#i am picturing arthur and eames

[mister-eames]

Arthur/eames song rec: born to beg by the National

Oh nonnie... goddamn. This made me feel things.... the instrumentals? The dotty, constellation sort of quality to it? It felt like a goodbye and a hello kiss at a train station or an airport, like a hug from behind and a whisper in your mind, teakettle love, i'd do anything (for you) - thank you, thank you for this rec, its perfect!!!

[elwenyere]

Snippet Sunday

Hello, beloveds. Today I bring to you a snippet from a WIP that has been consuming my brain. I am 11k deep. The situation is out of control in the most deliriously fun way. I hope you enjoy. <3<3<3

.....

“What the fuck was that?” Arthur’s face is tight - furious. He isn’t looking at Eames: he’s looking at Minks - of course he is, because he thinks Minks is the one who brought it in. 

“How the fuck should I know?!” Minks demands.

“What happened?” Ngozi asks. “You were barely even down.”

“I swear to God, Minks,” Arthur says. “If this is your idea of a joke, so help me -”

“It’s not,” Eames manages. It comes out in a rasp, and he has to stop to clear his throat before he can try again: “It wasn’t his. It was mine.”

Arthur had gotten to his feet when Eames started speaking - his hand reaching automatically for the pitcher of water on the table - but now he freezes, staring at Eames like Eames has just dropped a forge.

“What the fuck, Eames,” Minks says. “What kind of fucked up horror-show shit was that?”

“Minks,” Arthur says, at the same time that Eames tosses off a, “Cheers, mate. Much obliged for the concern.”

“The dream’s supposed to be a fucking cocktail party, not a Cronenberg picture, for fuck’s sake. Get your goddamn head straight.”

“Minks,” Arthur repeats, louder. “Give us the room.”

“Fucking be my guest,” Minks mutters. “Fucking creepy-ass motherfucker John Carpenter shit.”

Ngozi catches Eames’ eyes briefly as they head for the door, and Eames gives her his blithest smile. He waits to let it fall off his face until it’s just him and Arthur in the warehouse.

“So,” he says slowly, “I realize this looks…less than ideal.”

“It looked,” Arthur says, “like an Eldritch horror was clawing your chest open on the bridge deck.”

[spaghettitigers]

in some ways, and others - arthur/eames

fic 1 of a self-imposed challenge to just write and not think too much on it, following themes. this one's is misunderstanding.

~~~

Eames doesn't remember how he got here.

That's the first thing really. There he is, tied to a chair whose legs stand at the edge of a pool, and the cool metal of a gun pressed to the side of his temple. The ropes on his wrists and chest are frayed slightly, where he feels the ends tickle his pinky. It's nighttime, a waning moon by the light, because his kidnapper may lack imagination but that has never stopped him from attempting flair.

"Arthur, darling,is this all necessary?" he asks, because if he's honest, there's an itch on his brow that's beginning to bother him more than he'd like to admit. 

Arthur clicks the safety off before moving in front of eames' precariously placed chair. His mouth is pursed into a tight, unamused line and while Eames is typically always prepared to wax poetic about Arthur's face, the narrowed eyes at least partially accomplish their mission of intimidation.

He's in a sour mood, Eames thinks, and because he's Eames, he so enjoys moments of little forethought, and says exactly that. He can't help who he is, it's in his blood, his DNA, the very fiber of his being-

"You seem in a terribly sour mood, love."

"Don't call me that," Arthur snaps, and then slower, reeling himself back to the cool and collected mask that Eames despises, "Why did you sell me out to Myers?"

The anger in his voice is subtle (Eames snorts internally at the thought, because none of this is subtle), but he can picture it in the undercurrent of Arthur's skin, slow and venomous. He looks delectable here,(Now is hardly the time to be thinking of his fingers in those chocolate curls, scrapes of teeth on his neck, a heavy hand squeezing the solid line of Arthu's waist - no, Eames is simply cursed to have memories of this). 

"This would go a lot faster if I knew what the bloody hell you're talking about," Eames replies.

The gun pushes closer. "Don't fuck with me Eames, I'm really not in the mood. Only 3 ppl in the world knew about the plan for Armstead Technology and who knew Myers would blow as many knee joints and break as many fingers as necessary to get the files from me, so," Arthur inhales deeply, "I'll ask again and only this once more, why did you do it?"

Eames' head spins as reality sinks in. Arthur believes every word. The tension of his forearm veins is stark in the blue reflected pool light, dancing across the fine hairs. 

"As flattered as I am about the theatrics, you truly didn't need to go so far on my accord. I haven't the faintest clue what you're on about, so when you're ready to have an adult conversation about this, I'll be right here." They're bold words, and he hopes on hope that his nonchalance hides his fear about the situation. 

Eames' head is yanked back by his hair, a sharp hiss escaping between his teeth. "Was the payoff worth it? I was this," Arthur emphasises, "close to being dropped into the Danube, just like this, so you'll excuse my impatience today."

"You think I'm playing? What's wrong with you, Arthur? I never even knew Armsweng, Amsterdam, whatever they are, before this, much less to sell you off to the highest bidder like cattle."

The grip on his hair has thankfully loosened, the tiniest fraction. Arthur's eyes bore into his, searching for the slip up that he's expecting, but Eames can only see fatigue and- a depth of something gone terribly wrong, like Arthur's world has turned itself inside and out. 

For the first time in the evening, Eames catches sight of the healing cut running parallel to Arthur's hairline, how Arthur keeps his gun hand strong but wavering just the tiniest bit, Arthur's microexpression of a wince when he pulled Eames' hair.

Arthur doesn't say anything yet, just staring as Eames examines him. And then: "I saw communiques in your Sao Paulo apartment from Cha. The money was impressive, even by my standards, and the last someone had seen you was Bucharest. I can put two and two together. I really should've known." The inference is left hanging in the air, a live wire.

Eames gapes at him. "I haven't been to Brazil in months. And I'm not stupid enough to grass up one of the best point men out there and piss off no doubt the countless fans of your work. Did my apartment look liveable any way to you? Because I know for a fact that my electricity was out and the plumbing broke ages ago."

His hair is finally released, and he catches the flash of doubt in time. Bingo.

"What did they do to you?"

Arthur's jaw locks, and there's more wounds on the underside of his jaw that Eames can glimpse from this angle. He's somehow sure that what he sees is only a fraction of the damage that's been done. 

"Arthur, I thought our relationship had more depth than that. What would I have to gain by getting rid of you?"

"That's not- you're-" Arthur groans, scraping a hand across his face, gun still held in his hand but thankfully, no longer pressed against his person. "You've always said you'd sell your own mother and her ducklings if the pay was good enough. What is anyone supposed to believe?"

Eames feels relief exhale through him. He's not 100% safe, he knows, not until he's been kicked awake and about 15,000 kilometres away from whatever seedy place Arthur has them camped out in.

A chair that definitely hadn't been there a moment ago is just far enough for Arthur to slump in and stretch his long legs. He looks drained as the day Mal died, a particularly unhappy memory that Eames can always perfectly recollect. Eidetic memories don't always come in handy, to many people's surprise.

"How low you must think of me, sweet." He wants to be shocked, but he knows that his own rumours and the reputation he had developed in the dreamsharing community is his own concoction. He's unsure why it bothers that Arthur thinks of him simply as everyone else. 

"Fuck." Arthur's head is in his hands, and there's the slightest tremble in his hands. Clearly, the man hadn't recovered from whatever treatment had been doled out to him. "Fuck."

Arthur surges up and there's a flash of reflected light before the ropes on Eames' chest are cut loose and he can barely react before Arthur turns the barrel onto himself, a clean shot to the neck.

~~~

By the time Eames figures out a way to kick himself awake, only the faint scent of Arthur's cologne remains. A hastily scribbled note sits on the night stand of the bed.

