Inception 1. Out In The Rain, Then At Your Door

It's just a dream.

She forced her eyes open again and she was in the same place. Standing in the middle of the empty street.

It's just a dream.

In front of the cafe in London. No cars or people in sight.

It's just a dream.

Everything was quiet and still aside from her frantic breath, chest heaving, and the rain beating down on her blonde head and open toed shoes.

It's just a dream.

Her eyes focused on the same image. Her father, Richard, lying in a pool of blood on the street, alone. He writhed in pain, one hand on the gunshot wounds in his chest, and the other was extended in mid-air. He was pointing right at her, mouth moving, trying to form a sentence. But he still wouldn't look at her. Why didn't he ever look at her?

She opened her mouth to say, "Daddy," to get his attention like when she was a child, but nothing came out. Tears flooded the corners of her dark, blue eyes. She couldn't move, couldn't call out, couldn't help him. Very much like that day six years ago, she was helpless. Only on that day, she had been inside a taxi, watching, palms pressed against the grungy window.

Why hadn't she screamed at the cabbie to stop? Tell him that was her father out there bleeding to death. She should have kicked and shoved and pounded on the back of the driver's seat until the brakes squealed. Why did she lie and tell him her stop was around the corner?

They were probably watching and would have killed her next - that's why - she thought. And her father's words kept running through her mind like a tape on repeat. That's why he said them after all - to prepare her for something like this. He knew the day was coming. That his violent death was inevitable.

Her eyes squeezed shut again. The rain pattered onto her bare shoulder, so hard that it actually stung.

"If there's ever any trouble, Chloe, run. I don't care what's happened to me. Get out alive, my darling. Run and find somewhere safe. There's always somewhere safe. Understand?" He asked, both hands on her small shoulders.

But that was a lie. There was never a safe place for someone like Chloe. Not in the family that she grew up in. From the outside they appeared normal. Happy and well-adjusted. The perfect picture of an upper class family living in the best homes, driving the best cars, eating in the finest restaurants. But in actuality, no one was ever safe if they had the Dorchester name. It was the equivalent of a moving target.

_Click_.

There it was. She didn't want to open her eyes again, but she did, only because she knew what was coming next. In the real world, she would know what to do in this situation. She was able to take care of herself physically and otherwise due to life experiences beyond her control, but in this dream, she was always unable. Paralyzed. And that angered her more than anything.

The silver barrel of the gun was pointed right between her eyes, only inches from her face. The man holding it was faceless, but there was something imposing and dark and frightening about him. She guessed this was how she imagined them, whomever they were, and a part of her never wanted to know who or _what_ this man was.

There was only one thing she knew for sure. He was the one, or one of the ones, who had killed her father, leaving him alone to die in the street. Eight gunshot wounds in the chest, one in his kneecap. Cold. Dead. Buried. Forever. They had taken him from her too soon. She was his daughter, his only child, and he had no idea who she was. Not really.

_Click_.

The gun cocked slowly. Chloe gasped for breath and for the strength to finally do something about it.

No. It's only a dream. Just wake up. None of this is real. And she would wake up…

…as soon as he pulled the trigger.

But he never did. He lowered the gun, turned, and walked away. Oh, this was one of _those_ dreams, she thought, and felt her body relax a bit. At least the ending to this version was different. It was the one where she turned around and found herself standing on his doorstep in Amsterdam, peering inside his apartment, as he stood there staring back at her. He exhaled with relief, not surprised to see her in the least. He had been waiting.

The muscular, dark haired Brit covered with tattoos leaned against the doorframe, arms at his sides. "They're after you." He said knowingly. And he knew better than anyone.

Chloe nodded, water dripping from the ends of her hair. Even though this memory occurred days after the murder, she was still wet and freezing. Funny how dreams worked. He reached out and touched the side of her face - one of the only times she remembered him being gentle about anything - eyes scanning her for noticeable injuries. "You alright, love?" He asked in a low tone and glanced over her shoulder into the hall.

