Author's Note: I just want to say a massive thank you for all the support! I honestly wasn't expecting anyone to be reading, so having follows and faves was such a nice surprise! Shoutout to Spartans091 for the kind review :) I recently ejected my USB wrong and lost about four chapters that I wrote last month, which really pissed me off and gave me a huge writer's block. But I've (sorta) recovered and I'm slowly rewriting those chapters. Thanks for understanding and hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: Inception belongs to Christopher Nolan and Warner Bros.

The Absolute Basic

Chapter Fourteen

"I think I could kill you," Clara seethed.

The slim man glanced at her in surprise as she came up to him. She had that flustered look about her again, and Arthur guessed he had some explaining to do. "What are you talking about?"

"Why did you tell Eames about the guy following me?" she demanded.

"Oh." Arthur bit back a thin smile and shrugged. "I thought it would be wise to alert him to the problem."

"But you didn't have to tell him about being my bodyguard."

Arthur raised an eyebrow at her expression. "Relax," he said smoothly. "It's for your own protection."

"But-"

"Eames lives near you. It's more convenient. The way I see it, I save money and it gives you two a chance to get along."

Clara's face twitched.

If looks could kill… "Clara, I was joking. I'm done trying to have you two make amends. I know I've been pushy but this really was the best option, believe me. I don't want something bad to happen to you."

His honesty and consideration for her safety seemed to calm her. She tucked a strand of hair behind one ear and sighed. "Okay, I trust your judgement."

Eames was unpacking his belongings at another table. Arthur watched as her eyes slid over to him. "Thank you," she added, almost as an afterthought, her eyes still on the Englishman. "For understanding. I know we've been a pain to you."

"I should have been prepared."

"We're not your responsibility."

Arthur remained silent. A part of him did in fact feel duty-bound to try and fix the situation. Maybe that was what made him so good at his job. But – here – he admitted it was time to take a step back. Let them fight it out; perhaps if they argued for long enough, some kind of resolve might all of a sudden take over them like an epiphany and they could live happily ever after.

In your dreams.

The warehouse door opened. Ariadne walked in – wearing a candy-red coat – and a lapse in attention came over Arthur. Her brown hair had been tousled by the wind and her nose was pink with cold. She went to join Eames at the table.

The kiss had been nice. More than nice. Welcoming, comforting, slipping back into safety and warmth.

"Did you miss anyone else after the job?"

"Even if I did, I don't think this person would care."

"He would."

Disbelief sparkled in her eyes and carried her – light on her feet – towards him. All he could do was stand there as she studied him with those doe-like eyes. Brown, like his. Searching for something and a little afraid.

"You would?"

He nodded.

"Then why did we stop talking?

"I'm not sure. I think I didn't want you to see the ugly side of me. I'm sorry if I stopped replying first."

She smiled a little. She was trying to hide the hurt inside. "That's okay."

"No, I am. Really."

She took a step closer. He was lost in her gaze.

"I believe you," she said in a whisper, and she tiptoed up to press her lips to his.

They hadn't really talked properly since that moment, not on their own. He wondered when they would, if they would.

"How are things?"

And now it was Arthur's turn to be scrutinised. He cleared his throat and looked away from Ariadne (she was laughing with Eames again, the lucky bastard). "Good."

"You should start fresh, after all this is over."

Clara's words gave Arthur dangerous hope. He shook his head. "Now's not the time to think about it."

"I'm sure she'd appreciate you trying."

"I'm not sure I'm good for her."

It was the truth and Clara knew it, which was why she didn't reply. Her silence was confirmation to Arthur. He was a soldier of sorts, a lethal weapon. Someone who lived on the brink of total destruction. Espionage and contingency plans had crept in unexpectedly and made a home in his world like shadows in the night.

Clara reached out and put a hand on his arm, surprising Arthur. "You're not a bad man."

"I just hope she thinks so."

She gave his arm a small pat and walked away toward the rest of the group. Arthur watched her go for a second before following suit, leaving his thoughts behind for now.

Everyone was gathered around the table where all their protocols and schematics had been laid out neatly. There were some miniature buildings and structures moulded from a white, thin plastic. A portrait shot of Stephen Trollope showed the aging man; his face was expressionless and lined with wrinkles.

"Okay, this is the full run through of the final plan," Clara said, an authoritative touch in her voice. "First level of the dream is the seaside resort. Ariadne had the great idea of making it a Dynasty Hotel – owned by our Mark – just to push the merger deeper into his subconscious. We've got a bar where we'll have Trollope talking with Eames as his wife. Eames will say she's seeing someone, suggesting ever so slightly that it might be his best friend. Then, we're hoping his subconscious will bring up Tuck for a chat. We wait until they're done (or we cause a distraction), then we intercept Trollope and lead him to his hotel room. Hand him a drink, spiked of course, and get him under."

