A/N: Three moments that Eames and Ana shared.

Three Jobs

I.

"Making yourself at home?"

Ana smiled without looking up and Eames allowed himself a moment's indulgence to study her.

She was standing in the foyer of the Donelli family home, holding a steaming mug with both hands and looking up at the framed pictures on the wall.

As was the usual, Ana looked lovely. She wore a vibrant blue dress, silk, with a draped skirt, the simple sort of thing that he found she was fond of wearing whether in a dream or in reality. Her dark hair was loose and she wore only a plain gold locket around her neck. She was staring at the pictures with a fond, amused expression but there was also something a little sad, a little heavy about her gaze that made Eames curious.

He put his hands in his pockets and closed the front door behind him, hearing the echo of the latch. He stood beside her and she turned towards him after a moment, taking a sip of what looked to be tea from her cup.

"Fully stocked kitchen," Ana said, nodding down to the cup. "Saphry's work, she's very thorough. Almost every detail down here is exactly as it should be."

Eames raised his eyebrow and tilted his head to the side. "Almost?"

Ana hesitated and then shrugged. She turned away, walking deeper into the house. Her heels clicked against the hardwood floors and Eames reached out and ran his fingertips against the cool, white walls as he walked behind her.

Saphry's work was impressive and Eames made a mental note to strengthen his connection with the architect. He could learn from her and she was fun to be around, with her cutting wit and her flair for the dramatic. He wondered briefly what she'd be like in bed – her flashing eyes looking down at him and dark limbs wrapped around his, but then shook the image out of his head as he followed Ana's slim silhouette into the living room of the literal dream house.

It was only the third job he'd run with Arthur and Ana but he knew from rumor that she was quickly becoming quite proficient at dream work. She was gaining a reputation for being an efficient, quick extractor, and perhaps even a bit of infamy at having the ability to suss out even the most private of secrets… From clients and marks, to other dreamers.

It wasn't necessarily a bad thing Eames thought privately. Though he had his own secrets, he found it entertaining to see his world-hardened colleagues disturbed by such a delicate creature. And to think, he had been so uncertain of Ana in the beginning, thinking her too naïve by far to survive.

Let them fear her a little. It will only work in her favor.

As long as Arthur keeps her safe, she'll be fine.

"You've done this," Ana said suddenly, "for many years, haven't you, Eames?"

Eames smiled at her. "Is that a jab at my age? I've not gone to ruin just yet, I hope."

She smiled back and Eames was delighted to see a bit of appraisal in her gaze. She was a beauty, after all.

"That's not how I meant it," Ana said. She looked around the room and wandered over to a side table next to the couch. With her free hand she picked up a small elephant figurine and examined it closely. "You must have been in the dreams of hundreds of people by now. Seen everything there is to see about human nature."

"Oh, I don't know," Eames said, leaning close to her. He plucked the figurine from her fingers and looked at the elephant. It was a bright, tacky thing; out of place in an elegant house. "People still do surprise me now and then. Everyone is capable of the greatest good and the darkest horrors, yes? But why do you ask?"

Ana took the elephant back and placed it on the table. She walked to the fireplace and studied the pictures on the mantel. Though she moved languidly, Eames could see that she was working something out in her mind. Her movements were unhurried but not at all wasted and there was a bright flash of something in her eyes as she took everything in.

It was a pleasure to watch her. She was still so unguarded and soft that Eames found it took little effort to decipher her emotions.

She's in her element but there's something about this place that makes her sad. Thoughtful.

He'd rarely had a moment with Ana to himself. Since their first job together several months before, Arthur had kept her on a tight leash and Eames knew that other people had already accepted Arthur and Ana as a package deal.

The best point and the hotshot new extractor. Who would turn that down?

Eames also knew that together their asking price had skyrocketed. While he wasn't exactly friendly with Arthur, he admired the man's skill and tenacity. Ana could look at someone and pull out details but Arthur wasn't afraid to strip them to their core. It was a good partnership and more importantly, it worked well. They were tight, of that he was certain and Arthur watched her interactions with the other team members very, very closely, almost like a jealous lover if the other man could ever show such passion.

Eames didn't see any sign that their relationship had veered off from platonic.

But something inside his chest tightened whenever she looked at Arthur. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at Eames that way and he'd forgotten how real love looked. Not lust or desire; just sweet, genuine affection. It should have made her look silly or made Eames think a little less of her for being so transparent – God only knew how emotions of that nature made people weak but instead he felt a touch of envy.