She didn't answer and before she knew it her knees had given way and she allowed herself to collapse into his broad chest. "They… they…"

He shushed her and stroked the back of her hair. "I know what they did. I heard. I know, C."

"They killed him, Eames. They killed him." Chloe choked back sobs and clutched the fabric of his black t-shirt.

And then he pulled her inside and shut the door.

That's when she woke up.


	2. He Called Himself Eames

((-))

When Chloe woke up she was in an apartment she didn't know, naked, wrapped in a sheet, lying next to a man she couldn't remember. As a matter of fact, the current city - and while we're at it country - was also a blur. It was only when she spotted the US passport sticking out of her purse that she remembered arriving in New York City two days ago.

Two weeks off the job and already the days were starting to bleed together. Not working did that. For most people it was the other way around, but Chloe most definitely was not them - normal people who lived quiet lives. When she wasn't working, she didn't know what to do with herself. She would check into an expensive hotel suite and fidget or pace or take long walks when that bored her. Then eventually she would end up in a bar or a casino (or both) and the rest was history.

Strong alcohol, attractive men, and any kind of music she could dance to were her biggest weaknesses. Or at the least the only ones worth mentioning.

Bottom line: no work for long periods of time was out of the question. The feeling of being all business all the time was a great one, and kept her sharp and most of all sane. On the edge. Where she needed to be to keep breathing. She was a workaholic in every sense of the word. That _work _for the past six years had consisted of a little known and still very much illegal service called _inception_.

The explanation of how she came to learn about it was a long one, but so was any story of a thirty-year-old woman who had lived a complicated life.

She was born Chloe Dorchester, though only one other person knew her by that name, into a wealthy, affluent family in South London. Growing up, Chloe idolized her businessman father, who for most of her life, was either at the office, working late into the night, or out of town on business. But instead of resenting him, she was proud that he worked so hard, and made it a point to impress him at every turn. Good grades, intelligent friends, giving him her full attention whenever he was home on a weekend - whatever she had to do to get him to notice her.

But none of that ever seemed to pan out. She knew he loved her - he told her all the time - but his actions said otherwise. He was either too busy with work or too busy fighting with her mother, Catherine, about spending too much money on mundane things.

Catherine was a different story all together. She would leave Chloe with whatever nanny was employed that day of the week and immerse herself in various charities or elaborate shopping trips or trips to a spa. But most of the time she would lock herself inside of the master bedroom, shades drawn, sleeping all day and gobbling pills by the fistfuls. Anything to forget the life she was living and the husband who didn't give her a second glance anymore. The unsuccessful suicide attempts were countless by the time Chloe was seven. In her mind, her mother was a cold, distant, miserable woman devoid of any real emotion or maternal instincts, and she hated her. To this day she still hadn't forgiven her.

By the time Chloe was nine, her mother had met another man. An American she met on a trip somewhere in Europe. She moved with him to America soon after breaking the news to her father, who was devastated for the most part. As much as they fought, pushed and pulled and prodded one another, he loved her deeply. But Chloe stood firm, refusing to leave her father, who did everything legally and otherwise to prevent that from happening. Chloe only saw her mother once or twice a year after and that was fine by her.

The next few years were very strange ones to say the least. She started noticing little things that she never picked up on before. Every six months or so she, her father, and the staff would move to various parts of London. They never seemed to stay in one place for more than a year, which made it impossible to keep up in school and more importantly form friendships.

Though friends were something Chloe cared little about and she found herself spending her free time alone. Most of the girls she knew were jealous because of her father's money and her growing beauty - her body was long and slender and her hair was always blonde and styled appropriately - and this was unbeknownst to her, of course. In her mind she was average. But the boys let her know right away that she wasn't, and they only wanted one thing from her. This bored her more than anything. Why would she want to spend hours with a boy who wanted to go on and on about how beautiful she was and how he wanted to ravish her? It was beyond comprehension.

The biggest change came when her father finally cracked down and sent her to boarding school, and she was kicked out of each and every one, constantly being moved to others around the country. The only upside to that was that she was able to see the world at a young age. But for the most part she loathed it. Chloe figured her father did it in order to keep a tighter leash on her - to know where she was and what she was doing at all times.