I'm sorry.

~~~~~~

(Years later, Arthur and Eames will come back together for the Fischer job, where Eames will confront Arthur about all the favours he's called to pull Eames from every pickle Eames found himself in, self inflicted or otherwise. He'll catch Arthur at a weak moment and convince him for a drink when they land in LA, high on life and success and the sweet sound of his bank account filling up and by some miracle, Arthur will agree with only three attempts of flirtation versus his regular arsenal of five. 

Arthur will flush so pretty in the yellow lighting of the dive bar, and apologise again about four times before Eames puts a hand over his. Arthur will pull away like he's been stung but it doesn't stop the blush or the way he turns away to gulp more beer with the smallest smile.

They'll go to bed together, and lie naked and touching, as Eames caresses each scar from all those years ago. He'll kiss each raised bump and feel this odd pull from his chest when he watches Arthur shiver each time. And slowly, he'll understand why Arthur couldn't do anything more to Eames that day, when Eames knows that had it been anyone else in that dream, they would've never seen him coming.)

[thestalwartheart]

20 questions for fic writers

Thank you for the tag, @aniron48 ❤️ This was such a nice way to wrap up this year, and to remember what I'd written!

Tagging @cicerfics @dixkens @dassandre-00qpidsarrow @boffin1710 @samanthahirr and whoever else wants to play along!

Answers under the cut!

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 82! I feel like I blacked out and blinked and woke up with a horrifying number of fics!

2. What’s your total A03 word count? 385,997 😨

3. What fandoms do you write for? James Bond mostly. Also Glass Onion/Knives Out. I don't write for The Witcher anymore, but I have in the past. On my laptop is a lot of unfinished Star Trek fic - mainly Kirk/Spock - and a crack at some Arthur/Eames (from Inception).

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

being with you (is the best of all)

date, interrupted

the places you leave in the dust

a rank above

by any other name

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? I do try to, and I mostly succeed. I like to thank people for investing their time with my work, and I also like getting to know people in fandom. There's still 100+ comments I need to get back to, and some of them are very old. I will get to them though!!! I promise!

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Anything involving the MCD tag. There was also a short called garden that was very sad for other reasons.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Either being with you (is the best of all) or dispatches from the division.

8. Do you get hate on fics? Not really, though I've had a few rude comments and bookmark notes. One person let me know across three chapters that they hated my characterisation of Bond so much they were tempted to rewrite the ending! But most people are lovely. The Bond fandom is small and most of us have our heads screwed on the right way.

9. Do you write smut? Frequently and without shame. There are 29 E-rated fics in my backlog for your reading pleasure.

10. Do you write crossovers? I have a Knives Out/James Bond crossover series where Bond and Blanc are detectives competing for Q's attention.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I'm aware of!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes and I am endlessly grateful for people who are more talented with languages than I am ❤️

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Just a team poem for 007 Fest, though I have worked with beta readers.

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship? Kirk/Spock forever.

15. What’s the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? I had a multiverse fic I posted a chapter of that I don't think I have the energy for anymore. I was so undecided about the ending that I lost interest in writing it.

16. What are your writing strengths? I think I'm good with characters and details. My writing has been called immersive by a few people, and I do really pride myself on building atmosphere. I think I can turn a good phrase occasionally too!

17. What are your writing weaknesses? I need to get better at proofreading for typos. I'm quite lazy with plotting and planning as well. I definitely need to work on that for an original novel I'm writing!

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? I only do it if it's necessary, and I'm so glad AO3 now has a hover feature for immediate translation. One of my pet peeves at uni was how often scholars used random French and Latin words or phrases when they didn't need to!!!

19. First fandom you wrote for? HP, probably. Or Glee. Those fics have been purged from the internet now 😂

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written? Either dispatches from the division or the WIP I'm in the process of posting now, called the age of change.

Shout out to everyone who has made it to the end! As a reward, please enjoy this picture of my cat flopped over in her cat tree ❤️

[darlingandmreames]

@inception30daychallenge Day 13: a fanart rec

I am Perpetually Insane about this piece. The way none of the pictures show a full face. The way some of the pictures are actually of Arthur. Eames' expression as he stands in front of all of them. INSANE.

is this something?

[darlingandmreames]

Arthur: you know, when I said to bring me back a souvenir, I meant a seashell or something

Eames, struggling to hold onto a seagull: well you weren't very specific about that, were you?

[hirunoka]

Me: Today can't go any worse than that probably.

An earthquake, happening at 3.30 a.m:

And now here I am, looking at Arthur and Eames pictures (and well, also Bob Saginowski posts) to calm down and feel better because I don't think I'll be able to sleep. I thought that was it. Fuck. It felt like it was 7 something magnitude earthquake because it was much closer to the surface.

I hope they cancel the classes, I don't think that anyone feels like going after what happened, feeling like a zombie.

Also I hate how I just froze after that earthquake woke me up. I was supposed to move and get the damn go back immediately but I couldn't. Two of my friends said they screamed and then took a position. Meanwhile I was like that "standing in the kitchen Robert Pattinson meme" basically. I fucking hate this.

[thisarthurandeames]

Fanon Eames is closer to Canon Arthur and Vice Versa

Hear me out, here me out

I’ve been thinking about this since forever, and I only recently started talking to people about it and I am?? So shocked but happy about the amount of people who agree with me. You lot are amazing :’)

I shall try to make my thoughts coherent, stay with me.

Before I do, I just want to say your opinions are valid, always, even if I may be going at this hard right now.

[lots below the line]

This isn’t to say that our fanon perceptions are terrible, that I don’t love them. I do! They’re lovely, heck, go through my feed, there’s a lot that’s gripping fanon.

And our writers are so wonderful. Honestly if one of you wrote a fic describing contents in your trash cans I’d probably read that too. Oh and!! What I continue saying may actually be your fanon perception, if so, awesome, ty pfft.

But here’s the thing.

Arthur isn’t prissy? He’s not really an uptight stick-up-his-yeehaw person. In canon he’s actually quite warm.

I say this from a v neutral POV, no ships or anything.

He’s very understanding and warm to Dom right from the start, when he notices Mal’s shadow. He’s so soft and caring about it and it is 😭💞

Everyone knows about this one but The way he says “she was lovely” about Mal to Ari :((

The way he treats Ariadne the entire time.

I know Christopher Nolan tried to make their ship happen, but the thing is, that’s still him? As much as a lot of us cringe at the kiss, it’s canon. It happened. And it definitely adds to how little we know about Arthur.

See thing is, you can tell a lot about a person by the way that they treat someone new. It’s very ... well, it sort of defines a person in a way. (By that I don’t just mean first impressions— I mean after the first one, well.)

He’s very nice to her at the start when she’s learning everything and etc, he’s super warm (and oh my God that little smug smile he had the first time? Come on.) and encouraging. We love him.

And he flirts. This trope is usually given away to Eames, if so, but truth is; he flirted with Ari when he said give me a kiss. You smooth little point man you 😫❤️

I’ll keep saying that he’s super warm because he is, okay >:(❤️

If I watched the movie again right now while talking about this, I assure you I could go on and make this post longer than my own fics. But I’ll spare you guys from that this time around.

Ahhh gosh, there’s one thing that I see around that Arthur’s not very ... smiley?

I’m gonna have to. Disagree there. He actually does smile a lot.

I feel like I should point out that a lot of the scenes we see are when he’s working, when he’s on a job. He’s a point man, yaknow, it’s kind of a built in this to be determined and keep your head in the game.

At the start when he’s frowning and all, it’s because the job might get botched, because Saito’s in the helicopter, etc.

But then there’s the scenes in between mainly when he’s teaching Ari, and if you can’t see how soft he is there, I really do urge you to give it a rewatch.

He smiles!! He’s adorable.

And what’s the first thing we see of his when we’re at the end of the movie, back in the plane? Him smiling again.

But before that, they were trying to do a job when projections start shooting them up, Saito’s bleeding, Dom Cobb’s yelling. It’s just. Hell.

And it’s super justified for him to be so tense. He’s the point man, he was supposed to know all the little bits around their job but now a man’s bleeding while someone yells at him saying it’s his fault, of course he’s going to take that blame to himself.

He actually handles Cobb very calmly (if I were there —as I mentioned before—, I would shoot Cobb, no questions asked.), he’s very patient about it. But after Cobb stops hovering over his head, he’s had time to process how this might truly be his fault (I’m sorry bby you did your best :(().

Another thing is—, Arthur’s a very expressive person. A lot of that goes to Joe, ofc, but my man cannot keep a stony face, his expressions are always saying something. A lot of fics say that his face is unreadable but really, it’s just that he has a lot of layers on sometimes <3

(ALSO WAIT I HAVE TO MENTION—HE WHISPERS “PARADOX” INTO THE PROJECTIONS EAR BEFORE PUSHING HIM OFF THE STAIR AHSHJSHDHD THAT WAS SO ADORABLE PFFT)

What I’m really trying to get at here is that Arthur!! Is actually  A very warm. Kind. Lovely. A bit flirty. A lot supportive. Very smart (everyone gets this one right always ofc) person.

Honestly, bless the creators who’ve already written my babe like this, but I just really really needed to get it out there.

It isn’t to say your fic is of less value. Tbh my favourite fics, Arthur’s a bit of the cold prissy person, but I’m just trying to distinguish here, yaknow?

Okay I was adding the pictures and I remembered wanted to say that the way Arthur carries himself is actually quite carefree!! Just how he handles himself in general, he moves with ease, but ngl an example is the chair leaning thing. Hes so ,,, not rigid guys :((

I also made one tailored towards Eames!! Didn't want completely flood this and make it a long one. Check that out too, if you'd like, thanks!

Edit: I can’t believe I tried so hard not to make this ship-like I completely forgot to add Eames skhjdfhf

[jerakeenc]

many kidfics i’ve read and loved

look who’s reccing a million year old fics now. kidfics, very many. posted to dw for snowflake, thought I’d copy here as well. will be reading most, if not all. if you don’t hear from me again, this list is the culprit.

101 Ways To Get Lucky (In Love) by lenore

18,200 words | SGA, McKay/Sheppard