He didn't know how Arthur, with his ever-present scowls and pretentious suits, could elicit such a thing from someone like Ana. Those were ties that early childhood or life or death situations forged and strengthened and he considered Arthur a lucky man to have gained Ana's loyalty as a result.

"Do people ever move beyond your expectations of them?" she asked, pulling him out of his thoughts. They were in the dining room now and Ana had set her mug on the table to face him.

Eames chuckled and leaned on the back of a chair. "That's a rather deep question, pet."

"I've been in…" Ana wrinkled up her nose as she thought. "Seven dreams now and it surprises me how similar people can be. We build worlds and they fill it with things half-remembered or secretly desired."

"Jaded already?" Eames teased. "I can see why a mind like yours would be bored. Tell you what, I'll recommend you as the extractor for the next truly interesting job I find. You'll see just how fantastical dreams can be."

Ana's smile turned faintly wistful. "I don't think Arthur would like that."

"Is he your keeper?"

"No, but I know I'm new to this, um… This whole thing. Dreaming, I mean," Ana said. She gestured with her hands to their surroundings. "I'd probably get into trouble without Arthur's help."

Eames narrowed his eyes. She was dependent on Arthur. In a way, it made sense – she still needed a guide in their world but Eames didn't doubt that she was smart enough to find her own way without him. He felt a touch of annoyance just then as he realized that Arthur hovered over Ana as if she were a child… Because he was cultivating her dependence on him.

Manipulative, clever bastard.

"Oh, I don't know about that," Eames said, carefully. "I think it would be rather easy for you to make your own connections."

"I'd rather not," Ana said. She looked at Eames with almost painful sincerity. "I have a different life outside of this. Topside, I mean. Don't get me wrong. I love what I'm doing here but I think maybe it's best I don't make too many connections."

Eames held his tongue. He wondered if Arthur was aware of her hesitance or if she was too afraid to disappoint him by voicing her feelings.

"But anyway," Ana said. "Back to my original question. Do people ever do things that you don't expect them to? No matter how much research you do on them. You're a forger so you know people…"

"Everyone is a mystery, Ana," Eames said with a grin. "Even to me. We can only guess at their reactions but not everyone is right all the time."

Ana let out a soft breath and a touch of the earlier melancholy crept back into her eyes.

"But why do you ask?" he pushed on.

She looked away from him and out the large bay window.

"Samuel isn't cheating on his wife," she said. Her voice was soft as she spoke, as if she were breaking bad news to Eames gently. "And he isn't planning to throw her or his children out. His wife got it wrong. He's not having an affair or putting their lives at risk but he is in love with someone else. He'll never act on it though. He knows what his wife is capable of and he'd never… He'd never put her in that kind of danger. He loves the other woman too much."

Eames couldn't help it. He jerked back a little, startled and then let out a surprised laugh.

"And how the bloody hell did you figure that out?" he said, but he believed her and Ana smiled at him because she understood.

She opened her mouth but before she could explain, Eames' watch went off. He looked down at his wrist and sighed. "Arthur's due to arrive with Mr. Donelli in a minute."

"We should keep going then," Ana said. "Do the job as planned. Go ahead and forge Alan. I'll go upstairs to the study. The safe should be up there. I'll have my phone."

She began to move past him but Eames caught her, putting his hand on her hip and forcing her to stop and face him again.

"If you figured this out already, then why bother? We could finish early."

"Because Mrs. Donelli wants proof," Ana said, resigned. "You know it's the only way."

"How did you figure it out then?" Eames asked. "And do you know who?"

"This entire house is a safe, Eames," Ana said. "The pictures–"

She took a step back and Eames could see the surprise in her face as he changed into Donelli's bestfriend. She grinned and reached out to smooth down the lapel of his jacket. Eames' forgeries seemed to be a source of delight for her and a part of him preened at her wonder of his abilities.

After a moment, she moved back again and examined his new form. "The pictures on the wall. He's changed them all quite subtly. They're not the ones that Saphry intended to have; they're no longer just family photos but landscapes. And the figurines, they're all over the house and they... Yes, I know who she is."

"And?"

There was a knock at the door and Ana turned her back on him, hurrying towards the stairs in the hallway. She paused for a moment, and then looked back over her shoulder with a frown.

