A/N: Please do let me know what you guys think! Comments/reviews are much appreciated. And thanks for reading!

On a side note, in the movie I saw Eames and Arthur as colleagues. Not really friends but respectful of each other's talents and abilities. I imagine they moved in different circles but occasionally worked together when the job called for it. This fic is set in the future and clearly, there's quite a bit of enmity between them now. Not full-on hate but definitely much more hostility than existed before.

Also, I invite you all to read between the lines =) Ana isn't as observant as she comes across.

Chapter 5:

"Is she asleep?" Eames asked.

Arthur nodded as he closed the door to the bedroom and walked back into the living area. The image of Ana's sleeping form, slight and fragile in the shadows of the room, made him wary of Eames' presence.

"Yeah," he said. "Pretty much passed out on the bed."

Eames leaned back on the couch. He looked at Arthur with narrowed eyes, all traces of geniality and friendliness gone from his face, with his arms crossed over his chest and one ankle drawn up on his knee.

Despite the rakish air Eames cultivated, Arthur knew that he was far colder and more intellectual then he let on. Usually Arthur appreciated the other man's efficiency and strategic thinking but now it was something to fight against, an offensive maneuver that had kept Arthur on his toes since Ana had come back from the dream, lost and confused.

"So we're both staying then?" Eames asked, his tone both a challenge and a statement.

"I'm not going anywhere," Arthur said mildly. He sat back down on the stool and brought his laptop back from hibernation.

Eames grinned. "I call the couch."

"I don't give a shit," Arthur said, typing in his password. He honestly didn't care; he wasn't planning on getting more than an hour or so of sleep anyhow. He had too much to do.

What have you done, Ana?

Because Arthur had no doubt. From the moment Ana allowed him to touch her, still and quiet as he released her from the PASIV, Arthur knew that she had done something.

And Eames had pounced as soon as he caught on too.

The person Ana had become, the one who looked at Arthur with barely contained hatred, would never have allowed him close much less put a hand on her. Now she looked at Eames and spoke to him whereas only the day before he'd been persona non grata. She had acted as if Eames didn't exist which Arthur knew hurt him more than her angry words or looks ever could.

I should have known when she reached out for the job. She was up to something.

This Ana didn't know her past. She didn't know that she was angry at them both, that she would never have trusted them this far. She didn't know what they had done.

It all summed up to one conclusion in Arthur's mind.

This Ana could be happy again.

If it was permanent, Ana could be free.

But that didn't mean Arthur wasn't going to try his damnedest to figure out what exactly had happened to her. Was she safe like this? Could she retain her memory moving forward from this point or would she wake up each day not knowing who she was? Could Ana have a good life again?

Arthur had to know so he could protect her and whatever peace she had created for herself.

Part of him was terrified it was permanent and the other was terrified it was not.

"We should just tell her," Eames said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Arthur clenched his jaw, tired of the day-long argument. "Just let out all the demons and exorcise them once and for all. She'd be able to work through the trauma without having to re-experience the pain. Don't you want that for her?"

Arthur snorted. "You don't think I know what you're up to?"

"And what exactly am I up to?" Eames raised an eyebrow. "Please, enlighten me. I'm only suggesting that this could provide catharsis without-"

"Give me some credit here," Arthur said, looking back down at his laptop. He added another line of code to the program he'd been working on. "You want to tell Ana because she can't remember the fact that she'd rather cut off her own tongue than speak to you. You tell her everything now and she won't remember the emotions behind the memories. She'll only see the logic; your logic."

Arthur glanced up. He felt a cold satisfaction at Eames' stormy expression. "You want absolution at any price. Who cares if she's damaged as long as you can have her look at you the way she used to?

"But let me guess. This time you'll make yourself the hero instead of the villain. This must all be so convenient for you."

Eames stood up, his eyes dark with barely contained anger, and Arthur tensed. Ana was in the next room but Arthur had locked the door behind him. She usually slept like a log despite her exposure to Somnacin; it was a trait she'd carried over from childhood.

