AN: Again, sorry for the two-week wait. I just had mock exams, which turned out all right, but could've been better and I'm just argh stressed at the moment :'( Hope this chapter makes up for my absence!

Disclaimer: Inception belongs to Christopher Nolan and Warner Bros.

The Absolute Basic

Chapter Eleven

They pulled out a bunch of chairs and sofas and arranged them in a small circle, close to the table with the majority of their notes. A few model buildings that Ariadne had produced lay on the table beside them, as if participating in their discussions. The team sat back in their chairs and settled down, feeling at long last that they were all together for the first time and that this job - this Inception - was actually possible.

Eames was walking around them, handing out copies of his research as well as news clippings or any other relevant information he had collected. He gave Clara his last copy with a surprisingly calm smile.

Her eyes hadn't managed to leave his face yet, not since the moment he had walked in. He tried to maintain a laidback composure about the aching bruise on his forehead. He couldn't even remember exactly what had happened. Maybe the bastards - who had been waiting inside Yusuf's workshop that day - had slammed him against the wall as he had tried to get away...or had they taken a swing at his head with a bat? Eames grimaced a little at the dull throbbing, though he was sure the swelling scab looked worse than it actually was.

He fell back into a desk chair and propped his foot on his knee, addressing the group, "I managed to look into Trollope's daily life. He's a man with strong opinions and very clear personal values about his career and his life. If we're going ahead with this, we need to plant it deep enough."

Yusuf smiled confidently. "Going deeper will not be a problem, as you already know."

"Good man, Yusuf," chuckled Eames. "Anyway, I studied Trollope's ex-wife and her behaviour. She's much more mild-mannered and, in general, a softer individual. And even though she's determined to independently run her own leisure company, she still calls in to ask for advice from her ex-husband."

"How long have they been separated for?" asked Arthur.

Eames flipped to the right page. "A little over six years. But as far as I can tell the man still feels for her. He has a photo of her on his desk, and another photo of the whole family together."

"Interesting. What else have you got?"

"Daniel Tuck. Trollope's best friend from when they were in high school. In the few days I observed Trollope I noticed he would forget whatever work was at hand to help out his best mate. So I decided to follow Tuck as well. A very charismatic character, full of life but apparently a good listener, too. No doubt he must have helped Trollope through the divorce."

"Do you have enough to use both of them in the dreams?" Clara asked, legs crossed and eyes pointed at him. "If need be?"

Eames nodded. "Of course." He tapped the lapel on his jacket. "Hidden camera. I have footage of all three of them. And they're not exactly media-shy either. Have you guys come up with the idea yet?"

"We were thinking," Ariadne started, "about going with what you said and using the emotions from the divorce. If he still really loves his wife, maybe he would listen to her in the dreams. Perhaps if you pretended to be his wife and told him to go with the merger, then maybe he would listen."

"Planting an idea using his wife would only work if his subconscious creates a projection of her," Arthur interrupted. "If we got Eames to just pretend to be his wife, the idea wouldn't catch. Trollope has to think of the idea himself."

"We could still use her, though," Ariadne insisted, leaning forward on her chair. "After all, the first stage of our dream is going to be the seaside resort, similar to their honeymoon spot. Maybe on that first level, Eames could talk to him as his wife and ask about his job. That way we can bring out both his feelings for her and his dilemma about the two hotels."

"That could work," Clara said slowly, apparently deep in thought. "Yes, we need to suggest those heartbroken feelings on the first level. Then perhaps his subconscious would create a projection of Tuck, since he would want someone to talk to afterwards."

"Remember how we broke up Browning's relationship with Fischer Jr.?" Eames suddenly interjected. "And how that led to him fixing his relationship with his father? Maybe, if we hinted in the dream that Trollope's ex-wife was seeing Tuck, then Trollope might feel the need to fight for this woman he still loves."

"You want to put both relationships in jeopardy?" Clara stared at him as though he was mad.

Eames fanned his hands out, eyes turning to her. "Hear me out. We need Trollope to agree to let his hotel Dynasty work with Grand Empark Resorts, right?"

"Yes..." Clara didn't look ready to be convinced, but Eames carried on anyway..

"So, we bring up this merger problem in conversation between him and his ex-wife, which would be me. He talks with a projection of his best friend afterwards, to try and sort through all this career and love life bullshit. On the second level, we manipulate him into believing that his best friend is seeing his ex-wife. His subconscious catches on, and his projections will reflect his suspicions. He gets mad at his mate and pushes him away, and turns to the one woman he loves in his life and begs for her to come back to him. On the third level-"

"He makes the connection between the problem of his love life and his career," Arthur finished, his hand stroking his chin in thought. "Ahh, I see. Very ingenuitive."