Rodney McKay is rich, gorgeous and at the top of his game—except someone just moved the goalposts! Now Rodney realizes he is sorely lacking the one status symbol that everybody seems to have…the perfect family. Rodney needs help, so he hires a relationship coach. Single-dad John Sheppard may be an expert, but not when it comes to his own relationships! And every day he spends with Rodney makes him wish that he could be the one to fill the vacancy in Rodney's life…

A Beautiful Lifetime Event by astolat

29,000 words | SGA, McKay/Sheppard

Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans.

An Earlier Heaven by regann

67,400 words | X-Men, Erik/Charles

In the wake of Cuba, Charles and his students are ready to pick up the pieces and work toward achieving Charles's dream of a safe haven for young mutants. Those plans, however, take a surprising turn thanks to a very unexpected complication. As he slowly builds a future for his students and for his child, Charles struggles with the loss of Erik and the secrets he's willing to keep to protect his family, but those strides are shattered when Erik makes a startling reappearance into his life. [mpreg, kidfic, ensemble]

And everything nice by noelia_g

30,200 words | Social Network, Mark/Eduardo

The one where Mark somehow ends up with a child and of course needs a nanny for the amount of time he spends at the office. Only problem is a string of nannys keep trying to get into his pants for what he assumes is his money. Cue Mark's assistant hiring a male nanny, enter Eduardo.

asking to be born by longtime_lurker

26,500 words | Bandom, Pete/Patrick

"Don't worry, it's probably just his big gay freakout," Andy yells cheerfully and unhelpfully into Patrick's ear as they're hustling Pete over to the nearest private clinic.

Better with You by harriet_vane

38,100 words | 1D, Liam/Louis

Based on this prompt at the kinkmeme:

Single parent and solo artist Liam Payne hires Louis Tomlinson to be a full time nanny to his four year old son Sammy. Although the two men don't quite click from the start it's love at first sight between Sammy and Louis. Eventually Louis and Liam warm up to each other and get on like a house on fire, in fact the two become a little too fond of each other.

I refuse to apologize for how sweet this ended up, okay? It's kidfic, I am forever writing kidfic, and this one is even kid-fic-ier than usual.

Can't Get Enough of You (Baby) by eternalbreath

22,100 words | Inception, Arthur/Eames

Eames vanishes from dreamshare and Arthur goes a little crazy looking for him until he stumbles across him -- with a baby.

Chelsea, Chelsea, I Believe by empathapathique

300,800 words | Hockey, Kane/Toews

Patrick meets a girl his rookie year.

Don't You Shake Alone by dsudis

62,180 words | Generation Kill, Brad/Nate

Nate looked exactly like Brad always pictured him: exhausted in the full life-in-a-combat-zone sense of the word.

Dude, what's a bulwark? by kellifer_fic

12,150 words | Teen Wolf, Derek/Stiles

Beacon Hills is the kind of small town where everybody knows everybody, and what everybody knows is that surly diner owner Derek Hale and free spirited single dad Stiles Stilinski have been in love with each other for years. If only they knew it too.

Every Other Beautiful World by rhiannonhero

43,280 words | SGA, McKay/Sheppard

Some things are unexpected but still inevitable in every beautiful world.

Forever, Now by harriet_vane

227,100 words | Bandom, Frank/Gerard, Jon/Spencer, Brendon/Ryan, Brian/Greta

Brian rescues kid!Gerard and Mikey from life on the streets, and eventually everyone finds a family.

here comes the sun by oflights

56,600 words | Social Network, Mark/Eduardo

This is a story about growing up, sad 70's rock songs, too much hair gel, "Maxwell's Silver Hammer", a baby with curly hair, a Geiger counter, a dog that isn't named Max, the Chicken Dance, Cheerios, pepper-spray, drugs, sex, and a stuffed chicken named Cluckerberg, nicknamed Cluck. or: Mark raises Sean's accidental baby, and I write the fluffiest thing ever.

I Got a Love (That Keeps Me Waiting) by svmadelyn

163,700 words | Hockey, Kane/Toews

There's a lot of different ways this summary could go, like:

Patrick Kane gets more than a gold medal in Sochi.

Or, the classic: It's too late to pull out now.

Or: Patrick Kane continues to thrive in high pressure situations.

Or: Patrick Kane gets knocked up, goes to White Castle, and finds love, not necessarily in that order.

But, ultimately, all that really matters is this: Patrick Kane is keeping his baby.

I Would Be by cathalin

20,290 words | American Idol, Kris/Adam

AU. Adam and Kris meet a few years down the road, when down-on-his-luck Kris and his young daughter Katherine show up to rent a room from Adam, who never made it to an Idol audition.

Ice Ice Baby by uraneia

51,340 words | Hockey, Claude/Danny

A gold medal isn't the only souvenir Claude brings home from Prague.

OR: The one where Claude gets drunk, gets pregnant, and gets convinced to move in with Danny, whom he's been secretly in love with for years. What could possibly go wrong?

my heart is bigger than the distance in between us by estrella30

15,000 words | 1D, Nick/Harry

Nick chuckles quietly but grabs the remote and follows Emma, Aimee coming up close behind him. It’s indeed Harry on the telly, singing along to his latest radio hit and smiling slowly into the camera far too seductively for half eight on a Friday morning, if you ask Nick. He presses the volume just in time to catch the crowd’s roaring applause and see the pink flush Harry’s cheeks. Nick watches him duck his head as he gives a small wave to the audience, and it hits Nick that Harry is still the most humble and appreciative billionaire Nick’s ever met.

Good job, popstar, Nick thinks to himself.

or, Nick is a single dad and Harry is his bff and it's a bunch of years into the future and they fall in love

Once Upon a Furry Octopus by skoosiepants

11,270 words | SGA, McKay/Sheppard

He was an intelligent, intuitive pet, but he wasn’t going to start sniffing out ZPMs or hidden Ancient weaponry or detailed instructions on how to kill a Wraith with a common household item. A pen, for instance.

Reconcilable Differences by astolat

40,000 words | Smallville, Clark/Lex

Luthor Family Values.

Shelter by harriet_vane

63,500 words | Social Network, Jesse/Andrew

From the kinkmeme prompt: Some sort of AU vaguely based on Shelter! For whatever reason, Jesse has to take care of Hallie and give up his dream of being an actor. He ends up working in a dead end job when former, now successful friend (Andrew) returns home. They fall in love, etc, only Jesse can't go away with him because he has a responsibility to his family. CUE ANGST.

Show Me The Way Back Home Baby by stilinskisparkles

15,000 words | Teen Wolf, Derek/Stiles

In which Lydia and Jackson produce the world's cutest baby, and the pack goes crazy-- the good kind of crazy. Except for Derek, who is afraid of tiny cute babies and Stiles who plans to be the best Uncle ever. Even if Danny called dibs on Godfather.

Skybird by windsweptfic

33,785 words | Inception/White Collar, Arthur/Eames

Arthur and Eames adopt a kid and raise that kid into Neal Caffrey.

Small Cells and Fibers by sevenfists

7,830 words | Bandom, Frank/Gerard

Tuesdays were finger-painting days. Frank made sure to wear his oldest pair of jeans, because even with his full-length apron and his constant reminders that paint belongs on paper and not on clothing, he always ended up with tiny, multi-colored handprints all over his clothes. There wasn't a thing he could do about it, so he just wore pants from 1995.

Small Primes and Square Roots by liviapenn

12,500 words | SGA, McKay/Sheppard

"I hope you picked someone really intelligent, otherwise it seems like it would be kind of a waste. Of incubation time, if nothing else."

So Wise We Grow by deastar

81,250 words | Star Trek Reboot, Kirk/Spock

"Commander Spock, we have located your son," the Vulcan lady on the screen says, which would be great, except Jim can tell by the look on Spock's face that he's never heard of this kid before in his life. "If it is expedient, the child will be sent to join you on the Enterprise within the week."

Something Better by lovelypoet

18,350 words | Bandom, Frank/Gerard

"We all have to take jobs we don't like sometimes, you know?"

The Next Time You Say Forever by Thistlerose

27,300 words | Star Trek Reboot, Kirk/McCoy

After his ex-wife's death, McCoy is forced to leave the Enterprise to look after his teenage daughter. Under normal circumstances, this would be the end of…whatever it is he has with Kirk that's more than friendship, but less than what he wants. But the universe has other intentions.

The Reeducation of Misters Kane and Toews by jezziejay

15,900 words | Hockey, Kane/Toews

In which Kaner sort of has a kid, and Mr. Toews doesn't know which of them is the bigger brat.

AU featuring teacher!Jon and hockey-player!Kaner. With bonus 'Hawks characters, love notes, pasta jewelry, Be Better Pizzas, pirouettes, a sprinke of angst and guest appearance by Derek Jeter.

The Road Delivered Us Home by keelywolfe

117,430 words | Hobbit, Thorin/Bilbo

In the years since Bilbo left Erebor, he has lost his respectability, gained a nephew, and gotten on with life at Bag End.

He'd left aside adventure for the comforts and peace of his little Hobbit hole, and for the love of a child who needed him. Though perhaps, adventures can yet find him.

This Story Was Brought to You by Our Sponsors by scaramouche

29,500 words | Supernatural, Dean/Castiel

Dean's post-apocalyptic life is a friggin' soap opera. Romance! Angst! Separations! Reunions! Pizza Dinners! A Child Dean Never Knew He Had! It's all very dramatic.

throw a little sparkle all over it by etben

26,000 words | Bandom, Frank/Gerard

"Hey, Ma," Mikey says. "No, everything's fine—well, I mean, Gerard accidentally adopted a baby—no, he's changing her now, he can't talk."

Tiny Houses by ohmyjetsabel

77,130 words | Teen Wolf, Derek/Stiles

"So this is what Stiles does. He lies in Scott’s bed and waits for Melissa to say she’s found someone to get it out of him, to cure him of the wrongness and the bad, and he dreams.

God, he dreams.

He dreams of fire and swollen bellies and that scene in Alien, of giving birth to jackals through his urethra, the whole horrific nine yards. His head is a terrible place to be, he can’t imagine his stomach is much better, why anyone would want to put a thing inside of it."

Tip, Slide, Tumble by j_s_cavalcante

42,900 words | due South, Fraser/Kowalski

Ray knew when he found the body in the alley it was going to change someone's life. He just didn't expect that life would be his.

Turn by saras_girl

306,000 words | Harry Potter, Harry/Draco

One good turn always deserves another. Apparently.

Unless it's lies or it's love by sprat

25,300 words | American Idol, Kris/Adam

In which Adam (a rock star) meets Kris (a single dad) at an Emergency Room in Arkansas at the end of a particularly shitty night. Also features: San Francisco, fresh starts, baked goods, OCs, cameo appearances by Matt and Megan, pirates, monsters with garbage heads and a recording studio.

What Child Is This by lamardeuse

30,150 words | Merlin, Arthur/Merlin

A modern AU with Merlin, Arthur, mayhem, a baby and a jingly elf hat.

What to Expect by arsenic

29,200 words | Bandom, Bob/Mikey

Mikey has his band, and his little girl, and that's enough. Really, it is.

Winter's Children by neery

66,890 words | Marvel, Bucky/Steve

When their attempts to recreate the super soldier serum failed, Hydra started trying to breed Captain America clones from his genetic samples. Unfortunately, the serum's effects aren't passed down genetically, so instead of an army of tiny Captain Americas, they get a bunch of tow-headed, asthmatic, allergic, immuno-compromised little Steves.

And then the Winter Soldier stumbles across Hydra's failed experiment...

With Six You Get Eggroll by speranza

31,000 words | due South, Fraser/Kowalski

"Kick 'em In The Head: A Guide To Parenting."

ETA: Bonus! Because I apparently lost my bookmark for this one but have the memory of an elephant for kidfic, so it came to me eventually. :D

A Farm in Iowa 'Verse by sheafrotherdon

166,000 words | SGA, McKay/Sheppard

John inherits a farm, Rodney ends up entirely out of his element, and there is much ado about baseball.

[snsknene]

hesitation, arthur/eames, 11k, read on ao3 here