Arthur had the only other key to the bedroom, having taken it from the front desk attendant earlier when he wasn't looking. Eames was bigger than him but Arthur was faster and he had a knife strapped to his calf. If they came to blows now and woke Ana up, at least she'd be spared from the sight of it. Besides–

It's been a long time coming, Eames, he thought.

But Eames only stared at him.

And then he grinned.

"Now, Arthur," he said softly. "What would you gain by hiding the truth from our sweet little Ana, hm? A chance to start over perhaps? Do things differently? I'm sure you relish the opportunity for a fresh start. After all it must burn knowing that your friendship never grew into something more. You contaminated her life the moment you stepped back into it. Who wouldn't want to start anew?"

Eames' voice hardened even as his smile grew bigger.

"So if you find issue with my desire for absolution then so be it. I figure it's a far lesser sin than the one of concealment. I don't regret my actions, Arthur, but you must regret yours. I may have pulled the trigger but none of it would have happened if not for you."

Arthur said nothing and looked back down at the screen. The characters seemed to blur together but he pretended that Eames' words hadn't affected him.

The truth was that Eames was right. Arthur didn't know if Ana would have been better off without his influence but at least…

He shook his head to clear his mind and rubbed at his eyes. When he opened them again, Eames was putting on his jacket.

"What are you doing?" he asked before he could stop himself. He was a creature of habit; he always liked to have information even if it didn't seem relevant to the circumstances at hand.

Eames chuckled and patted his chest, checking for his wallet. "Headed out to take care of a few things."

"Where? To do what?"

Eames shook his head and moved towards the door.

"Don't you worry about that. I will be back."

Arthur grunted and continued to type. He didn't look up when he heard the door close and footsteps fade off into the distance. His hands flew over the keys, intent on his work. He pushed his argument with Eames out of his mind and focused.

"Where would an extractor hide their secrets?"

It was a question Ana had asked him once in amusement, and it was one that he now had to consider seriously. Because even when Ana had trusted him, she still had secrets she kept from everyone. It was part of her job and what she'd been trained to do, and it was one of the reasons why Arthur had kept tabs on her for decades after their childhood.

"Where would you hide your secrets, Ana?"

Ana laughed when Arthur had thrown the question back at her and he remembered that day, the way her eyes had twinkled with mischief. It had only been three years before and yet seemed like a lifetime ago.

He typed furiously, even as his fingers began to grow stiff, pushing himself to keep going. He pulled up specialized forums and databases and scanned the content for what he needed, adding to the program as he went along.

Remember Arthur, she'd told him once, reading minds is useless. People change their minds all the time. It's better to know how someone thinks rather than what they're thinking at any given moment.

Ana, like Arthur, took copious notes. She knew that information stored in the mind could be twisted and warped into something completely different from the original material. If she had done something to herself, Ana would have research notes. Dreams were still uncharted territory for her; an unsafe, unfamiliar place that required cartography. More importantly, dreams were a direct line into the subconscious mind. Into memory itself.

Note-taking grounded her, helped keep her in reality. They existed, Arthur knew this because he understood how Ana thought.

She would have kept her notes someplace safe, where she knew no one in the business could reach them.

That eliminated her computer at home or any other personal devices like her phone or tablet or even email or the free online backup services Arthur knew she used.

Too obvious and yet not obvious enough.

Just a few more hours and Arthur knew he'd have a workable program. Something that could slip under the radar and bypass several security layers all at once. It was something that could search for very specific pieces of information – phrases and words within a certain context.

"Where would you hide your secrets, Ana?"

Ana had laughed and said, "I wouldn't hide them at all."

Arthur rubbed his forehead, feeling an impending headache coming on from eye strain. He was tired but he had to keep going. He stopped typing for a moment and pulled up a site, a log-in page, staring at it for a moment and feeling a burst of inspiration at the familiar text. The page represented a locked door, the closed gateway that he had to break through.

"It's better to know how someone thinks."

This was Ana's safe place, her haven. She was an idealist but one with a very keen sense of humor. The irony probably amused her but the benefits of multiple security clearances would have been the reason why she would have kept information at work. It was clever and hopeful and absolutely naïve. Then again, it might have been an act of desperation and fury; an act of someone with no other options.