"Why thank you, Arthur. I knew you would understand."

"Wait, what?" Clara demanded, glaring between them both; Ariadne and Yusuf looked equally confused. "I don't get it."

Eames sighed. "Basically, we plant the idea into his mind that he needs to work with people in order to be happy and successful. His personality goes against him co-operating with others well, but - if we do this right - Trollope will change his ways for the better and decide to work with Empark Resorts."

"We suggest this idea through his ex-wife," Arthur supplied, helping to explain the idea in his own brisk, precise way. "She has to tell him that he mustn't be afraid to work with her. In the dream, we can apply this idea to the Empark people."

"That...that's quite sound, actually," Yusuf said, looking impressed.

But Clara was still sceptical. "It's a good idea, but it's not good enough. Working with people...that's still much too dependent on political and subjective views. Especially when we apply it to his work life." She lapsed into silence, then said: "What about trust?"

Arthur glanced at her. "What about it?"

"Trust," Clara repeated, and her eyes lit up with a fresh fervour. "Don't be afraid to trust. Surely that's one of his major flaws. That should be the idea! I mean, after all this time, his ex-wife still calls him for advice. She obviously trusts him, so in the dreams maybe she can tell him that he should trust her just as she trusts him."

"That would contradict his feelings about Tuck, though," Eames countered. "His trust for that man would be shattered by the second level. He'd be less willing to trust, if anything."

"True...but we can fix the best friend relationship. Maybe Tuck can play match-maker in the dreams, pretending that he's going out with Trollope's ex-wife just to make the man jealous." Clara smiled. "Once Trollope finds out his mate was just helping him, I bet he'd be forgiven. And that would actually enforce the idea: despite the initial shock and twists, in the end, trust is always rewardable."

"Are you sure about that?" asked Eames.

Clara shrugged. "Judging from what you're telling us, the two men are pretty close. I'd say Trollope would appreciate what his best friend would be doing for him."

"Even if he finds out Tuck was messing with him all through the dreams?"

"Yes."

"So we've got it!" Ariadne said finally, clapping her hands together. "Don't be afraid to trust. Perfect."

"What about all those political influences?" asked Yusuf.

Clara shook her head. "Trust. That's something much more personal; emotional. It's more of an instinct instead of a thought." She took a deep breath, then beamed. "It'll work. I know it."

"Good job, everyone," Arthur said graciously, with the slightest hint of a laugh in his otherwise smooth voice. Yusuf and Ariadne exchanged gleeful looks.

Clara's eyes landed on Eames, and he grinned back at her, feeling as if they had just run a hundred miles and were congratulating each other for their achievement. He knew that there was still much more to come after such a mediocre meeting, but her expression - her aura - was infectious. He would never tell her, but he really had missed that smile in Chicago.

Hell, he had missed her smile for the last four years.

Another quiet day in Dom's house. It was springtime, and his backyard was bursting with the peeping faces of flowers and the constant chirping of small creatures. The Cobbs' living room was bathed in warm sunlight, and those dazzling rays spilled onto the four limp bodies on the floor. Each had a needle protruding from their wrist, leading to a narrow, long tube that fed back into an opened metal suitcase.

The four bodies were quite still, and anyone who happened to look in on them would have exclaimed that they were all dead, perhaps of drug abuse or of some other potion running through their veins. But, once you got past that initial shock, you would see that, yes, they were still breathing, and, yes, very much alive.

Abruptly, the eyes of the young woman flickered open. She inhaled quietly, then sat up and fiddled with the small ornament on her necklace. A metal conch shell. Tentatively, she brought it to her ear, and waited. The hand holding the tiny shell was trembling.

Silence.

The woman let out another sigh, this time more composed. No music, not anything. This was real. Her fingers slackened on the shell.

"Clara."

Clara froze. Her head whipped up, then down again. What the hell? She stared at the conch shell, her heart suddenly loud and daunting.

Then she turned to look at one of the men lying on the floor. The man in question was sound asleep, still lost in those deep, murky layers of the dream.

But then, how could...

Clara brought the shell closer to her ear and held her breath. She was imagining things. Hallucinating. One often hallucinated after waking from a dream.

This time, the silence was absolute.

But she could've sworn to have heard-

"Eames?"

The man glanced up from the desk chair. He hadn't moved from his spot, and Clara had been watching him ever since they had finished deciding on the idea. Ariadne and Yusuf were catching up, talking over cups of coffee, and Arthur had left the warehouse some time ago to do whatever he needed to do. It was for the better that Arthur wasn't around. Clara didn't want him to see her at her weakest: when she was with Eames.