~~~

Arthur was in a hotel room that was his favorite kind: it was old in a way that suggested it had let number of people through its doors and would let in more until it was finally demolished a hundred years from now, old in a way that meant slightly faded carpets but wood paneling to die for.

It had not been expensive. Arthur had a lot of money from the Fischer job, but it didn't mean it would last forever. Arthur was a sensible man.

Arthur was also in his favorite pair of pajamas. They were silk and they were grey and they felt like comfort. As this was a slightly old hotel room, it had a slightly old TV with a limited number of channels, and the channel that was on now was playing reruns of some trashy reality show. Arthur did not understand anything that was going on, but he was enjoying everything that was going on, enjoying the fact that he was watching scenes of frivolity instead of growing old in a nameless dreamscape. He had a glass of wine in his hand, and he’d just had a long bath, and his hair felt slightly damp against the nice clean pillow.

He was feeling rested. He was feeling rested because he deserved it.

Of course it was then, because that was Arthur’s life, that his phone rang.

Arthur turned his head to the side to look.

Cobb, of course. No one else could ruin Arthur's relaxation like Cobb did. It was a talent and the man’s true calling.

Arthur thought he would have had a break from all the Cobb drama once Cobb had successfully gotten through immigration at the airport but apparently Cobb lived to make his life an extended babysitting gig. Arthur thought, rather bitterly, that there were only so many things Cobb could do that Mal’s death could explain away. The line had to be drawn somewhere, even though Arthur had loved her so fully and completely.

But Arthur had loved her so fully and completely. That was the issue here. Those children were still hers. If anything happened to Cobb it would be Arthur who would have no choice but to move to LA for them, and Arthur hated the humidity.

He pressed answer.

“What do you need?” Arthur asked.

“Hello to you too,” said Cobb, in a manner calm enough that Arthur didn’t think there were any guns pointed to his temple. Arthur relaxed a bit. “I was calling to check in.”

“Check in,” Arthur repeated suspiciously.

“Can’t I check in?” Cobb asked innocently. “The children are asking after you.”

“I just saw them,” Arthur said. “Tell them I’ll come by soon.”

Cobb paused. “About that,” he said, in a sketchy sort of way.

“I knew it,” Arthur said. “I knew you were in trouble. What do you need, Cobb?”

“It’s not need,” Cobb said, but it was never need, was it? Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. “I’m not in trouble,” Cobb was saying. “I just need a favour.”

Arthur shook his head against the phone and looked at the television. A favour did mean Cobb’s life wasn’t in danger and his children weren’t possibly going to be orphans, which meant Arthur, for once, had the option of saying no. For the past two years, he’d shadowed Cobb while Cobb got progressively wilder around the eyes and took on steadily more dangerous jobs, and Arthur, thinking of Mal’s arms around his neck and Philippa’s wide sunny smile, hadn’t been able to say no.

“I owe him,” Cobb said. “Properly, and it’s either I do it, but it’ll be for a couple of months– the kids need stability–”

Arthur could imagine. Their mother dying and their father being publicly arrested for it had done wonders for their future therapists’ bank accounts.

