Disclaimer: Inception belongs to Christopher Nolan and Warner Bros.

AN: Kisses to Ninavs2, LauRa-ReaDinG-XoX, silver-nightstorm and anonymous reviewers for showing me love .3."

The Absolute Basic

Chapter Five

Arthur placed his phone back in his suit pocket. "That's that. Ariadne's flying in tomorrow."

"Where's my favourite little lady hiding out?" Eames asked with a fond smile, leaning back lazily on his chair.

"Still in Paris studying. She's in her last year. But she says she's delighted to help us out again," Arthur remarked, looking particularly pleased about this fact.

"Ariadne was your Architect for the Inception, right?" Clara asked, sitting with her legs crossed on a chair again.

Arthur nodded in reply and sat on the edge of the table. "She was great. Got it in a second." He smiled at her. "A bit like you, but quicker."

"Gee, thanks."

Eames nudged Arthur slyly. "Tell our old friend what you pulled on Ariadne, won't you?"

Arthur rolled his eyes, clearly embarrassed. "Shut up, Eames. I don't appreciate your-"

"He tricked Ari into kissing him," Eames broke out, turning gleeful eyes on Clara. "He told her that if she kissed him the projections would leave them alone."

"Oh my God." Arthur buried his face in his hands.

"You bastard, you." Eames prodded Arthur with his foot.

Clara forced out a laugh; her mind was still reeling from how seamlessly Eames had fallen into this new carefree role. It was nauseating to watch. "That's very...unlike you, Arthur," she said lightly.

"I forgot to ask, have you two kept in touch?" Eames turned back to Arthur, suddenly dead serious.

Arthur glared back at him. "What does it matter to you?"

"I might get jealous."

"Of who?"

"Gentlemen," Clara interjected, sitting forward and fanning her hands over the table. "I didn't fly across the world to watch you two flirt. Arthur dragged me here to do a job, and we have a month and a bit to do it. So let's make a start, okay?"

The instant surprise on their faces prompted a triumphant little spark from within Clara. She reached for one of the files she had brought with her. "Have you guys read these yet?" she inquired.

"Yes, ma'am," Eames replied curtly.

Her eyes darted up to him, then came back down and she smiled weakly.

"So, Golden Clover Hotels," Arthur said, reaching for his own file and sifting through it carefully. "They want their competitors to form a merger in order for the two firms to disintegrate. The two hotels that are rumoured to have that merger are Dynasty Hotels and Grand Empark Resorts. The one we need to perform Inception on is Dynasty."

"Who's Dynasty's CEO?" asked Eames.

Arthur squinted at him. "I thought you said you read the files."

"I forgot."

"His name is Stephen Trollope," Clara said, before they could have another row. Arthur threw a file at Eames. "Fifty-six years old, lives in Chicago, divorced, has two children," she continued.

"He's known to be strong-headed and isn't easily maneuvered into taking on other colleagues' ideas," Arthur continued. "So we have to make the idea even more simpler. It has to be personal."

"The absolute basic," said Eames, nodding and running his finger along the bridge of his nose, studying the pieces of paper.

"Let's think time," Clara said, crossing her legs again on the chair. "How long did you guys take last time?"

Eames glanced at Arthur before replying, "Well, we originally had a whole ten hour flight, but-"

"-but Fischer Junior had a trained subconscious and things sort of fell to pieces a bit," finished Arthur.

"All because you didn't finish the background check," Eames reminded.

"Shut up."

"It was all your fault."

"Guys!" Clara slapped the table. "Quit it."

It was starting to become quite funny, how Clara had expected the distractions to come from her and Eames, but instead here she was, trying to stop the two men from bickering. She supposed it was a sort of relief, to feel like she needed to lead, to be in charge. It gave her security.

"Sorry," Arthur said through gritted teeth. "Six months from this man and-"

"-and I haven't changed a bit." Eames snickered.

"Anyway!" Clara exclaimed, staring at Eames in disbelief. "Time! You say you had ten hours. That sounds plenty."

"When would we get Trollope alone for even half that time, though?" Arthur asked, shifting himself farther up the table from Eames. "Does he travel a lot? If we took him in for too long we might raise a few questions. He's a busy man."

"I dunno..." Clara studied her file again. "Perhaps on a holiday? Or do you think a kidnapping's in order?"

"That would be harder," said Arthur. "And there's always a danger of Trollope remembering the kidnap, which might affect the Inception. Especially if his subconscious is trained."

"We could plant a decoy," Eames suggested in a startlingly calm voice. "Does he have any close friends? We could send a fake message and set up a meeting with him in some quiet place."

"What would he do if his friend doesn't show up?" Arthur asked.

"We could pick him up," Clara improvised. "Pretend to be his friend's chauffeur or something and pick him up in a car. All we need is a glass of spiked water and he'd be good to go."

"That sounds plausible," Arthur decided, fishing a pen out of his waistcoat pocket and scribbling down a few notes. "I'll find out Trollope's monthly schedule. And I'll see if he's had any subconscious training."

"We need more on Trollope's personal life," Eames continued, shaking his head a little at the file in his hands. "His personality, his habits, friends, all that business."

"We need everything, Forger," Arthur said.

Eames winked. "You can count on me."

Can I?

Eames watched Clara as she unpacked the PASIV machine. She stood in front of it, apparently lost in thought. Her fingers traced the wires and the metal components, but she hardly seemed to be seeing what was really in front of her. Meanwhile, Arthur was sitting by himself at the far end of the warehouse, tapping consistently at a laptop, hacking God knows how many agendas and high-security profiles.