She brushed those worrying thoughts aside. Eames was already smiling at her. "Hello. Can I help you?"

Clara sighed, and showed him the first aid kit in her hands. "Actually, I was hoping to help you." She gestured. "Your forehead. It looks bad."

Eames looked rather thrown by her attention. "Oh," he just about managed, then that smile returned "Playing nurse, are we? Kinky."

Clara frowned darkly, and some dreary creature in her chest growled in disapproval. His flirtatious words felt like the stinging bite of nettles. "Take it or leave it, Eames."

"Sorry." He looked it.

Muttering a little to herself, Clara sat on the chair next to his and opened the small box in her hands. She took out a bottle of antiseptic, then opened a packet of clean cotton pads. "How did you get hurt?" she asked, not wanting the air around them to fall heavy with silence.

The stubbled man shrugged, and he flicked through a page of notes, written out in his scrawled, messy handwriting. "Not really sure. It was all a big blur. Yusuf certainly wasn't expecting to be handed in by one of his students."

"That's a shame," Clara muttered, pouring a little antiseptic on the cotton pad.

"Yeah. He really trusts his apprentices."

"Hold still." Clara reached up to apply the antiseptic.

"Funny how trust does things to people," said Eames, and it took everything in Clara to avert her gaze from his dark eyes as she leaned in to dab the cotton pad over his forehead. They were close - very close - and they both knew it, and they could both feel the words that were almost said but were, inevitably, held back. Clara's hand was shaking by the smallest degree, and she hoped Eames wouldn't be able to tell.

Eames let out a little hiss. "It stings."

Clara gave a weak, lopsided smile. "Sorry." She used another cotton ball to put on some anti-inflammatory cream over the bruised area.

As she applied the cream, a lock of his dark hair fell into his eyes. She brushed it away with her other hand, and her fingers skimmed over his warm skin and delved into the roots of his hair. The gesture was so familiar and so tender that she actually stopped moving.

"Thanks." The gentle utterance of that one word on her wrist made her shiver.

Clara caught her breath and tried to look away. "No problem."

She busied herself by tidying up the first aid kit, putting the unused cotton balls away, checking that she hadn't dropped anything...

"I don't hate you."

Eames looked even more surprised than she felt. "I'm sorry?" he asked.

Clara set the box aside and folded her arms. She stared at the floor. "I don't hate you, so don't think that I do. I know I used to say that a lot, but it's been a long time, and I don't feel the same way now."

Eames was quiet for a few seconds, and Clara willed him to at least say something. Anything.

"Arthur told you to say that, didn't he?" he finally asked. There was nothing in his voice.

Clara shrugged. "I was going to have to tell you at some point."

"And why's that?"

"Because we're being stupid. And everyone is onto us. Arthur, Ariadne, Dom if he could see us..."

"I guess they would be. They're worried about the job."

Clara gave him a meaningful look. "Then let's stop them from worrying. Can we just..." she struggled for the right words, "put it behind us?"

Eames shifted uncomfortably. "Well, people don't just move on from their pasts."

Clara shot him a dangerous glance. "It's been four years-"

"Four years with no explanations," Eames murmured, flexing his fingers and studying the back of his hand. "No words, no talk, no nothing. You literally walked out the door and we never saw you again."

And her mind was screaming at her to tell him the truth. But she kept seeing his face from before, from a time when she did hate him and his voice and his values. So angry words spilled out, despite the instant regret she felt, "You don't deserve an explanation, not after the way you treated me." She stood up.

"If this is about the times that we had sex," Eames seethed bluntly, and Clara's stomach lurched, "then I've told you before, grow up and move on." He was standing up as well and blocking her way.

"You treated me like shit," Clara spat at him.

Eames flinched, but remained in front of her. "You didn't complain. Not until a long while later. And you know what?" Eames went on, cutting across Clara, "I think you wanted me to use you. You just wanted my attention, because you were just a little girl and you felt something for me."

Clara stared at him.

"Admit it," Eames grunted.

"Maybe," Clara replied lowly. "Maybe I will. One day." She took a step toward him, tilting her head up to glare into his face. "But only if you can admit that you were playing your little mind games on me," she growled in an undertone, "and that you wanted to see just how far you could push me before you pushed me away completely; and that you actually did have feelings for me after you had your fill, but you were just too fucking stupid to accept it." She took a sharp breath, her heart stammering frightfully, yet she couldn't stop herself now. "If you can admit to those things first, Eames, then I'll admit to mine. Can you?"

Tick, tock.

"I didn't think so." Clara pushed past him, crestfallen and disappointed.

AN: Thank you so much for reading; please review! :')