"Sounds good to me," said Arthur.

"So who wants this one?"

"I think I took care of you all pretty well last time," Yusuf said. "I can do it. "

"Could've worked on the driving, but all in all good work," Eames commented, clapping him on the back. "What's next, dear?"

Arthur caught the sliver of a frown in her face as she went on. "Second level is on a cruise ship."

"I call dibs," said Eames immediately.

Now the disapproval was prominent on Clara's face. "The cruise ship is hard to navigate and Ariadne has the best grasp of its ins and outs. I thought maybe she could take it."

"If something went wrong, she'd have to defend us," said Arthur. "It might not be safe. Let me."

Perhaps he had spoken too quickly. Eames was surveying him with a broad smirk and Clara also had an annoyingly knowing smile. "Okay then, Arthur can take that one."

"We're gonna set it up on the deck," piped up Ariadne, taking over briefly. "Hopefully by now he might be suspecting Tuck of sleeping with his wife and that should reflect in his subconscious. We'll escalate it by maybe slipping a photo of the happy couple in Trollope's suit pocket. Eames again can come in as Tuck and hopefully it'll start a fight. We'll intercept them as security and take them to separate rooms."

"'Accidentally' knocking Trollope out in the process, I assume," Eames interjected.

"Yes," said Clara. "That leaves us with the final level. We're making it a hospital."

"I'm taking this one then, aren't I? Considering I was denied the cruise ship," said Eames.

"That was the plan. Anyway, he'll be in the hospital bed. He'll want his wife by his bedside, and he'll talk to her about what's going on between her and Tuck. And just before she admits it's real, Eames goes in again as Tuck and claims the whole thing was a ruse to get them back together, to get him to fight, to trust people."

"Wouldn't it be tricky with Trollope's projection of his wife still there?" Yusuf asked suddenly. "How will the change in his reality manifest in his projection?"

"I think it all depends on how much Trollope believes Tuck," Arthur said slowly. "If he believes him, then his projection of his wife will change and back up Tuck's story. If not, things might get confusing."

"We're just gonna have to do a thorough job in the first two levels then," Clara said firmly. "We also need to make it relevant to the merger. We can't have him waking up and pursuing his wife instead of his business plans."

"We've left hints here and there," Ariadne reassured her. "There's the Dynasty Hotel resort on the first level, then the cruise ship on the second level will be called the Empark Voyager, and finally all the room numbers he's staying at will be 106, the date of his next meeting with Empark Resorts to discuss the merger: January 6th."

"You've got more experience," Clara said to Arthur, "is it going to be enough?"

A calculated pause. "I think so."

"Then that's that," Eames said, pushing back from the table and stretching. "We'll be running dress rehearsals soon?"

"That would be for the best," Clara replied, and a nervous excitement settled over them, one that Arthur knew well: a tingling in the fingers, right before one pulled the trigger.

"Going home, darling?"

Eames watched with a bitter smile as Clara jumped and looked over her shoulder. It was disheartening, how she was never able to fully relax around him; she was always on edge, waiting for the inevitable confrontation. With the dim lighting of the warehouse, there seemed to be an anxiety about her that hadn't been present in the morning.

"Yeah," she replied hastily, getting up from her chair. "How was your day?"

"Good." He had been practising his impersonations whilst Clara had gone to the laboratory with Yusuf. From what he had gathered, the new sedative would take them deeper but – crucially – would not throw them into Limbo if they were killed in the dream.

"Where's our friend Yusuf?" asked Eames. Clara had returned alone in the afternoon to go through the plan once more with Arthur, double and triple checking everything with the Pointman.

"He's having a catch-up session with his friend, the one who owns the lab."

"Why didn't you tag along?"

"Well I had more work to do, didn't I?" She was heading to the door. "See you tomorrow."

"Wait up," Eames said, hauling his bag over one shoulder and following her outside into the cold. "I'm to see you back home, remember?"

Clara rolled her eyes. "You don't have to, I'll be okay."

"Arthur's orders. Afraid there's no choice."

"Fine, just try not to emotionally damage me whilst you're at it."

And – to their bewilderment – the two burst into genuine laughter that escaped in opaque bursts into the night air. A brisk wind carried their voices over the black and inky Thames. They walked on without speaking after that, their footsteps crisp on the pale cement. Minutes passed. The cold seemed to have ways to seep into his clothes, making the hair on his skin stand up. Eames chanced a glance at his companion; she looked calmer than she had been before, and suddenly Eames wished he didn't have to break the safe, comfortable silence that had enveloped them.