“It’s an easy extraction,” Cobb said hopefully. “And I know you’ve done so much. But look, it’s me, here, calling in one last favour.”

Arthur had already made up his mind. He had meant to see the kids anyway. He could go stateside for a bit.

“There’s just one thing,” Cobb said. He sounded apologetic now.

“Uh-huh,” said Arthur, the sigh caught in his throat already telling him what it was.

“They need a forger,” said Cobb.

~~~

There were other forgers, of course. Good ones, competent ones even. But Arthur hated working with mediocrity when he could have excellence. Eames was – unfortunately! it couldn’t have happened to a more annoying person! – excellence.

Eames had also disappeared off the grid with his share of the Fischer payout.

Which was all very well and good. Another sign of excellence, actually. Arthur had been planning to be off the grid for at least a month more with a job as high profile and risky as that. However, this made things more complicated for Arthur, because Eames’ ability to disappear was also excellent.

Arthur wasn’t Dominic Cobb’s point man for no reason. It took him nine days, but he found out where Eames was.

Eames was back home.

As off the grid went, it was still pretty on there. It was more likely people in the dreamsharing community could have seen him and recognised him. But they hadn’t yet, which also spoke to Eames’ unfortunately extensive abilities.

~~~

London reminded Arthur of Mal. Most big cities reminded him of Mal, because Mal had loved big cities. In fact, she had loved them so much she had thrown herself off a skyscraper in her most favourite city, and therefore ruined it forever for Arthur.

Luckily, while being a big city, London held no such specific memory for him. He had been there a couple of times on jobs, but those had been quick turnarounds. His strongest memories there were of hotel rooms with grey drizzly views and bad bland hotel food. He hadn’t gone around the city at all. The drizzle and food had put him off. “That’s the best they can come up with?” he remembered asking Cobb, who had merely looked, despondent and wild-eyed as ever, at the bangers and mash they had sent up.

Arthur had pinpointed the area Eames was staying, and could have waited for him there, but he figured it would look more impressive to find him where he was. Arthur ignored the little Mal-voice that asked why he had to look impressive to Eames. It took him the rest of the afternoon to track him down for the day. He was at the Tate Modern.

Arthur scanned his ticket and stepped inside the exhibition space. He combed the exhibitions until he found Art and Media, until he found a room which consisted of a large screen flashing bright unsettling images in 0.1 second bursts at its unsuspecting audience, or so the description outside promised.

Eames looked anything but unsuspecting. His face was intent. His skin was awash with the quick flicking colours of the screen, red and yellow and neon green and red red red again. When Arthur reached him he said, low, turning his head a bit, “Ah. Arthur.”

He said it Arrrthur, actually, in that annoying way he had. “Eames,” Arthur said, determined to be polite. Arthur was always determined to be polite at the beginning of every job they worked together. Eames always brought that resolve crumbling down.

“Are you in danger, Arthur?” Eames asked.

“No,” Arthur said.

“Ah,” Eames said knowingly. “A job then.”

Because Arthur made it a point to acknowledge Eames was right as little as possible, he didn’t answer, and they both stared at the screen for a while. The quick-flash images did feel quite unsettling, but the pictures didn’t last long enough for Arthur to catch what they were and why they unsettled him. He supposed that was the point. There was only colour to remember, mauve and cobalt and red red red again, colours that pressed against his eyelids.

“Are you actually enjoying this?” he asked at last.

Out of the corner of his eye, Eames shifted a bit. “No,” he said. “But we don’t need to enjoy art to appreciate it.”

“We don’t need to waste time on art we don’t enjoy,” countered Arthur.

Eames started walking out of the room then, so Arthur followed. “It’s enough that we feel the art,” he said, still low and unbearably pretentious. “Don’t you, Arthur? Doesn’t it make you uncomfortable? Doesn’t it make you long for more, or less, or something different?”

Arthur took a quick glance back into the room as they left it. The images were still flashing and the colours were still bursting.

Out of the room, Eames was visible without neon lights washing over him. Arthur noted that his hair was slightly shorter and even though he was still wearing a terrible sports jacket over terrible cargo pants, he looked well-rested. Without preamble Arthur said: “There’s an extraction–”

“Alright,” said Eames. “Hello to you too. Anyway, I can’t make it.” He turned on his heel and started walking in the direction of the exit.

“What do you mean you can’t make it?” Arthur asked, hating that Eames made him do stupid things like rush to keep up with him.

“I’m terribly busy,” Eames said, walking down the escalator.

“You’re not exactly doing much,” Arthur observed.

“Well I am,” said Eames. “So there.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yes I am.” This was veering dangerously into playground territory, like things usually did with Eames. Arthur thought about what might sway him.

“There’s a lot of money in it,” he said, knowing it wouldn’t help much.

“I haven’t exactly managed to go into debt since we were last paid more than we’d ever need in two lifetimes, sweetheart,” Eames said, hiking stupid aviators on and walking out the glass doors.

“It’s a favour,” Arthur said, then hesitating, because he couldn’t exactly say ‘to Cobb’. Eames was probably still furious at the fact that Cobb had nearly let them spend eternity inside their own heads and walked off contentedly into the sunset and his kids after. He’d said as much in the airport bar three months ago. That was how they’d left things, snappish, which explained why Eames wasn’t immediately being teasing and flirtatious and smirky in Arthur’s general direction.

Arthur didn’t miss it, of course not. This was almost professional of Eames, which had to be an upgrade.

“Oh?” Eames said, stopping and looking at Arthur, but his face was inscrutable behind the shades. Outside, it was cool with autumn weather, watery sunlight filtering through the leaves above Eames.

“To me. I’d owe you one,” Arthur said. He didn’t know why he let Cobb make him do things like this. He had loved Mal fully and completely, but surely she wouldn’t have wanted him to lose all his dignity in this way.

“You’d owe me one,” Eames repeated, sounding slightly delighted.

The wind ruffled his hair a bit. In the watery sunlight it looked watery gold.

“Yes,” said Arthur.

Eames looked at Arthur inscrutably behind his shades, and Arthur looked back, knowing Eames would call it in at the worst time, probably one day when Arthur was reclining in a hotel room, thinking of nothing but comfort.

“Alright then,” Eames said eventually. “But either way, I can’t go now. I’ll be ready in about a month or so.”

He set off again, in the direction of the pier. Arthur set off after him, annoyed that he was continuing to be difficult, just because they’d had a disagreement. “Why can’t you be ready now?”

“I said I’m busy, darling,” Eames drawled, reaching the edge of the pier and looking out at the river.

Arthur let him stare out at the Thames for long moments before he dripped sarcasm into his voice. “Yeah, I can see work’s really piling up.”

Eames sighed and removed his glasses, folding his arms and looking directly at Arthur. “I’m not messing with you, Arthur. I do have things I need to do here. If the job’s not urgent I’ll be there in a month.” Like this, Arthur could see that his eyes were the colour of the river and the sky, that he was better-shaven than on the job but he was stubbly still, that he had gained some weight and filled out his horrid sports jacket and terrible cargo points. He looked well-rested, it was true. He looked relaxed. He did not look like he was lying.

Arthur, impatient in this grey city with the grey sky and the bad food, called his bluff anyway. “Fine.”

“Fine,” said Eames, turning back to the sunset.

“Fine,” said Arthur.

After a bit Eames narrowed his eyes at Arthur. “I see you’re not leaving.”

“I’ll hang around here,” Arthur said, not at all childishly. “Help out with the job if it makes things go faster.”

“You’ll hang around here,” Eames repeated blankly.

“Why not?” Arthur asked. “I could use a change of pace. I haven’t seen much of this place.” He waved a hand at the Thames, signifying the city.

Eames suddenly looked considering, one eyebrow raised. He shrugged, and Arthur could see the beginnings of amusement in his eyes. “I could use your help, actually,” he said. His tone had changed too: lighter, more like the unprofessional behaviour Arthur knew and did not love.

Arthur had done his research. He knew Eames didn’t have dreamsharing work in London. “Let’s go, then,” he said, hoping Eames would give this up sooner rather than later, admit he didn’t actually have a job and let Arthur get started on his last Cobb favour.

