A/N: Same tune, different words. Not back, just wanting to clear out the rest of the text I have left in this story. This is barely read through but I did try my best to edit, so please do forgive anything I might have missed.

Also content warning – mentions of self-inflicted harm below. I urge you to skip this if it'll trouble you. Life's too short, yeah?

Chapter 24:

The first time Arthur met Gideon, the man attacked him.

In the hospital that horrific night, Arthur finally faced Gideon after Ana had been hurriedly admitted – still hysterical and near out of her mind in terror, and prepared to explain what happened to the agent. He was going to give some semblance of the truth; just enough to ensure that Ana was seen as purely a victim of a freak circumstance, with no relation to dreamshare whatsoever.

His first impression of Ana's new partner was that he was a predator, someone who was used to a good chase. Gideon was slender but powerfully built, as if he were only barely contained within the confines of his suit. There was no softness to him as he silently listened to Arthur's lies. His face was all high cheekbones and a sharp jawline, punctuated with green eyes and auburn-leaning hair trimmed to regulation.

Under harsh lights, in the midst of the ruckus caused by their appearance, Gideon had looked at Arthur and Eames with a blank expression on his face. Then – with his eyes focused on his partner's blood drying on their clothes and her screams still echoing in the distance – he rushed at them, his features twisted in sudden anger.

Now in Ana's dream, despite the bullets fired at him, Gideon was relentless. A tall figure dressed in a black, funereal three-piece suit moving smoothly to avoid being hit while firing back at both men. He walked forward with a determined expression fixed on his face, as if this was the only purpose he'd been built for.

Because she needs Gideon to be her protector.

Not random projections made up of strangers glimpsed briefly on the street or in a restaurant once – that wasn't the way Ana's mind worked. When it came to militarization, most people didn't have a choice or couldn't make a choice as to who would fight back on their behalf against intrusions. But Ana, as with many things in Arthur's experience, had been the exception.

Swarms were rarely her go-to offensive; instead, when an intruder appeared, one or two key projections would hone in and they would be utterly ruthless in Ana's defense.

Ana had conjured the face that she instinctively felt could protect her against Arthur and Eames now.

She'd been uncertain of him before.

In Ana's mind, Gideon's tightly coiled energy, that repressed power, was unleashed into something almost crazed.

Because she knew there was something to be frightened of inside him.

Arthur ducked behind a set of piled up tables and glanced over at the direction Matt and Eames had run to.

Eames had better cover him.

Even though Matt was a projection, he was still Matthew Tremont. He was too important to risk; he'd been Arthur's friend once. And Arthur wasn't willing to harm any more parts of Ana's fractured mind – especially one that wore her brother's face. Armed or not, Arthur wasn't sure Matt could face whatever version of Gideon Ana had created.

"Eames! Matt!" Arthur called out, and ducked as Gideon raised his gun again. A bullet hit the wall behind him and Arthur swore, feeling his nerves recoil from the blast. He readied himself to rise up again. "Eames, get him out of here!"

"You can't hide in her mind, we'll always find you," Gideon called out. Arthur rose slightly and realized Gideon was now looking for Eames, his profile facing away from where Arthur hid. "You don't belong here!"

Arthur saw a flash of movement and when he looked up again, he felt his breath catch in his throat.

Oh god, no, not now.

Matt was at the far end of the room from Arthur and Gideon, a wide-open target for Gideon's madness. But he didn't seem at all concerned about the fight happening around him. His expression was not one of fear but consternation and he was turned towards…

Please, not now!

Next to him stood Ana.

"Hiding like the cowards you are," Gideon said, and then he spun to the side, laughing. "Ah, there you are!"

He fired at Eames, who suddenly appeared and was headed towards Matt and Ana. Arthur felt relief wash over him and he aimed at Gideon, trying to give Eames enough cover to get to them safely.

Gideon turned back towards Arthur, his expression a strange mix of elation and rage… Which turned into shock as Arthur fired several shots into his unprotected chest.

He wasn't even trying to defend himself.

Her projections never bothered to, because they always came back.

