

When the phone finally rang, Clara nearly dropped it in her eagerness to answer. "Arthur?" she asked immediately.

"Hey there."

She looked up at his devilish smile and shook his hand. "Hi, I'm Clara. Arthur's been telling me about you."

It was not Arthur's voice. It was rough around the edges, bristling, low, and dangerous. And unlike Arthur's voice, Clara didn't need to guess who it belonged to.

"Eames," said Clara, sounding both devoid of emotion and yet brimming with it. His name came out with difficulty, but there was a sense of returning with the utterance of that single word. Her lips parted fluidly for his name, her jaw working like a fish that had been thrown back into the water after being caught. A necklace; those snow sky eyes. She was holding her breath.

The man chuckled and gripped her hand firmly. His skin was like sand, mild but textured against her palm. "And he's been telling me about you. Glad to finally meet you for myself."

His eyes showed the lie.

He seemed to feel the tension. "Arthur talked to you about the job?" he asked easily enough.

"Yes," she put out, just managing to not turn her phone off. His accent reminded her of guns and candles. "Did he give you my number?"

"He didn't. I'm using his phone." There was a sheepish but deceitful laugh. "I didn't think it'd be wise to have your number, love."

Clara ignored the pet name. She would not rise to it. Four years had made her learn control. "So you're on the team, then?"

A hesitant sigh. "I didn't think it'd be fair for Arthur to hook you up and fly you over without you knowing that I'm definitely in on it as well."

"How thoughtful of you."

"So? You up for it or what?"

Despite this unpleasant (but was it?) surprise, Clara knew what she was going to say. She had already considered the possibility of Eames being there, lurking somewhere too close, and she had decided she wasn't going to let that get in the way of her and Inception, something she had thought about relentlessly for years. This was just any old job, and she was going to be professional. No hard feelings. It was just work, albeit a more challenging type of work.

"Yes," she said out loud, affirming to herself more than anyone that she was committed. "I'm in."

"Lovely," replied Eames, and she could hear the beginnings of a chuckle forming in the back of his throat. "Arthur looks so chuffed right now."

"Are you?" Clara stuttered before she could help herself. She could feel the heat of uncertainty boiling inside her.

Eames went quiet for a long time, and Clara wished she could stare him down for an answer. She heard rustling and movement.

"Eames?" she said, less confidently.

"Clara? It's Arthur. I've got your ticket to London, where we're at. I'll e-mail you everything and all the details right away."

"Oh, right. Thanks. I'll see you soon?"

"Yeah, see you soon. I'm glad we're working on this one together."

"Me too, Arthur."

"Bye then." His voice was replaced by the beeping of a dead line.

Clara set her phone down to the table and ran her knuckles over her forehead.

Clara left the next day, on a Sunday. After having packed all her essentials in a maroon suitcase, she had slept through the night with trouble and woken up feeling groggy but purposeful. She had left a message for Mr. Ross saying that she was unfortunately busy and had sent a replacement while she was away, and that had been that.

The ride to London took eleven hours, and Clara felt like the undead as she followed a path toward Immigration. She gave her passport, took it back, then went to Baggage Reclaim and hauled her suitcase off the conveyor belt. All the while she was fighting the swirl of panic in her gut. She must not freak out. Not now. Clara had to stay level-headed, because she couldn't show the man, who was with Arthur and beckoning to her as she exited the Arrivals gate in London Heathrow, that she had felt anything that was even close to remorse or guilt or nostalgia. Because, if she was to show even a hint of such an atrocity, then things would inevitably fall to pieces, and her skin would be returned to shreds.

And wouldn't that be a shame?

AN: Hope you enjoyed! It's a bit of a development chapter but I hope I left enough mystery in there :/