"All Mrs. Donelli needs to know is that her and her children's financial future is secure. No one's in any danger here. Everything else is no one's business but Samuel's."

II.

Berlin in the winter was a cold, bleak place.

So it was with a bit of surprise that Eames found Ana standing on the hotel balcony, smoking a cigarette with glove-covered hands.

"There you are," Eames said, stepping out beside her. She turned her face towards him and Eames was struck at how weary she looked; the thick coat and scarf she wore made her seem absurdly small even though they stood practically eye to eye. "Rather nippy out there, don't you think?"

They were a week into preparation for their next job – Arthur, Ana, Creeks, Ariadne and Eames, but there was something off about Ana that Eames couldn't help but notice.

A little over a year since her introduction into dreamshare and Ana and Arthur were now at the top of the game. They were invited to almost every high-stakes job and with each dream Eames entered with Ana, he could see her skills improving and her confidence building.

Still, Arthur kept her close and while he worked solo now and again, no one could contact Ana without his help. It was no secret that Arthur carefully vetted each and every job Ana worked on but no one could quite figure out his criteria, though Eames suspected it had a lot to do with how exciting the goal was.

Normally, Arthur and Ana were as thick as… Well, thieves but there was something about the current job that felt wrong to Eames. There was something wrong between Arthur and Ana. It was as if he were watching two people play their roles mechanically; Arthur was perhaps a touch more stiff and exacting and Ana was almost withdrawn, her bright-eyed curiosity muted.

Eames was worried about her. He could at least admit that much to himself, which was why when she slipped away from their suite during a break for lunch, Eames sought her out.

"I'm not supposed to smoke in the room." Ana took another drag and Eames watched her full, pink mouth close around the cigarette.

"I didn't peg you for a smoker," Eames said. He rubbed his arms to keep warm and leaned against the metal railing on his elbows. Ana stared at him for a beat before handing him her cigarette. He took it with a smile.

"I'm not really," she said. "But sometimes I just…"

She trailed off and looked down. "Anyway, I know it's a nasty habit."

"Oh, there are nastier habits, believe you me," Eames said, gently leaning on her and then pulling away. He took a puff before handing it back to her. "Thank you."

They stood in silence for a moment and Ana stared out at the city, her gaze distant. Eames stared at her profile and saw shadows under her eyes. A badge of the sleepless dreamer.

"What's wrong, darling?" Eames asked finally. "You've not been yourself."

Ana exhaled and smoke curled around her face in the chilly air.

"You know Arthur warned me about you. Back on our first job together. Good forgers are good liars and you were the best of both. He said you couldn't be trusted outside of a job."

Eames laughed, amused. "And what do you think?"

"I think you both have a history that I don't know about." Ana's smile faded then. "I don't know what I'm doing here anymore, half a world away from home. Do you ever... Do you ever have doubts?"

Ah, Eames thought.

He let his smile grow gentle and drew closer to her.

"Sometimes."

"Do you have a family, Eames?" she asked suddenly. "Someone to go home to? A house, maybe. Friends?"

Eames chuckled. "Come now, Ana – I would have thought by now you would have figured me all out."

"I don't. Sometimes it's worth more to hear things from other people." Ana frowned and rubbed her forehead, as if it pained her. "Did you know, Eames, I have a partner? My job… I have a partner at work. In my real life. Well, I had a partner."

Eames said nothing. In the beginning, he had tried for weeks to track Ana down, to find out who she really was. He started with what scant information he had on Arthur, since it was evident their relationship went back for years but the other man had covered his tracks too well. For all Eames knew, Arthur sprang from the ground fully formed; he couldn't even get a straight answer on year of birth.

"What happened to him?"

"He went after the wrong person without me," Ana said quietly. "He got hurt pretty badly."

She wasn't a cop, Eames thought. There was no way she could have traveled as much as she did if that was the case. She might be private sector but that felt wrong to him and she would have been easier to track down. Government seemed the more likely answer and the last he'd heard the CIA wasn't keen on partnerships or on letting agents come and go as they pleased. Ana could handle a gun but she excelled in the more cerebral aspects of their job. She pored over Arthur's research much more closely than most extractors would have–

FBI then, Eames thought. He felt a moment of triumph at the deduction… And instantly decided that he couldn't use it against her. There was something oddly vulnerable about the downcast tilt of her mouth. She trusted Eames and he felt an odd, protective flare in his chest at the thought. Ana wasn't stupid and she had proven her worth several times over. Whatever it was she saw in Eames, she found him deserving of being trusted despite what Arthur had told her.