Gideon collapsed; his mouth opened but he made no other sound as he crashed to the ground. His weapon – a standard issue Glock 19, fell out of his hand and by the time Arthur fully stood up and rushed towards where he lay, there was no more movement from the body aside from the growing puddle of blood beneath it.

He scanned the space, making sure there wasn't another Gideon waiting behind the wings before sprinting across the room to where Eames had just reached the Tremont twins.

They stood side by side, reunited once more.

"That was exciting," Ana said flatly, her gaze moving up and down Arthur's body and then Eames in a quick examination. "Looks like you both escaped mostly unscathed."

This time, Arthur noticed right away: it wasn't Ana. At least, not the version of her they were looking for. Now that the smoke was clearing and his adrenaline was finally falling, Arthur realized this version looked more like the woman she'd been nearly four years before. The flush to her skin, the way her clothes fit, the way she wore her hair…

Like the first time I saw you after all those years.

"Another projection of yours, Arthur?" Eames said, a bit breathless and out of sorts. His clothing was speckled with dust and debris and there was a fine sheen of sweat on his brow. There was a hole in his upper shirt sleeve and the thinnest scrape of blood that showed how close Gideon had gotten to hitting him.

Unsurprisingly, his eyes were still a little wild as he glanced over.

Arthur shook his head, frowning.

"I don't think so…" Nothing about her seemed right. At least the projection before had attempted to fool them at first. This Ana was staring at him with an unsettling clarity and self-possession his earlier projection didn't have.

Matt nodded. "This is my sister," he said, then frowned. "Or… Some of her, anyway."

"Like I was saying before we were interrupted, we may have our roles to play," she said, looking back at Matt, "but I'm not entirely sure why you're still here. This is all for them, not us."

"Because that's not what I would have done," Matt said calmly. "And you know this is the last thing your brother would have wanted for you. Or wanted you to do."

"But we did it, so what you want is irrelevant."

"Excuse me, but what the bloody fuck are you both talking about?" Eames snapped. He'd gotten himself under control and was standing straight, chin tilted up. "And if you're not one of Arthur's bloody ghosts, then–"

"You're an obstacle." Ana looked at Arthur placidly as he spoke. "You're the obstacle, aren't you? Alive but not real."

Jesus, she turned herself into her own projection.

He could only hope it wasn't doing any more damage to her mind.

"Hello, Arthur. I remember you," she said, turning to face him fully. She gestured at the broken mirrors on the ground in the distance. "You were in a lot of our memories. She took a lot of you with her below, but there was still plenty left for me to pick up."

"You mean the shards…"

"They're all I had left to use."

And Arthur realized: She doesn't have enough complete memories to fully populate the dream with other projections.

It's why the world seemed so empty.

She looked at Eames then, a slow smile stretching her lips. The expression did not reach her eyes. Arthur thought she looked like a facsimile of Ana – something trying to perform emotions but falling short of being believable. It was no wonder she resembled an earlier version of Ana; there wasn't much left of herself to build from.

"And you, Eames," she said, "she barely took anything of you; left most of you here for me to pick up. She didn't want to build a world with much of you in it."

It only lasted for a moment, but Eames' face crumpled. Almost against his will, Arthur felt a wave of sympathy for the other man. While Ana had always been honest, she was never deliberately cruel.

But this isn't Ana.

It's barely even parts of her.

"Ana can't maintain a lot on this level. She can't process that much information if she's consciously keeping limbo active," Arthur said, drawing the attention back to him. Eames looked away and rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand and the thing with Ana's face turned its attention back to Arthur. "So whatever you are… You're not whole. You aren't her. You're barely operational, aren't you?"

"I'm operational enough to know she hates you. There was plenty of that left over."

Arthur reeled back but Ana looked indifferent to his reaction, simply as if she were commenting on the weather. "Like I told the other one, I'm made up of the remnants of our memories."

"You've seen her then," Eames spoke up. "Our Ana. You know where she is?"

"She's in your citadel, all safe and sound. I'm keeping her company while you both go off on your little quest. I just wanted to see how Gideon was going to do. See if he could actually kick you out. But I suppose practice makes perfect."

"He didn't come after you or Matt," Arthur said, trying to gather his thoughts quickly. He looked around at the mess, at the body cooling on the floor. "Gideon left you both alone because–"

"Because obviously he's aware he's a projection, just like they are," Eames finished for him. "Literal as always. Self-aware, even in dreams."