In answer, Eames started heading down a flight of stairs on the pier that led to the riverbank. Arthur scowled. He could see stones and sand, pigeons excited to shit all over his Saville Row. He followed him down anyway.

Eames stood on the riverbank, dirty filthy water nearly reaching his lumberjack boots. He bent down to pick up a pebble. Arthur kept his distance as Eames skipped it smoothly on the surface, tap tap tap splash. “You’re going to love London, darling,” he called back to Arthur, picking up another pebble. “I’ll take you around and everything.”

~~~

Eames took him back to his place in Richmond, the flat that Arthur had scoped out already. It was in a nice neighbourhood, and the apartment itself was woodsy and rich, dark plush furniture and paintings that swirled warmly.

“So what is it?” Arthur said, getting impatient. They’d taken the tube. Arthur massively disliked the tube. It was hot and sweaty and next time they were taking a car, but Eames had insisted on an authentic London experience. “Who’s it involve?”

“Patience, sweetheart. You’ll see,” Eames told him, stripping off the sports jacket and revealing an awful brown t-shirt underneath. It was ripped, but not artfully, like a designer had planned it, more like mice had gotten into his closet. “We’re going there now.”

“You could try being less mysterious,” Arthur suggested.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Eames asked.

Honestly it felt kind of ridiculous, because Arthur knew there was no job. But he kind of wanted to see where Eames would bring him, how Eames would play it out, how eventually he would say You win darling and Arthur could drag him back to LA in satisfaction, because Eames brought out that incredibly petty side of him.

Eames took him for a walk around the neighbourhood. They were in the cool dark air, streetlights washing over them glowingly, time and time again. Little noises emanated from the flats they passed, sounds of dinners and nightly routines and familiarity. “Eames,” Arthur said, after exactly eighteen minutes of walking.

“It’s just here, Arthur,” Eames said. This seemed nonsensical. They crossed a playground. Eames walked up to a blue door and knocked.

Arthur began to reconsider. Perhaps they really was a job, an up and coming extractor, a new team. Sure, Eames hadn’t taken jobs like that before, small ones without the chance of big payouts, but maybe he was rolling with it now he was rolling in it.

A woman opened the door. She was heavily pregnant.

Before Arthur had a chance to gape, she was looking at Eames, saying, “Finally!” and leaned out of the door to kiss him on the cheek, before cuffing him gently about the head. “You said you’d be here an hour ago.”

She was very pretty, with wavy chestnut hair and large eyes and the same sort of carelessness of manner as Eames had, her posture easy and her gestures expansive.

“I was waylaid,” Eames said, after kissing the top of her head and tilting his head at Arthur.

“Oh, hello, come in!” Eames’s girlfriend? wife? pregnant with his child? said to Arthur, smiling brightly at him. “Who’s this?” she added to Eames as she turned to go back in.

“This is Arthur,” Eames said, stretching it out again, and levelling a grin at Arthur before following her into the flat. “He’ll be joining us for dinner.”

Arthur wasn’t sure how he was feeling. Appalled, slightly, of course, that Eames flirted like a madman and especially with Arthur and there had been times even–once or twice–after a job that they had looked at each other, exhilarated and knowing, and something in Eames eyes had softened and Arthur hadn’t known what to make of it and–well! He knew what to make of it now.

This selection of thoughts happened in quick succession and he was moving across the threshold, into a cosy, warm sort of place that smelled of spaghetti and contained Eames, sitting in a messy living room with what looked like a two-or-three year old clinging to his leg.

Two kids. The things one could keep from co-workers they’d known for years–Arthur hadn’t seen it crop up, even once. The child, golden-haired and babbling, was trying to climb onto Eames’s lap, and he was smiling down at her and talking to her lowly and adoringly. Arthur wrenched his eyes away. He tried not to stare, feeling his stomach churn. Instead he moved left, into the kitchen where the spaghetti was boiling and the woman stirred at it.

“Hi,” he said. “I’m Arthur.”

“I’m Rosie,” she said, turning to stick a hand out. “Sorry the house doesn’t look great–Will didn’t tell me he was bringing anyone–”

“Sounds like him,” he said, and Rosie grinned. “It looks great, don’t worry about it.”

Her gaze turned considering, and she looked a lot like Eames when it happened. Eames had married(?) a second him, of course he had, the self-absorbed dickhead. “You work with Will?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Arthur uncomfortably, wondering how much she knew about dreamsharing. “We–work–we’ve worked together. I was in town.”

“Hmmm,” she said slowly. “He’s never brought anyone back. You really must be special.”

“Oh,” said Arthur. He tried to look across to Eames for help, but Eames was already looking back at Rosie, with an expression that looked like exasperation. Why had Eames brought him back, anyway? Sure, he and Arthur were acquaintances, almost friends, but Arthur hadn’t even heard he had two kids. Eames had kept it from everyone, and well and good for him too, you never knew who you could trust. He’d probably brought him back here tonight probably because he wanted to one-up Arthur who was ridiculously following him in London about a job, showing him look I have a life, what can you say to that? Well, he’d won. Arthur was hightailing it out of here tonight, because this was just weird.

Eames stood up. “Arthur,” he said. “I see you’ve met Rosie. And this is Lily.” Lily squirmed happily in his arms and stuck out her hand. Arthur had to exit the kitchen and head to the sofa to take it.

“This is Arthur,” Eames said to Lily, turning his head to kiss her cheek. “Say hi Arthur.”

“Hi Ar-fur,” Lily said. Arthur was helplessly charmed by this. “Hello, Lily,” he said seriously.

“He’s come to ask me to go back to work and leave you alone,” Eames said sadly to her.

Arthur hadn’t known he’d had a kid. “I didn’t know you had a kid,” he said, while Lily reached up to touch Eames’s hair. “Unca Wew,” she babbled, which just sounded like nonsense.

“Yes, Lily,” Eames cooed. “Evil Arthur’s taking Uncle Will away from you.”

“Uncle,” Arthur said inadvertently. Eames looked up at him before he could school his features into a neutral expression, and his mouth curved up into a wicked grin. “Why, Arthur,” he said, drawing it out longer than ever, “who did you think I was to Lily?”

“I wasn’t sure,” Arthur said, glaring.

“Perhaps I should have specified. I see you’ve met my sister, Rosie, and this is my niece, Lily,” Eames announced, too amused for his own good.

Rosie called from the kitchen and through a cloud of steam, “Stop teasing him. You know you should have said.”

“Though I find it slightly offensive,” Eames continued, looking at Arthur, “that you thought I was frequently jetsetting around the world away from my wife and child, with another one on the way. I’ve worked with you four times over the last year.”

“I wasn’t thinking that,” Arthur lied.

“You wound me, Arthur,” Eames informed him, grey eyes quite serious. Arthur had no idea if he’d really offended him or not.

“William,” Rosie said. “Be nice. And come and eat.”

They sat around the dining table, Lily in the high chair kicking her little legs out. The spaghetti was slightly overcooked but the sauce was warm and rich, and Arthur hadn’t had anything to eat all day. Eames and Rosie bickered at each other lightly. Arthur could see it now, the similarities in their features and manner: their storm-coloured eyes, the drawl, their sarcasm and clear affection for each other.

“Have you known Will long, Arthur?” Rosie asked speculatively.

“Years,” Arthur said. “On and off.”

“We work together a lot,” Eames said, throwing a quelling look at Rosie. Perhaps he didn’t want her to know about the work. “Arthur’s here to offer me another job.”

“Sorry it has to wait,” Rosie said apologetically. “Will promised he’d stay here until the baby’s born, which hopefully is in about three weeks as my feet can’t take it anymore. My husband’s stuck in Switzerland and he won’t be able to be here in time.”

“That’s very… kind of him,” Arthur said.

Eames smiled smugly at this, as if he knew what it took for Arthur to admit this in public. “I know it is,” he said, preening. “I am in fact an extremely excellent brother.”

“So,” Rosie said innocently. “Arthur, this is actually quite novel. I’m sure friends of Will have been in town before and he’s never brought them to dinner.”

“It’s just dinner,” Eames said.

“Is it?” Rosie asked.

“It’s not like that,” Eames said, annoyed now. “Arthur’s a friend I trust. That’s rare.”

“Is he,” Rosie said, emphasizing the words.

Eames threw a look up to the heavens. Arthur swallowed another forkful of spaghetti. Rosie said, “I’m messing with you, Willy,” and ruffled his hair. Eames turned to throw another exasperated look at Arthur, like he was in on it with him.

Arthur realised he’d never seen Eames like this: fond, affectionate, loose and relaxed. On a job there was always the element of danger and Arthur saw it in the line of his shoulders, the glint in his eyes, and appreciated knowing there was someone else who was keeping an eye out, just like he always was. But now Eames was feeding Lily carefully, using a thumb to wipe the food dribbling down her chin, and kicking at his sister’s chair. He looked at home here. It was something Arthur did not know how to process. It felt nonsensically like something inside him, not Eames, had been exposed to the world.