Honor among thieves, Eames thought wryly. Well, at least some of us anyway.

"And do you think you could have prevented that?" Eames asked. "What happened to your partner, I mean."

Ana nodded.

"There's no doubt," she said. "I looked over his notes. I could have told him that he wasn't… He was wrong. They were all wrong. But I wasn't there to tell him that."

She patted her right hip. "So he got shot right here. He can't walk straight anymore and he'll need a cane for the rest of his life. Because of me, because I chose a dream over him. His life... Just changed like that. Because of me."

"Do you regret going on that job instead of being with your partner?" Eames asked. Ana looked at him sharply. "Or do you regret being in our world altogether?"

Do you blame Arthur for what happened to your partner?

Ana looked uncertain for a moment. She put her cigarette out on the railing and threw it in the small ashtray a few feet away from her elbow.

"That's the thing. I don't know," Ana said. "But the first time I ever went into a dream… It was like magic. Like nothing I'd ever known. And the amazing thing is how clear things are in dreams. People can't hide in dreams, they can't hide themselves and it's refreshing. In a lot of ways, dreams are better than reality."

"That's a dangerous thing to say," Eames said, growing serious. "You can play in dreams but you must live in reality. Never, ever mistake one for the other. I've seen too many people get lost because they forget this."

She nodded and Eames watched as she reached in her pocket for another cigarette. She had to remove her gloves to pull one out of the carton and Eames saw her small, white hands tremble in the cold air. She struggled with the lighter, cigarette propped between her lips and Eames reached out and wrapped his hands around hers to steady and warm her.

Ana tensed and looked up.

There was only a small distance between them and Eames could see that her eyes were a pale, pale blue, almost gray. She stared at him as he guided the flame to the tip of her cigarette.

Ana inhaled and he let her hands go to take the cigarette from her mouth. He took a deep drag as she put on her gloves again; he noticed with some interest that her cheeks were now flushed a healthy pink.

"The way I see it," Eames said, handing it back to her when she was settled, "You're allowed mistakes. Just as your partner is allowed to make his mistakes. Perhaps you should have stayed behind; perhaps he should have waited for you. We all have our regrets, Ana. What kind of life would it be if we didn't?"

Eames leaned in and Ana looked up at him with wide eyes. "We all make our choices, allow him the honor of bearing responsibility for his alone. But if I were him, I'd know I'd be much better off with you by my side than without. "

He looked her up and down with an exaggerated leer. "The view alone…"

She let out a startled laugh and for the first time since he stepped out onto the balcony, the expression reached her eyes, brightening her entire face.

"You are an incorrigible flirt," she said and Eames laughed with her. "Absolutely horrible. Shameless."

"I've been accused of worse things," Eames said. "Is it working?"

Ana shook her head and looked down with a grin. They said nothing for a while. Eames thought that she seemed much lighter than she had all week. They passed the cigarette between them and Eames was about to try and convince her to go back inside when Arthur stepped through the door.

"Hey." Arthur looked at Ana cautiously, as if he were afraid of her. He wore a thick parka over his usual slacks and button-up and Eames noticed the large white paper bag in his hand. "Are you okay? You should come back inside."

Ana looked at him and then glanced at Eames with a small yet genuine smile. Arthur noticed it and narrowed his eyes.

Easy there, mate.

Eames grinned widely back at him even though he felt the familiar irritation rise up.

"Yeah, I'm okay," Ana said and it sounded as if she meant it. She looked down at the bag. "You brought lunch."

"Yeah, from that place a couple of blocks away." He held up the bag and smiled. "And I got a few slices of schwarzwälder kirschtorte. I thought… I mean, you haven't been eating so I…"

Ana moved towards him and squeezed his upper arm. "Indulging my sweet tooth?"

There was genuine care in Arthur's expression as he looked at her. It made him look young and defenseless and Eames felt his mouth curl into a small smirk.

You're just as dependent on her then. Interesting.

"Come inside. Please," Arthur said, glancing back at the room. He leaned towards Ana's side and spoke in a softer tone though Eames had no trouble hearing him in the still, quiet air. "We should talk after. You know… About things."

Ana nodded. "Yeah. Okay. I'll follow you in a second."