But she had a feeling he was keeping her at a distance for other reasons, which is when the "little things she didn't notice before" began to plague her mind. The tight security, the long hours at the office she had never seen before, how he never allowed her to be alone. Not even for a second.

She found out what those reasons were when she was home for Summer break and accidentally walked in on one of his business associates, who he always referred to as _Danny_, killing a man with his bare hands. By that time Chloe had turned her head, but the gun shot with the silencer came next. And her father stood by watching the entire thing. He seemed strangely unaffected and because of this Chloe assumed he had seen it done before. Many times.

It turned out that she had been living a dangerous life without ever knowing. Her father explained as best he could, trying to convince her that there were people who wanted to hurt him for some reason or another, and they needed to be protected from these people.

"Danny's just helping us, you see." Richard told her that afternoon on the terrace. "Making sure we're safe. There's no reason to worry."

Chloe nodded and looked over at him as he stared into the garden - a million miles away. He was a different man in her eyes now. A more powerful one.

Knowledge wasn't the only thing that Chloe picked up at the expensive boarding schools. She also garnered a very acute skill in the art of stealing and impersonation. Most of the time she felt like she was an actress of sorts - playing a role - and was exceptional at it. Identity theft, simple pick pocketing, fixed gambling. She did it all.

After graduating she was eager to break free from her father's overprotective grasp, and began traveling the world while developing her new skill. It was empowering to actually be good at something separate from her money or family name. She also realized that she had quite the power over men of any age and learned how to use her fortunate looks to her advantage. Despite popular belief, up to that point in her late-teens, she had very little know how when it came to the opposite sex.

Living off of her inheritance and what she stole lasted for many years, and they were happy ones for the most part. Working alone, romantically unattached, no real commitments. By the time she decided to drop in on her father in Rome, where he had been living as of late, she was surprised to find that his latest endeavor was something called inception. He had heard about it from a mutual acquaintance and had hired a team to perform it on a business rival.

The more Chloe learned the more fascinated she became by the process - or the physics - of the whole thing. Being able to steal, impersonate, and traipse through dreams filled with the subject's self conscious? And honestly, the fact that it was illegal was the best part. It was too good to be true. After a week of observing the team as they were going through preparations and research, she was determined to learn anything she could, but kept this from her father. He would have never approved and still talked about her becoming a lawyer.

"Not in this lifetime or any other. I'd rather be a nurse maid." She would tell him, making a face. "Plus I hate paperwork. Exceptionally boring."

One particular man on the team - the forger who called himself Eames - held her interest in more ways than one. He was only a few years older than her and had a certain way about him. Dry wit and nonchalance, yet an attitude that said, "I'm not someone to fuck with". He wore nice clothing, not designer, but he cared about his appearance. Every time he was outside he had a cigarette in his mouth and paced back and forth, always looking like he was working an idea out in his head. And he drank like a fish, but never on the job.

She only knew this because when the team broke for the day once she followed him. Out of boredom mostly. He walked six blocks and ducked into a bar she'd never been in before. It looked seedy and kind of disgusting from the outside, a really dirty place. She preferred upscale cocktail lounges in the afternoon. At night was another story altogether. She'd seen her own share of seedy.

Chloe watched from a table in the corner as Eames had a few beers at the bar while making small talk with some of the other patrons. After awhile he ordered three tequila shots and headed towards the back through double doors. Chloe followed and as soon as she turned the corner, his entire hand was gripping her small wrist. She couldn't believe it was still attached to her body. "What are you doing?" He asked in a harsh tone.

"What?" Chloe asked, pulling away from him. "It's a bar. I'm here to drink. What you're the only one who can walk into a bar now?" Eames didn't answer, so Chloe kept stalling, trying to feign stupidity a little longer. "I wanted to find the louvre first. Or is it bathroom or can here... or in whatever language they speak in Rome."

Eames downed one of the shots. "You've got to be the worst liar I've ever met. You should work on that. Practice makes perfect."