Eames opened his mouth to speak, but Clara had already turned away and started dragging an abandoned and threadbare sofa toward the table they were sitting at. He made to go help her, then decided not to and sank lower in his seat, fiddling with the corners of the file. His eyes never left Clara.

Perhaps he had been looking to hard. Clara noticed him after a while. "What?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"Don't you have something productive to do?" She let the sofa rest with a dull thud; puffs of dust rose around her hips.

"Relax. I'll get round to it." Eames placed the file back on the table. "Besides, I need to see Trollope. I have to study him, and I can't really do that until I'm in Chicago."

"Why aren't we based in Chicago for this job, anyway?" Clara wondered, sitting on the armrest of the sofa and unravelling one of the IV tubes from the PASIV device.

Eames shrugged nonchalantly. "Dunno. Maybe Golden Clover wanted us nearby so they could gun us down if they had second thoughts."

Clara grimaced. "Maybe we should jump ship to Chicago then."

"Nah. Best to stay away from the Mark for now, while we're in the early stages. We don't want to slip up right at the start."

"True." Clara nodded along with his suggestions, and they seemed to share a moment right there. A calm, collected, professional moment that felt good and reliable and masked.

"Anyway," Eames went on, "what are you doing?"

The tips of Clara's lips lifted gracefully. "It's been ages since I've simply created. I want to experiment again. Kinda like old times." She bit her lip slightly. "My current job doesn't allow that."

"What do you do?"

There it was again, that slow scrabbling of her fingernails at her collarbone, peeking behind his own jacket. A hairline fracture in her otherwise normal appearance. "I teach businessmen how to strengthen their subconscious," she said simply, "to protect their secrets from people like you."

Eames smirked. "Always making sure your services are in high demand, love."

Clara furrowed her brow. "Forgers may mean I'm needed by a lot of wealthy people, but I still don't like the idea of you faking an appearance and stealing things."

"Oh, I know, darling, I know."

Clara surveyed him strangely, eyes a little unfocused, as if she was reminiscing.

"I'm sorry," Eames said quietly, "about - before Arthur walked in."

Shaking her head, Clara ignored his gaze. "Doesn't matter."

In silence, Eames watched as Clara prepared the PASIV device, setting the timing mechanism and making sure she had enough of the drug in the wide circular tubes. She shook off his leather jacket and laid it down on the sofa before she settled herself lying on her back. She patted her wrist and cleaned the area with an alcoholic wipe Arthur had supplied earlier. She inspected her wrist for a vein and inserted the IV needle with ease, wincing a little as it pierced her skin.

"Need any help?" Eames asked.

"I'm fine, thanks," came the careful reply. But then: "Actually, could you help me activate it? I don't want to pass out while I'm pressing that button."

"Sure thing." Eames hauled himself up and walked around the table next to her. She lied on her back and watched him as his finger hovered over the button set in the middle of the device.

"Sweet dreams," he said before pressing down. A soft hiss escaped, followed by a hollow sigh from Clara as she closed her eyes. Her body tensed for a second before completely relaxing into the creases of his jacket, on top of the dirty fabric of the sofa. She was off. Eames stood over her, examining every inch hungrily, unashamedly.

"How long is she gonna be out for?" Arthur called from across the room, making Eames jump slightly at his echoing voice. "And that PASIV doesn't have the sedative in yet."

Eames checked the timer on the device. "Ten minutes," he said. "What's ten times twelve?"

"One hundred and twenty, you git."

"Divided by sixty?"

"Two."

"So she'll spend two hours down there..."

"Yes. Your math is horrendous."

"Maths, darling, not math."

"I don't need lessons from you, Mr. Eames."

Eames chuckled and walked across the wide warehouse to Arthur, sitting at a desk with papers scattered all around him. He was twirling a ball-point pen around on his index finger, and was staring at the laptop screen in deep concentration.

"How's it going?" said Eames, leaning against the desk sideways.

Arthur heaved a sigh. "Fine," he muttered, and he dropped the pen and fixed Eames with an uncomfortable stare. "Stop it."

"What?" Eames was poised to look normal.

"Stop acting. I don't want this job to be compromised by whatever's going on between you two."

"Honestly, Arthur, I think we're more of a problem."

"I'm being serious here, Eames."

"I am too."

"Eames..."

The Forger looked away, ignoring his colleague's pleas.

Arthur shook his head in despair and sighed again. "Look. I don't want you to talk about it with me-"

"I wasn't going to."

"-but you can't afford to get distracted. Not like Cobb."

"Then why did you bring her here?" Eames snapped abruptly, and his eyes flickered venomously to Clara's unconscious form before they glared at the man in front of him. "You knew I was interested in this job. Why did you have to get her involved?!" His voice was dangerously close to breaking.

Arthur glared back, unwavering. "Because she deserves to know about Inception. More than anyone."

"Why?"

Arthur fell silent for a short while.

Eames felt fear creep into him. "Has she talked to you?" Before talking with me first?

"No." Arthur smoothed his hair back with the palm of his hand. "She's simple. Different from the two of us. Always has been, always will. And that's why she deserves to know." Arthur turned back to his laptop. "Clara's here because she's good at what she does, and so are you. Now go do your job."

AN: Please tell me what you think! :') Til next timee