Arthur glanced at Eames, the soft expression fading slightly. "I brought enough for three. Ari and Creeks left for a bit. Figured you'd be hungry too, if you're–"

"Nah," Eames said. "I was planning to head out. Just wanted to share the air."

"Your call," Arthur shrugged and walked back inside. "Ana, I'll set up on the table."

When he was gone, she turned back to Eames. "Thank you, Eames."

"I didn't do anything," he said honestly. "Aside from tar my lungs a bit."

"Thank you for not telling me it wasn't my fault," she said. "Arthur… He doesn't see it the same way."

Eames snorted and then pulled out a small notepad and pen from his coat pocket. He hadn't been lying. He had to start tracking the mark for their job and sometimes notes were a necessity.

He scribbled on a piece of paper and held it out to her.

"The number to my box," Eames said, when she looked at him curiously. She took it from his hand. "I don't have a permanent mobile but with that, you can always reach me. I check it twice a day at nine in the morning and eight in the evening, London time, wherever I am."

Ana stared at it for a moment and then tucked it into her glove.

"If you want a change of scenery or perhaps just an ear," Eames said. "I'd be happy to hear from you."

In response, Ana gave him a heartbreakingly beautiful smile. It threw Eames off then; he felt his mouth dry up and his throat close a little. He'd known she was attractive, that he'd been attracted to her from the beginning, but suddenly now...

Oh, I might be in trouble.

"Eames?" Ana said.

He leaned on the rail and raised an eyebrow, feigning impatience. He suspected that she saw right through him though.

"My name is Miranda."

III.

Eames almost didn't hear the door being kicked open; he was too busy trying to shoot out the window and not get hit in return to focus on sounds other than gunfire.

"Took you long enough!" Eames yelled with a quick look back. It was Arthur, which meant Ana wasn't far behind. "Did you get the name?"

The job had gone bad. The first half hour or so went as planned. Eames had forged the mark's trusted second-in-command perfectly. But while the mark wasn't militarized, he was paranoid. One wrong word, one odd gesture, and the whole dream went tits up. Eames had been lucky to get out of the boardroom without being gutted and he'd gone to their designated safe house – the empty floor of an office building, to hide out.

Unfortunately, he'd been followed and had had to disrupt things even further by creating enough fire arms to protect himself and whoever else from their team might pop up.

Eames crouched down underneath the window and turned around.

"Arthur! Did she get the–"

What he saw made him forget what he was about to say.

Arthur was kneeling over Ana on the floor, propped up on one hand with the other on her stomach. She was writhing underneath him, trying vainly to twist away from the hand pressing down on her as Arthur struggled to keep her still. Eames saw her blood practically gushing out through Arthur's fingers. For one mad, odd moment, he thought, her dress is ruined.

"What the bloody hell, Arthur?" Eames yelled, coming back to himself. He crawled over to them, gun still clutched in one hand, but he had to stop every now and then as glass crashed around him. "What happened?"

"She was coming out of the complex," Arthur said. "Just walking across the damn street to me and out of nowhere, these fucking snipers…"

Arthur looked up and Eames saw that his dark eyes were wild and manic around the edges. There was blood all over his clothing and Eames realized that she must have collapsed on him, shot from the back.

Hydrostatic shock. She's dying.

He dragged her all the way here, nearly a block away.

It was her bad luck she hadn't kicked out of the dream already. Stomach wounds were incredibly painful but not instantly fatal. Eames knew she'd bleed out if they didn't do anything about it and she wouldn't go peacefully.

"What the fuck happened, Eames?" Arthur yelled at him accusingly. "Everything was fine and then this!"

"Cornell's secretary," Eames said. "He went nuts."

He reached down for Ana but Arthur growled and shoved him off. "Don't you fucking touch her."

"She needs to be put out," Eames said, keeping his voice as steady as he could. "She's in pain."

"We can't."

Ana moaned and Eames looked down. Sweat was beading down her face and her eyes were nearly round, pupils blown from shock and agony. She was trying to push Arthur off of her, trying to sit up for some unknown reason and he was pushing her back down on the floor.

"What do you mean, we can't?" Eames asked, incredulous. "Look at her!"

Eames picked up his gun and brought it up to Ana's face, feeling ill about what he had to do but knowing it was necessary, when she let out a terrified shriek. Arthur shoved the gun away and glared at Eames but it was pointless; he was frozen in place.