"One of your many talents I presume, Mr. Eames?" Chloe asked him, pointing at his hand gripping the three shot glasses. "Able to hold onto his drinks with one hand and assault a woman with the other. Impressive. Do you have card tricks as well?"

Eames smirked a little, leaning his body into her until their hips were touching, and Chloe felt her back press against the cold cement wall. His breath lingered on the top of her collarbone. Beer, lemon juice, and smoke being the most noticeable aromas. The messy way his hair was combed back, stubble, full lips, a slight tan, the smooth tone of his voice. Too many of her weaknesses had been checked off a mental list.

She had to get away from him and fast. Then he finally spoke after the long silence between them. "I'm glad you're here actually. I've been meaning to ask you, I guess out of curiosity..." Eames slurred. Great, he was already drunk. "Are you shagging the chemist?"

"Daniel?" Chloe snorted, surprised by the accusation. "Am I shagging Daniel the chemist... that's what you've been meaning to ask me?"

"That's what I sad, so yes."

She couldn't tell if he was serious, joking, just really drunk, or possibly jealous. Chloe crossed her arms over her chest, looking him square in the eyes. "Absolutely. And you know what? He's fucking fantastic, a mad man in the sack, a real charmer. You wouldn't believe the sordid details if I told you." She told him, trying to keep a straight face.

In actuality, she had been working with Daniel closely on a new sedative that she helped him develop. But she guessed Eames wouldn't believe her if she told him that. Most people wouldn't.

Eames' palm that was pressed against the wall inched towards her blonde hair. Chloe moved a little to the left to avoid it, but he of course moved it again. "Some people can't hold their alcohol. Too bad you're not Irish." She commented, smirking up at him.

Eyes searching hers, "Then why do you keep wandering around Daddy's loft like a lost puppy, watching everything that we do?" Eames asked, genuinely interested.

"Who taught you?"

Eames opened his mouth to answer, then paused, and suddenly those enormous lips were crushed against her own, hands trailing down the back of her purple skirt. Chloe went from struggling against him, which didn't do much good because of his imposing size, to actually moving into the kiss. Maybe that was because no one had ever kissed her like that before.

But she quickly came back to reality, logical senses screaming at her, and pulled away. The back of her hand was at her mouth and he backed away with a smug look plastered on his annoyingly attractive face. After her breath returned she said, "Do that again, Mr. Eames, and you'll regret it."

Eames downed his last shot, eyebrows raising at the threat. "We'll see." He turned and started walking in the opposite direction towards a room in the back. There was most likely a poker game that he wanted in on. He spun around on his heels briefly. "Also, plain Eames will do just fine. _Miss_ Dorchester."

((-))

Days went by and Chloe finally wore Eames down to the point of exhaustion. He was so irritated by her persistence that he didn't even feel like flirting anymore. When they were alone in the near empty loft that served as the team's office, she found him sitting in a lounge chair looking over some photos. With a childish smile, she climbed on top of him and sat on his legs.

Eames sighed heavily, photos hiding his face. "Those are attached to my body." and then mumbled, "You're completely mad. I don't know what I was thinking."

"You were thinking with your much tinier self." Chloe reminded him and then said in a soft voice, "Eamesy."

He quickly threw the photos onto a small table next to him and gave her the look of a thousand deaths. At first he was going to scold her for calling him by that nickname she had given him days ago, one that he loathed, but he just stared back at her menacingly hoping she would get nervous and leave. It worked with most people.

But she was still there. Smiling like a spoiled child, per usual. Daddy's little princess. It made him crazy and turned him on at the same time.

Different method.

He shot up in the chair and took a firm hold of her chin, causing her head to snap back a bit. She still didn't move. What the hell? "Are you going to keep at me until I teach you something, or is this just your way of getting my attention? Because if it is, love, you have it." He paused and his eyes moved down to her exposed thigh. She was wearing the silk red skirt and white blouse again. The room was cold, so his eyes also inadvertently lingered over her nipples. That were showing. In plain view.