~~~

Arthur, having helped wash the dishes, opened the door to Eames sitting on the front steps. Eames quirked a brow and scooted slightly to the side, so Arthur sat down beside him.

“Thanks for the help with the dishes,” Arthur said pointedly.

“I helped with dinner,” Eames said blithely.

Arthur held off the Barely and instead accused him, “You said you had work here.”

“Did I?” Eames asked, turning towards him slightly. “I remember saying I was busy, and I had things to do here.” Thoughtfully, he decided, “I believe you implied that it was a job, darling.”

“Whatever,” Arthur said, feeling just slightly foolish about sounding like a teenager. “Anyway. I should get back.”

There was a little pause.

“Should you?” Eames asked. “You said you’d…” He made a little humming sound. “Hang around here. Help out with the job.”

“Well,” Arthur said. “There is no job.”

“I could still use some help.” Eames grinned rakishly, then it faded. “It’d only be a few weeks, and then we’d get on with it. I could show you around the city,” he said, looking down suddenly, up at Arthur again inscrutably. He ran his hand through his hair, looking unfairly good in the lamplight, softer, almost more uncertain. “You said you hadn’t seen much of it.”

Arthur didn’t know what he was thinking. He was thinking, though, of how the Cobb job could wait, it wasn’t urgent. How he did perhaps want to go to Saville Row itself, about how the city was grey but curious in the autumn light. How Eames looked in this apartment, easy and familiar and familial, and how perhaps it was strange, surreal, something he’d like to see more of.

He said, “I guess I haven’t.”

~~~

Back in the hotel room, in the shower, he considered what he’d agreed to, which was nothing at all. Rosie had retired to bed, complaining that her back was killing her, and Eames had started to tend to a fussing Lily.

“You don’t have to leave now,” he had told Arthur.

“I don’t want to get in the way,” Arthur said.

Lily sniffled in Eames’s arms. He bounced her a little and looked at Arthur, something fond in it. “You’re never in the way, darling.”

Lily let out a little cry. Arthur said, “Put her to bed.”

Eames had asked, “Do you have a hotel?”

“Yes.”

“Okay then,” Eames said. Very casually, he said, “I’ll see you soon?”

Arthur said, “I still need a tour guide,” and watched Eames smile. It had felt like more than a goodnight. He stepped out of the shower and changed into soft, silk pyjamas, settled himself into the bed.

The room was smaller than his last one, and it was sleeker, more modern. It had a mounted television and large, floor-to-ceiling windows. Arthur turned on his side and looked out the window at the calm expanse of city lights. At night London wasn’t grey and dreary; at night it was like any other big city. He supposed a couple of weeks here wouldn’t be so bad.

Arthur wondered if Eames was asleep, perhaps collapsed onto the futon, perhaps back in his own bed in his own apartment. He realised he’d essentially agreed to be taken around the city by him. Eames, forger extraordinaire, flirt and friend and bane of Arthur’s life. Taken around like it was–some kind of–like he was stepping out into town with his gentleman caller, or something. Arthur rolled back onto his back and stared up at the dark ceiling.

Probably it was because Eames had thrown him off today with the familyness of it all. Eames was usually sharp-edged like Arthur and usually thrived in loud casinos and bare-knuckled brawls and chaotic dreamscapes, and seeing him today so easy and relaxed, Arthur just hadn’t recovered from it. But Eames would take him to a few overpriced tourist attractions, flirt and be ignored by Arthur, be familiar and uncomplicated to banter with, and then they’d go back to work, to the dynamic Arthur knew and knew well.

~~~

Arthur woke up to his phone ringing. He mumbled something incomprehensible and squinted at the caller ID.

“Eames,” he mumbled.

“Rise and shine!” Eames said chirpily. “Lily woke me up at six so now you’re up too. I’ll see you at the National Gallery at ten.” He hung up.

Arthur checked the time. Six fifteen. Bane of Arthur’s life, constant sigh caught in his throat. He set an alarm blearily and went back to sleep.

At nine fifty seven he was waiting at the entrance for Eames, who turned up at ten fifteen.

“Arthur!” he said. He was wearing a shirt with large orange stripes down the sides, and his linen pants brushed against the floor. His hair was slicked back today.

“You’re late,” said Arthur.

Eames smiled a bit. “I wasn’t expecting you to show up.”

“Why not?”

“I thought I was going to have to drag you from your hotel room,” said Eames. He looked Arthur up and down, slow and considering. “Come on, then.”

Eames wandered from room to room, asking Arthur things like, “Do you like this one?” and watching Arthur closely as he said “No,” and “It’s interesting,” and “I guess.” They passed Vermeer, Titian, Cézanne. Arthur liked Gossart, squinted at Monet, and paused in front of Matisse’s Portrait of Greta Moll. Greta stared somewhere off-right, sleeves rolled up and one elbow leaning against the table. She looked casual and impatient and restless, something about her spirit captured even through the broad brushstrokes.

“It’s like she’s about to speak,” Arthur said. “Like she’s about to say ‘are we done already?’”

Eames huffed a little laugh. Arthur felt him, against his side, a warm bulky breathing presence. Eames always smelled like something light and woodsy, something clean and attractive. “Is that your favourite so far?” he asked.

“Yes,” Arthur said. Eventually, he asked, “What do you like?”

“Hrm,” Eames said. He rubbed a hand against his scruff, the scratchy sound louder in the quiet room. He brought Arthur up the stairs to Room 43. Johan Barthold Jongkind’s River Scene hung there and looked back at them.

Something about the scene was mournful: the darker colours, the singular man over the boat. Boats were on the riverbank and a ship was in the distance, everything bathed in colours that felt like evening. Arthur thought of the end of a long day.

“It’s peaceful,” Eames said.

“It’s lonely,” Arthur said.

They watched the painting.

“Maybe he’s setting off into the sunset,” Eames said. “Or maybe he’s cleaning up and going home.” He made a soft humming sound. “Don’t you wonder? It’s all up to him.”

Later, they went to a kebab shop a few streets down. There were only four tables there and it was dimly lit and smelled a lot like sanitiser, but it was the best kebab Arthur had ever had. Eames rubbed some mayonnaise off his own cheek with his thumb, said smugly, “I knew you’d like it.”

“Uh huh,” said Arthur, unable to speak articulately around a mouthful of delicious doner.

“I’m going to make you love London,” Eames said, self-satisfied. “You’re going to want to come here all the time.”

“Mm-mm,” Arthur said, in lieu of Yeah sure. But I will admit this food is incredible and I might come back just for it.

“So,” Eames said, casually after a few more bites, “how’s Cobb?”

Arthur stiffened, just a bit. Cobb, the reason they’d left each other irritated the last time. “Doing fine,” he said. “With his kids.”

“Working?” Eames asked.

“Eames,” Arthur said warningly.

“He should never work again,” Eames said shortly. “If it were anyone else… I wouldn’t be able to trust them again.”

This was the point in the airport bar where Arthur, head still full of Mal’s manic eyes, her familiar voice, the thought of her children, had snapped, You wouldn’t understand why he did it. Eames had turned cold, said snidely, My well of sympathy ran dry when he nearly drove us insane doing it.

“I know,” was what Arthur said now. If it had been anyone else Arthur would have driven them out of the industry. He stabbed furiously at a chip. “I know.”