He suddenly understood the gravity of the situation and for a moment, just for split second, all the noise and chaos around him faded away into white noise.

Oh, bloody hell.

And then world came crashing back around his senses. With his free hand, he grabbed Arthur by his collar.

"You never taught her how to die in a dream," he snarled. "You little shit. She thinks this is real!"

"She didn't need to learn how," Arthur said. He shoved Eames back and he let Arthur go. "All of the jobs we took on, she didn't need to die and I kept her safe. You fucked up this job, Eames."

"Where's her totem?"

"Gone," Arthur said. His face twisted into something ugly and he shoved Eames away. "Projections tried to grab us. One of them took it from her before–"

Ana moaned again and Arthur brushed her hair from her sweaty brow. She was huffing as if she'd just run a marathon and Eames knew she was trying her best to stay conscious.

"Listen to me, this is a dream, it's not real," Arthur said. He bent down and turned her face so that she was forced to look up at him. "It's not real, it's just a dream."

"Matty," she choked out. "Tell…"

"No, Ana, you can tell him yourself. This is just a dream," Arthur repeated. His voice wavered and he squeezed his eyes shut before looking back down at her face. "Please believe me. Just let me do this for you."

She let out another frightened cry when Arthur brought up a pistol that he'd willed into existence.

"No, no." Ana pushed at him weakly. Eames knew that every breath must have been torment for her but still she pleaded. She wanted so badly to live. "Please, please Arthur, please."

"Miranda," Eames said gently. She jerked her head to the side and stared at him; he wondered how much she actually saw at that point. "I promise you. You'll wake up and I'll be right there with you. Arthur will be there. You will wake up."

Ana's face crumpled. She began to cry, tears mixing with blood and sweat on her face, and Eames felt his heart rip apart. Her eyes looked up at his, confused and hurt and terrified and Eames swallowed, trying his best to keep his face still.

"You'll wake up, Ana. And this will have been nothing but a bad dream."

She reached up for him, her fingers sticky and warm with her blood, and Eames held her hand tightly.

"Don't," she mouthed but no sound came out. "Please."

Eames knew what she was trying to say: Please let me live.

Dying in a dream felt much like dying in real life, or so Eames imagined it to be so. The agony, the horrifying sensation of your life slipping out of you… The pain of it all was very, very real. Eames had died in dreams before and while he hadn't entirely gotten used to it, he could keep the fear down to a controllable degree.

The first time he'd been killed though – he'd woken up screaming.

He looked up at Arthur, just a flicker of a glance, and Arthur nodded.

"Don't you worry," Eames said. He squeezed her hand again and smiled. The sound of gunfire continued around them but Eames held Ana's gaze without flinching. "Everything is going to be just fine, alright? We'll get you out of here soon. You hold on, just keep looking at me–"

Arthur raised the gun again.

"–and everything will be okay. Everything will be fine. You just keep looking at me, my darling girl. Don't worry about a thing, we'll help you and everything will be okay. You'll see your Matty again."

Ana pressed her lips together and nodded. Eames could see a flicker of hope in her eyes and it made him hate Arthur. For the first time since he'd met the man, he felt pure, simple hate for him.

Eames closed his eyes and the sound of the gunshot seemed to reverberate down into his bones. He felt warmth splatter across his face. The hand he'd been holding went limp and Eames tilted his head up before opening his eyes. He didn't want to see her like that. Didn't want to witness her as a dead thing, dream or not.

He let the hand go and glared at Arthur.

The other man was looking down at the body with a lost, wrecked expression and the rage nearly blinded Eames.

He has no right to look that way.

Eames drew his arm back and hit Arthur as hard as he could from his position. Arthur flew back but caught himself and gave Eames a venomous look. His nose was bleeding but Eames only felt regret that they were in a dream.

"Did she get the name?" Eames asked coldly.

"I don't know," Arthur said. His voice still sounded shaky but his face was shuttered and still. He got to his hands and knees and picked up the gun, making his way towards the door. Drops of blood from his nose fell to the floor but Arthur ignored it. "I'll go back to the complex and see if I can't get the name from there, just in case. Spencer is on his way. I'll give him a call and he can cover me."

"Fine," Eames said. "But we will be having words after all of this is over."

Arthur exited the room without a glance back and Eames was left with the cooling body on the floor. From the corner of his eye, he could see the ruined, bright red mess that had once been a head. Outside, he heard the rat-tat-tat of the ongoing battle.