Damn it to hell.

"...you've had it." He added simply and her expression told him she knew what he meant.

And then she smirked at him again, large blue eyes gleaming. "Lovely. Should we get started then?"

Eames let out an animal-like groan as he released her and sat back in the seat again. "Good God."

((-))


	3. He Called Himself Eames Part II

((-))

No one ever really asked Eames for anything. No rides to work. No emergencies at 3 am. No loans. His life was uncomplicated by having few close friendships. With his job that was the simpler way to go.

So, when Chloe asked him for help, he was more confused than anything. The first time she wandered into the loft the team were scattered throughout working individually. He was lying on the floor (sometimes it helped him think) and spotted those legs that went on for days with high heeled boots and knew he was in trouble.

Her legs, ass, thighs, breasts, arms… her laugh. All distractions that he needed as much as a hole in the head. The fact that she would never leave also proved difficult, but the rest of the team quickly warmed up to her, so she was never asked to. The only female on the team was borrowing her earrings by the second day.

The bar was another set back. Kissing her was a monumental mistake and he shouldn't have done it. After the moment passed and he took a seat at the card game, he decided that he was just drunk and it would never happen again.

But the next morning lying in bed, head aching from the massive hangover, he began to over examine. He came up with a few plausible explanations. One: he had kissed her because he was drunk and bored and frustrated that this woman was distracting him from work and everything else. Two: Subconsciously he had wanted to kiss her since he first saw her and was just acting out on that fantasy. Or three - and this was the one he hated the most - someone had finally asked him for help and he was ecstatic about it, so he did the first thing that popped into his head.

Eames wanted to believe that he finally agreed to teach her out of sympathy or the goodness of his heart, whatever the hell that meant, but he knew that was a lie. She was beautiful and sort of interesting in a dangerous way and most of all a forbidden fruit.

Entangling himself with an employer's daughter was one thing he had never done. Truthfully, it had crossed his mind, but he'd never had the opportunity standing in front of him, staring up at him with blue eyes and a perfect face. There was a first time for everything.

And teaching her was not easy. He remembered when Cobb taught him years ago and realized just how much better he was at it. Her questions were often asked in four parts and loaded with sub-questions and hypothetical what-ifs. Chloe thought out all the angles. What could go wrong, how to get out of a situation that did. Her biggest concern - more of an imminent fear really - was limbo.

"How long could someone be stuck there?" Chloe asked as they made their way down a crowded sidewalk. In her dream, there was some kind of a celebration going on in the streets. People danced and wore masks. Music blasting from all directions.

He made a face at the unbearable ringing in his ears. They'd been at this for four days and her dreams got louder each time. He had specifically asked her not to make this one so complicated and hard to navigate. The last was a carnival with clowns and a fun house that put even someone like Eames on edge. He was anxious to bring her into one of his more relatively quiet dreams. "It depends. If you keep a grasp on reality vs. a dream you'll be fine. It's never even happened to me."

Chloe chuckled at how uncomfortable Eames was with the area. "Do you have some sort of mental block when it comes to parades?"

"Just the bloody _loud_ ones." He answered.

With a worried expression, "Do you know anyone it _has_ happened to?"

Eames glanced over his shoulder at her briefly. He could tell this was the one thing about extraction that frightened her, and it frightened him too (even if he would never admit it out loud), which is why he waited such a long time to answer. But before he could, he noticed the projections closing in. A man he had been keeping an eye on had been following them for the past block.

He grabbed onto Chloe's hand, who was still trailing behind, and pulled her beside him. "Stay close. They're starting to…"

And then they attacked them. After it was over, Eames woke up in the loft reclined on the leather sofa. His breath steadied, eyes searching the room for the Chloe, who was being ripped apart limb by limb the last time he saw her.

When he spotted her sitting at a nearby table, she was laughing so hard that she was close to tears.

The dreams where they had to die to wake up always ended like that. Him waking up, her laughing. After awhile he would laugh too, but never got a straight answer as to what was so funny.

((-))


End file.
