Eames sat at his desk studying the case file of the man they were to extract information from. It had been a long day of doing just that; well, nothing to him.

Sighing deeply, he tossed the file folder aside and reached into his pocket for his totem. Instead, he found a photograph.

The picture showed a woman, maybe twenty or twenty-five, with two little girls in her lap. They're all smiling brightly for the camera.

Eames stared at the photo for a long time, remembering what happened to them.

"Who are they?" Arthur's voice behind him startled him.

"N-no one," he answered automatically. There was a slight quiver in his voice only Arthur could hear.

Eames hurriedly shoved the photo into his pocket and went back to reading.

Arthur didn't bug him about it for the rest of the day, knowing that family is always a touchy subject around the forger.

But he noticed that Eames couldn't seem to hold his focus on Zeke Gellar; their current mark.

Later that night, as everyone was getting ready to leave, Ariadne spotted Eames looking at a photo almost sadly.

"Eames?" she asked softly.

"Yes, love?" He tried to keep his light-hearted joking demeanor, but could only flash a weak smile at the young architect.

"Can I ask who they are?"

There was a slight pause, and both of them could tell that everyone else wanted to know too. You can't hide it forever, screamed Eames's conscience.

He sighed heavily. "They were my children. Charlie is three now, and Liv is five," he answered softly.

Eames shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"They're beautiful," Ariadne responded kindly. She knew something was off about him.

Arthur seemed to be the only one who noticed Eames's change in demeanor, at least to him.

"So good night everyone!" he called, trying to let Eames have his space.

"Good night," everyone mutters, walking out quietly.

There was a slight awkward silence as Arthur gathered up the rest of his stuff and Eames just sat there, fingering his totem and staring at the photograph.

"A car crash," he said.

"Excuse me?" Arthur said, surprised.

"A drunk driver; he killed Johanna…." Eames's voice trailed off.

Arthur paused, unsure about what to say. "I-I'm sorry, Eames," he said finally. He had never seen this side of the forger, hell, he didn't even know Eames had a family.

Hurriedly he left, and Eames still sat there.

He remembered that they were a happy family in London when Johanna died. He had no idea what to tell the kids when he got the call from the hospital, but then the nurse said that they were in the car with her, and were in a coma.

That was when his life fell apart before his eyes. For weeks on end, he did nothing. Everyone close to him felt him grow distant, and he lost contact with them altogether eventually.

Eames traveled to Mombasa and started gambling, trying to suppress those memories. Soon he met Cobb, and became the forger.

Being able to be someone else was a natural gift to him. It let him forget what he wanted to forget and put on a mask of seriousness, or humor, or whatever Cobb needed.

And in an instant that's all ruined. By one photo. One goddamn photo was all it took to bring back a tsunami of things that he didn't need.

Memories he didn't need. Things meant to be forgotten.