Fuck it all to hell. Arthur and Spencer can take care of themselves, he thought.

Eames picked up the gun and held it underneath his chin.

He pulled the trigger.

###

When he came to, he sat up and looked around.

Miron, the only other conscious person in the room, looked up from his laptop and nodded at Eames. They were in a large conference room and Eames, Arthur, Spencer the architect, and Cornell, the mark, were in leather chairs around the PASIV set on the mahogany conference table.

There was an unused line on an empty chair and Eames pointed his chin at it as he pulled his own line from his arm. "Where's Ana?"

"She went to the bathroom," Miron said. He looked back at his screen. "Said she got kicked out. Stomach hurt. I offered something to help but she said no."

Miron was young and had a bit of hero worship when it came to Ana and Arthur. If he wasn't worried, then it meant that Ana was relatively calm coming out of the dream.

It didn't make Eames feel better.

"Start cleaning up. We'll need to get out of here quickly."

He stood up and walked out of the room, straightening his suit jacket and shirt as he passed by offices filled with people. He nodded at a few of them, but kept his head down and moved as quickly as he could. There were private single bathrooms on the floor locked with separate codes, but Eames knew what they were. Ana wouldn't use the public bathroom; they all had to make sure they couldn't be identified later.

He knocked twice on the door in the thankfully empty corridor and called out, "It's me. Ten seconds then I'm coming in."

Then he waited a moment, just to make sure she actually wasn't using the facilities and punched in the code.

Eames didn't know what he'd expected – hysterics, perhaps, or tears but this was a true surprise: Ana was standing in front of the mirror with the front of her dress hanging open.

"Ana," he said her name softly, and closed the door behind him. He approached her slowly. "How are you?"

She was leaning over the sink with both hands gripping the sides, looking at her reflection.

"I was shot," she said. He saw her gaze move down to her bare stomach. "It felt real."

"It was a dream." Eames stood next to the mirror and stared at her. Ana wore a light cream bra, pretty and lacy, and her skin was almost the exact shade. She was shockingly pale against the rich purple of her dress. "Nothing more, nothing less."

"I felt the bullet go in," she went on. Her voice was odd, monotone and inflectionless. "I felt it come out. I felt Arthur's hand on the hole in my stomach."

"It felt real but it wasn't," Eames said. "I've been shot in dreams before. The first time it happened, I had nightmares about it for a week. But eventually the feeling goes away. It's hard to get over, I won't lie about that, but it will go away."

She blinked. Her face was frighteningly blank; it was as if Ana had become a living doll.

"Come on," Eames said, after a moment. "Let's head back."

He took a step forward and pulled her gently away from the mirror. Her arms hung loosely at her sides and she did nothing as Eames carefully buttoned her dress up again. Her trust in him, that he would be allowed to help her in such a way, after such a horrific event, made him feel ever more tethered to her.

To his relief, when he touched her bare forearm, her skin was warm and dry.

Not shock then, Eames thought. It isn't physical shock, anyway.

She pulled away when he tried to take her hand and he sighed. "The team is still under. I'm going to back in and try to help–"

"I got the name," Ana said dully. "Riley Edward. I finished the job."

"That's wonderful," Eames said. "Now let's get–"

"Go pull them out," Ana said. "I'll meet you back at the condo."

Eames frowned and shook his head. Ana was… fragile… at the moment. He wasn't sure if she would be fine or if she'd break down into hysterics or worse, have a heart attack, the moment she walked outside. It was a very real possibility, despite the lack of any physical indicators. She may not have been in shock but he'd seen delayed reactions before.

He was concerned about her but he was also aware the job was on the line. It would do no one any good if she keeled over in public.

As if she read his mind, Ana narrowed her eyes at him.

"I am going to the condo," she said carefully, as if he were thick. "Unless you want to drag me back into the conference room and draw attention to ourselves – get out."

Eames held up his hands and nodded.

"I'll wake them up but I'm right behind you, Ana," Eames said firmly. Arthur could clean up after them. Eames would give him no choice.

"Get out."

"Be careful, Ana," Eames said, walking back to the door. "Just remember – none of it was real."

The sooner he got to the room, the sooner he could trail after her and help her work through whatever mess dying had done to her mind. Before the door closed behind him, he heard her speak in a voice so soft and so low that he almost missed the words.

"I'll decide for myself what's real or not."

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