Either way, it was where Ana would have kept her notes.

It's how she thinks.

Arthur stared at the words for a moment longer.

The Federal Bureau of Investigation.

He kept working.

###

"Qu'est-ce que tu veux, mademoiselle?"

It was obvious that the cashier was asking about her order but Ana stared at the chalkboard menu and frowned. Everything was in French and she felt a burst of frustration at her ignorance. Clearly French was not something she'd known before. She glanced around for a moment, looking at people milling about the small, half-empty café and then back at the counter with its display of handmade pastries.

I don't even know how I take my coffee or if I even drink it.

"What would you like?" Eames asked, standing beside her.

She shrugged, giving up. "Whatever you're having is fine."

Ana pulled the coat around her with her hands in her pockets and looked down. She wore a sweater and skirt, easy pieces to pull on even with her injuries, and Eames had handed her a coat before they left her suite that morning. She wasn't even sure it was hers – it lacked the perfume and scent of laundry the rest of her things held and it seemed… Well. Unlike her.

It was a rich, jewel-toned green – so striking that anyone would have seen her coming from a block away. It made her feel a little like a target but it fit and kept her warm in the cool morning air so she was glad to have it.

"Not in the mood for anything specific then?"

"Eames, really. Water would be fine."

He hummed and then leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Here's a hint – you have a sweet tooth. How about I order you a hot chocolate and something a bit more substantial? Have a seat and I'll come find you."

"Sounds good, thanks," she said, already turning away. She found a small table near a large window and sat down, letting her bag slide down her arm to the floor. At the table across from her was a young mother with two small children, a boy and a girl, playing quietly together and the little scene made her feel an odd mix of contentment and loneliness.

Must be nice to know your place in the world, she thought.

Ana had woken up disoriented and groggy, disappointed that she could only remember the events of the day before but nothing else. She couldn't remember her dreams but felt as if she'd had them. She found Arthur asleep at the counter, with his head in his arms. He'd been wearing what he wore the night before and Ana didn't have to look twice at him to know he'd spent the night hunched over his laptop. Eames had been on the couch wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants and his gym bag looked filled with what Ana suspected were clothes from his hotel room.

She wasn't surprised that the two men had decided to spend the night but she wasn't sure she wanted them there for much longer.

"Here you go," Eames said, placing a large cup and plate in front of her. Ana blinked, a little surprised she hadn't noticed him coming and realized that she'd been staring at the family.

The woman was a stay-at-home mother whose husband doted on her and their children. She was the disciplinarian though. Both of her children were left-handed and her son had been sickly when he was a baby. He was in a soccer phase but not very good at it, perhaps because his coach emphasized right handedness. The daughter was a tomboy but was growing out of it and–

My mind just does this automatically. I can't stop it, Ana thought. I just see things and I–

The mother, elegant and beautiful, caught her looking. She glanced at Eames and then winked at Ana, as if sharing a private joke.

Christ, she probably thinks–

Ana realized that it was the way Arthur cursed. He had dropped them off a few blocks away from Le Royal Monceau, ostensibly to go back to his own hotel and change. He also had to pick the other chemist up from the airport.

Ana wondered at the feeling of uncertainty when he wasn't in sight.

"Say what you will about the French, they do get baked goods right," Eames said, sinking into the chair in front of her. She eyed the pastries before them and frowned.

"That's… A lot of chocolate. I really have a sweet tooth?" she asked, uncertain. None of it seemed particularly appealing. Eames chuckled and she reached out to grasp the mug in her hands when he held out a straw. She smiled sheepishly as he placed it in her cup.

"Thanks," she said, leaning forward. "I keep forgetting about the bandages."

"No worries," Eames said cheerfully as he took a sip of his espresso. He hadn't shaved that morning and his stubble was thicker. His full pink mouth and the sharp part of his hair were an odd contrast to his overall scruffiness and she was distracted by the inconsistency of his appearance. "I trust you slept well last night?"