"Like I said, we all have our roles to play. We can't control each other once we're in place," the Remnant said. She then turned back towards Matt, dismissing both Eames and Arthur.

"We missed you. It's why she's not here right now. She might have been looking for these two but underneath it all, we just missed you. She wanted to remember you and I only had a few bits and pieces saved. There wasn't much, except for the end and that was… Horrible. So there was only one other place she could go in here to find you."

Matt smiled crookedly at Ana, his expression softening. For a moment, he looked like the old Matt, closer to the eighteen year old boy Arthur had known once. Even as a projection, he still regarded his sister the same way – with a mix of fondness and exasperation but above all, love.

She knew he loved her.

Even her projection of him reflected that.

"I'm gone, Annie," he said gently. "I'm not coming back. None of this will bring me back. You know I only ever wanted you to be happy. I made a choice, and I want you to honor it. It's within your power to move on. You can show Ana the way here and just wake up."

"That's not going to happen."

"I know," Matt said, shrugging. "But I'll keep reminding you it's okay to let me go, to let all this go. If there's a chance for you to wake up happy, I want to help make it happen."

The Remnant stared at him before nodding once. "I guess I knew you'd say that."

"Can't you bring us to Ana then? If she's looking for us," Eames spoke up, taking a step closer. He looked almost pleadingly at the Remnant; it was an expression Arthur was not used to seeing on the other man's face, usually so confident and purposeful. This was no mask – this was Eames letting his masks slip.

Projection or remnant… This is still her mind.

Eames implored, "Please, I told her she could find me. Find us. I promised her we'd find her down here. Please don't keep her away."

The Remnant tilted her head to the side curiously, staring at Eames with the full weight of her focus. It was so much like Ana and yet not. There was no affection in her gaze, no kindness, no humanity.

"Yes, you did," it said softly. "You made a lot of promises. But Matt's dead because of you and now we're all here. How much do you think your promises actually mean to me?"

"Annie…" Matt began in a reproachful tone but Eames walked away before he could hear anything more.

Arthur watched as she smiled.

###

Ana spun slowly around in a circle, staring at the wide expanse of the room around her. It was all still fascinating, still a source of mystery but right now, she was more interested in getting out.

But you're not done re-learning everything there is to know about Matthew!

And yet Ana knew she'd seen enough for the time being. He'd been her hero, her closest friend, and her annoyingly nosy brother. Interacting with her memories of him was like watching a film – it was a sort of passive, distanced consumption. It was lovely but it hadn't helped her remember anything.

Meanwhile, Arthur and Eames were somewhere in her mind, possibly under attack and definitely within the scope of the thing that had her face.

Or maybe it's more that I wear her face?

In any case, Ana had to get out.

"Nothing's moved," she muttered to herself, walking around. "Sunlight, the position of the tables or papers, just the door…"

But was that true? It was possible something had shifted without her knowing, especially if it was a smaller alteration. The image outside hadn't changed, but that was outside. An image projected through imaginary glass. Would any rules of physics hold true in dreams?

"What do you see, what do you see?" she asked herself, walking around tables and piles of rolled up maps. "Any influence beyond this room…"

I need proof.

Ana looked at one of the topographies and stared at the lake contained within it for a moment, thinking, thinking…

If that's actual water…

Ana grabbed a small rolled-up map nearby and without bothering to open it, dipped it as deep as it would go.

To her relief, the paper darkened as it soaked up liquid. She placed the now soggy map in a patch of direct sunlight, hoping that even if there wasn't much warmth, her idea would still work.

What else, what else, what else?

Ana reached up and pulled out four strands of hair with a wince. After another quick study of the room, she began to place them in very specific angles on top of table corners and piles of books in different corners, moving slowly and deliberately away each time.

She was almost in what she assumed was the middle of the room when she noticed the large tables nearby. Ana stared down at them, biting down on her bottom lip before making a decision.

There was nothing more she could do but wait. Either nothing in the room changed or something would – whether it was the passage of time, or the movement of air coming in from beyond the room. No matter what, she'd have to be patient and let things happen as they may.