"I've been meaning to give this back to you," he said, "but there hasn't been a good time." Reluctantly, he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a necklace. A necklace that had a small metal conch shell dangling from the sliver chain, and – just as he had predicted – a pained, tortured look came across her face.

He tried to give it to her but she backed away, shaking her head frantically. "No, I don't want it."

"It's yours, your first totem. You should keep it."

"No! I – you could've made a copy, you know what it feels like, it's compromised."

"Oh com'on, Clara," Eames said brusquely, stung by her words and trying not to show it. "I wouldn't do that, would I?" He took her wrist and dropped the necklace in her palm. She stared at it, transfixed, studying every curve and edge. Eames waited, yet still she said nothing.

Again, he broke the silence.

Always the bad guy, always harming.

"Why did you leave it with me?"

His question tore her from her reverie. She sighed heavily and pocketed the totem. "Can we talk about this another time? I'm exhausted."

"No, no more excuses, Clara," said Eames aggressively, startling her (and himself). "Just give me a goddamn answer for once, please? And don't spin it into some kind of attack against me, 'cus I've heard it all before."

Seemingly lost for words, Clara looked around her as though trying to find an escape route. But there was no one to save her now, no Arthur to barge in on them, none of the team making an inconvenient entry. It was just her and Eames. Alone by the river. And he wasn't backing down this time, not when he could smell the truth, not when he could almost taste it on his tongue. He regretted getting impatient with her; as much as he hated to admit it, he was a man desperate for answers. It was showing. Unbecoming.

"Please?" he asked again.

"All right then, fine," Clara breathed, as though to herself. The city was dark and still, waiting. Lights from faraway windows stayed vigilant like stars. They had slowed down now, each step heavy and lingering. "Okay Eames, you've got me. I'll tell you why I left my totem with you. In fact, I'll just get to the point: I'll tell you why I left."

Eames remembered her kisses on his body, his hands in her hair.

Gone.

Why?

She took a deep, icy breath, then began: "When I first met you, you represented everything that was fascinating about the dream world: cunning, intelligence, mystery. You were all of that, and I wanted to learn everything about your world, about you. I guess you knew that already, didn't you?"

He nodded. He had.

"The thing was…I found more in you than I had bargained for. I realised you were also cruel and manipulative and cold. You didn't seem to have remorse, and that made me uncomfortable. That's a fact. I've never felt safe around you, Eames. I felt like everything you did had a hidden intention, some ulterior motive toward a bigger plan of yours.

"But then I thought, maybe that wasn't the real you. Maybe you've just gotten so used to wearing other people's skin that you didn't know who you were any more and the only way you could deal with people was through schemes and lies." She shook her head here, embarrassed. "It sounds pretentious saying it now, but that was how I honestly felt. So I stuck by you. I persisted and I went about trying to change you, only to end up being the one who was changed."

She paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts; Eames realised he had been holding his breath for a while.

"It happened after the third time I slept with you," she went on softly. "You remember how my totem worked?"

"Liebesträume."

"Right, I would hear that in the dreams. But then one day I was dreaming and I brought the shell to my ear like I always did, and I couldn't hear it; I couldn't hear the music. Instead, I heard a voice, and guess whose voice it was?"

"Whose?" Eames asked, already knowing the answer.

"Why, yours! Your voice, saying my name." A bitter laugh escaped her. "Can you imagine how scared I was? How fucking disorientating that was? To be in the dream and to hear you say my name and not knowing if it's you or the totem or if I'm just going crazy. There were so many times I had to drill it into my head – before going under – that what I saw wasn't reality, and even so I had to ask Arthur a couple of times. There was always doubt, even though I was damn sure I was asleep. I tried to cope, you know, I really did. But it was too much in the end. So I left, and – to answer your question – I gave you the totem because…well, I guess you managed to corrupt me in the end: I was petty."

They had arrived at her apartment building. Eames followed her like a lost sheep through the glass doors, his mind in a daze. He didn't know how to feel, how to think. The fluorescent lights above were harsh on his eyes. This was all so wrong. He felt dirty, contaminated, but ultimately inadequate.

He had demanded the truth, and now he did not want to hear it.

"I'm sorry," he said, rooted to the spot.

Clara walked into the waiting elevator and gave him a sad smile. He realised that she did not want him to stay because she was thinking of all the good memories she had of him.

"Me too," she said, just as the doors slid shut and hid her from view.