Ana nodded and stirred her drink with the straw. "I did. I think I fell asleep the moment my head touched the pillow."

"You always do sleep well, even without the help of drugs," Eames said lightly. Ana looked at him sharply.

"Do I?" Ana asked. "Do I do this a lot? The dreaming thing, with you people?"

Eames stilled and Ana saw that he was holding himself very carefully, as if not to give too much away.

"I wouldn't say a lot. You'd pop up at jobs every now and then disappear afterwards."

"To where?" Ana said. She took a sip of her hot chocolate to give herself time to think. The sweetness of the drink was almost overpowering and she had to force herself to swallow.

I don't think I like this.

In fact, Ana felt a wave of revulsion and she drew back and made a face. She wanted to get the taste out of her mouth immediately.

"Not made to your liking?" Eames asked. He looked concerned but Ana didn't think he'd understand – the taste of chocolate was horrible. It made her heart race and her hands shake and the back of her head hurt like…

It's a memory.

Ana blinked and forced herself to calm. "I don't think I like chocolate."

Eames reached out and brought her drink to his lips before setting it back down again. "It tastes fine," he said but he was studying her closely. "Do you feel alright, Ana? You look a bit shaken."

"I'm fine," she said. She took a deep breath and smiled. "Do I always work with Arthur?"

Eames studied her for a beat, his eyes worried before settling back in his chair.

"In the beginning, yes," Eames said. "But then you started showing up without him on occasion, mostly on short affairs, a few days worth of work."

"With you," Ana said. Eames' mouth tilted up. He looked pleased.

"With me," Eames echoed. "You never worked without me or Arthur."

"Was I good at what I did?" Ana asked.

She wanted to keep Eames talking but everything was proving to be a distraction now. There were more families around them with small children but her attention was drawn back to the young mother and the girl and boy. Ana's necklace, hidden underneath her sweater, lay heavy and warm against her chest.

She looked down at Eames' hands, his fingers tapping against the table top, and she imagined she felt a slight ache in her shoulder.

Sensory memory. My mind is trying to tell me something, remind me of something.

"Oh, you're one of the best though I'm sure Cobb would continue to argue that he is the best," Eames said. "But he got by on mostly charm and trickery in my opinion. I think he's a better architect than he is anything else and he's taken to building again which is good for everyone involved in what we do."

"Cobb?"

"Dominic Cobb," Eames said. "Arthur's… Former colleague. He's semi-retired these days. Mostly teaches now but does work for your government as well. I believe Ariadne's been in contact with him so we'll see what he has to say about your situation."

Your government.

Ana suddenly felt as if tendrils of things half-remembered were curling around her like wisps of smoke. Circling but never really touching her.

Things are just out of reach.

"Did I have children?" Ana asked suddenly. "I mean, do I have children?"

Eames looked startled. He shook his head.

"No," he said firmly. He paused and then looked over his shoulder, following her line of sight. The mother was getting ready to leave, zipping her children up in their sweaters and coats and Ana stared at them. They were dark-haired and chubby-cheeked and as she watched, the boy held onto his sister's hand and they both giggled.

M & M

My name is Miranda.

"Do I have a brother?" Ana asked. Eames stiffened and then turned around slowly. His expression was carefully blank but his eyes were anything but. Eames nodded and played with his cup.

"What's his name? Does he live here?" Ana said, sitting up. She smiled, feeling a rush of excitement. Just last night she'd been feeling sorry for herself but now she knew wasn't alone. "Is he older or younger? Does he know where I am and what's happened?"

To her surprise, the color drained from Eames' face.

"Ana," Eames said gently and Ana suddenly knew what he was going to say.

Oh. Oh no.

No, Eames.

"His name was Matthew."

"Was." Ana felt faint. The sickening taste of chocolate was thick in her mouth and she swallowed, trying to rid herself of its cloying sweetness. "He's dead?"

Eames hesitated and then nodded.

I was alone and then I had a brother and now he's gone.

All in less than a minute.

But what was more painful was the fact that she couldn't remember his face at all.

###

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