And in the meantime…

Ana took in a breath and reached out for the table that held her memories of Eames.

###

Eames felt his heart racing even though Gideon was dead now and no longer an immediate threat. His bicep stung and he pressed a palm against the open wound, hoping it was enough to stop the bleeding completely.

He could hear Matt and Arthur and… that thing… still talking and he shook his head as if he could clear his mind from the impact its words had on him.

It's not her, it's just a projection.

But Eames knew the truth. Each projection – from what he'd just encountered, to Matt and Gideon… It was all really Ana. They were aspirations or figments of memories, but ultimately, Ana had been their origin.

So whatever they said, whatever they did, were all really manifestations of Ana's thoughts and emotions.

Eames studied the piles of broken mirrors, shifting through some of the images with his shoe, carefully avoiding the blade-sharp corners. There were large splashes of dried blood around the biggest pieces, partial fingerprints, and even a bare footprint on the cold concrete floor.

Eames looked up at the two standing mirrors.

"It was clawing at itself, its face, its eyes. I think it, um, blinded itself."

The impact of everything he'd learned hit him hard then.

"It was my sister but it wasn't… It was a mess. Cut up all over. There were so many… It was a bad thing."

In her desperation, Ana had turned herself into a patchwork monster of memories. She had broken herself apart and then sliced herself open to remake her own reality. Did the weight of her past and the agony of mutilating her own flesh drive her mad? Did her reflection, an unrecognizable mess, cause her to tear out her own eyes before she forced herself deeper into her mind?

How long did you stand here, trying to build up the courage to make the first cut?

Arthur was right; Ana had been so afraid of mirrors before.

How much did you hate yourself as well, in the end?

Eames felt his eyes sting and he ran his other hand over his face. After a moment, he dropped both arms and took a deep breath to center himself. As he moved his head, he noticed a flash of gold on the ground.

It looked familiar.

It can't be…

He kneeled down carefully and picked up a shard, smaller than his palm but large enough to see the recognizable face of a vintage gold watch.

Eames felt his stomach roil at the vision of the watch on his wrist turning as it moved in the piece of broken glass. It was his hand, after all. This little detail had been important enough for Ana to remember at one point…

"She didn't want to build a world with much of you in it."

But she had ultimately left it behind with the other memories of him, left to collect dust and dried blood. Without really knowing why, he placed the shard carefully in his pocket on the opposite side from his gun, in an outer pocket.

"What was that?"

Eames stood up and looked at Arthur, who was staring at him with a pinched expression on his face. A wave of irritation rose up in Eames – he could see barely concealed pity on the other man's face and Eames bit back a retort.

"Nothing you need to worry about," Eames said, glad that his voice sounded even. "Did you learn anything more from that creature masquerading as Ana?"

"Aside from it being an asshole?" Arthur said, "not really. But she does consider herself Matt's counterpart so at least we know what its purpose is. And we don't need to worry about Matt being a target when Gideon reappears. That's one less concern."

"Mm, that much was already clear." Eames turned back towards the mirrors. "We should get out of here. There's nothing else left to learn, unless you want to shift through the rest of this mess to figure out what that projection is really made up of. This battlefield was her own – as if she wanted us to know the extent she was willing to go."

Arthur looked uncertain but he nodded. "Yeah, we can't waste anymore time; we still need to find Ana, the code and get to the keep."

Eames glanced over at Matt and it… The Remnant. "Think she'll be a problem?"

"No doubt, but so far she hasn't done anything to really stop us," Arthur said. He hesitated, frowning deeply. "I think I was wrong. About what the dead blessing and the living obstacle represent."

"You got Matt as the blessing correct."

"Sure, but I thought Peter or Gideon would be the living obstacle. I thought they represented defense and offense, a shield and a sword. I don't think that's it anymore."

Arthur's gaze moved past Eames, behind him. Eames turned around and saw Matt walking towards them while the Remnant was staring at him, now still and silent.

Arthur's voice sounded distant as Eames stared back at the Remnant, at Ana's face, hard and cold and mean.

"I think the dead blessing is forgiveness. And the living obstacle is punishment. She's here as our torment."

###