Eames watched him but didn’t press it, somehow knew not to press it.

~~~

On Tuesday Eames took him to the British Museum. He spent most of his time pointing out displays that were easier to steal than others. “It’s all okay,” he said to Arthur, “they’re all stolen anyway.” Arthur learned three new ways of getting past CCTV cameras after a museum was closed, watching Eames’ plush mouth murmur illegal ideas delightedly at him, and considered it time well-spent.

On Wednesday he took him to the London Zoo. They spent most of their time with the bats, the rainforest enclosure. It was damp and humid there, made Arthur think of Singapore, or Indonesia. He liked the bats. They were soft, furry things and once in a while they’d swoop over Arthur’s head. Eames enquired after the sloth and the spiders and spent a lot of time watching the rats scampering on the jungle floor.

On Thursday they went to the cinema. (“I thought we were going to Odeon,” Arthur said. He looked down at the dusty carpets and up the water stain he saw on the low ceiling. “Dream bigger,” Eames said, and led him into a little hall with only four faded rows that smelled of stale popcorn.) The opening credits to In A Lonely Place started playing, and Eames settled back, mouthing along happily, “Dix Steele, how are you?” To Arthur, he said, like a well-loved secret, “I used to come here after school.” Arthur thought of a younger Eames in his uniform, amongst these faded seats, large-eyed, wondering, amazed at the screen. Dreaming.

~~~

On Friday Arthur woke up without a call from Eames. Bleary-eyed, he texted him: No touristing today?

Eames replied rosie has checkup 2day gotta take her

Arthur’s fingers hovered over the screen. He typed back Who’s watching Lily?

Eames said, she was gonna come w us but if ur volunteering 2 babysit

Arthur didn’t have anything on, so he said out loud, “Okay.” He typed Okay.

Eames replied ???????? which didn’t make any sense so Arthur got his clothes on and ordered a car over to Rosie’s house. Eames opened the door, Lily at his heels. He squinted at Arthur, squinting a little more, looking a little like Cobb with all the squinting. Arthur considered telling him that, but Eames, who could hold a grudge against dangerous incompetence, would probably not appreciate it very much.

“Ar-fur,” Lily greeted him, while Eames squinted.

This seemed to jolt him into speech. “You’re actually… babysitting.”

Arthur shrugged. “I babysit Cobb’s kids all the time. Hi, Lily.”

Rosie shouted, “Who’s that?”

“Arthur’s come to babysit,” Eames called over his shoulder, then turned back to do more squinting at Arthur.

“Has he!” Rosie said. “Why didn’t you tell me? That’s so nice Arthur. Lily hates the doctor’s office, I was already gearing up for a spectacular meltdown… come in. Will, let him in, why are you still out there?”

Eames pressed against the wall for Arthur to enter. Rosie came out, her bump looking even bigger, if that was possible, and started reeling off a list about Lily: lunch, playtime, nap, favourite toys, no sweets after four. “We’ll only be a couple of hours,” she said, “but just in case the waiting is longer…” Arthur nodded and kept up. Eames trailed after them, still quiet.

“Lily, sweetie,” he said, after Rosie had grabbed her keys, thanked Arthur again, and headed out to the car, “be good for Arthur. No messes please, he’ll have a breakdown.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. Eames bent down to kiss her on top of her soft golden head, then straightened up, quite close to Arthur. He still looked vaguely puzzled, like he was trying to figure something out.

“Pizza’s in the fridge. No boys over, young lady,” he said after a moment, the corner of his ridiculous mouth curling up. Arthur rolled his eyes again with emphasis.

“Say bye bye now Lily,” he said, sinking down cross-legged on the carpet with her. She waved up at Eames and tugged at Arthur’s wrist, pointing at the box of blocks she wanted him to unpack for her.

“Don’t miss me too much, darling,” Eames said, walking away.

~~~

Lily was a very charming child, stacking blocks up on top of each other and making noises that were sometimes words at Arthur. “See, Ar-fur,” she said, constantly, waving a hand, so Arthur saw her construct a tall castle-like structure, ride a toy pony crashing through it with Eamesian dramatics. She took her lunch without fuss and watched an episode of Creatures of the Sea fascinatedly after, clapping at dark underwater images of the giant squid. Arthur studied her and thought she had Rosie’s brown curls, and her eyes–Rosie’s eyes, Eames’s eyes, stormy and grey-green and bright with intelligence.

But even very charming children realised that their mother and uncle had been gone for almost two hours, and began to cry about it.

“Oh, Lily,” Arthur said. “I know. They’ll be back soon.”

“Mama,” she sobbed heartrendingly. “Unca Wew.”

Arthur took her in his arms. She went trustingly, but continued to cry. “Do you want to go to the playground, Lily?” She shook her head. “No? Yeah, it’s probably naptime, isn’t it?” He got up and started bouncing her gently like he’d seen Eames do. She wailed and wailed.

It reminded him of Philippa. It reminded him of Philippa, younger and fretful, with Mal saying “Arthur, she hasn’t stopped crying for ages!” and looking close to tears herself. Arthur had stayed with Philippa until she’d stopped crying, her sobbing turning into hiccups, while Mal had snored on the sofa, drooling and relieved of her duties for a blessed few hours. He’d stayed with James, too, and now he stayed with Lily, missing Mal abstractly and tiredly.

She fell asleep, finally, and three and a half hours after they’d left, Eames and Rosie returned. Rosie made noises of gratitude, telling Arthur everything was fine medically, but she also seemed exhausted, going to the room and announcing that she was putting her feet up and no one disturb her until dinner please.

Eames stood there levelling that considering look he’d been using a lot on Arthur lately. “I didn’t know you still babysat Cobb’s kids.”

Eames had known Mal, but distantly; he’d only known her through Cobb and work. Mal had stayed home more after the kids were born. He’d known that Arthur had been her best friend, or at least he’d known they were close. The first job they worked after her death, he’d offered Cobb his condolences, but in a quiet moment he’d also told Arthur he was sorry.

Sometimes Arthur had complained about working with Eames to Mal. Mal had rolled her eyes and said “Oh, Arthur,” and asked for a dossier on him. After looking through it she’d just said, “Oh, Arthur, oh, Arthur,” and from then on would just smile at him teasingly, smile at him like she was happy whenever Arthur complained. If she could see him now, in London, in Eames’s territory, smiling over his niece… but she couldn’t. Whatever thoughts she’d gotten into her ridiculous romantic head, she was gone now, and Arthur was still here.

“Yeah,” Arthur said. Suddenly it felt too warm in the cluttered living room, and he forced himself not to loosen his tie. He needed the coolness of his hotel room.

“We owe you dinner,” Eames said, propped against the wall with his shoulder. His hands were shoved in his jeans; his head was bent, looking up at Arthur in a way that was very unprofessional, very inviting.

“Actually I’m going to head back,” Arthur said, picking up his jacket and avoiding his eyes. “I’ll pick up something on the way.”

“Oh. Hmm.” Eames shoved himself upright and didn’t argue, like Arthur had thought he maybe would. “Okay, Arthur.”

~~~

On Saturday Eames didn’t text him. Arthur lay in bed until eleven, which was unlike him, and ordered himself breakfast. It was an English Breakfast, whatever that meant, and the eggs were kind of runny, which Arthur didn’t like, and the sausages were slightly too salty for his taste. Arthur had gotten used to his English meals over the past couple of days being little places where Eames knew the owners, where he would moan around mouthfuls and try not to blush at Eames watching him do it. Eames knew what he liked, that was what happened when you’d worked with each other coming up six years, and he’d been taken Arthur places he knew Arthur would enjoy.

Eames. Arthur turned his head and groaned into his pillow. This was why he kept his distance. He’d always known Eames meant danger. The bane of Arthur’s life, that’s what he was. It was all very well and good when Mal had been alive and it was a distant, maybe sort of delightful possibility to unravel, maybe in an abandoned warehouse when the rest of the team were taking the day off, maybe celebrating a job well done with whiskey in a dimly lit room…

But now Mal was gone, and Arthur couldn’t forget it, couldn’t forget the day he’d gotten the call and gone blank all over. He’d loved Mal so fully and completely and he hadn’t ever loved anyone like that before her, and he’d always known–so had Mal–that if he allowed himself to, he would love Eames like that, except even fiercer, even fuller, with everything he had inside him. If a call like that came for Eames he would not be able to deal with it. He just wouldn’t.

~~~

On Sunday Eames called. “How do you feel about Camden?” he asked, sort of formally. He hadn’t really asked before. He’d demanded Arthur’s presence at the museum, the gallery, the cinema.

“I don’t know much about Camden,” Arthur told him.

“Would you like to know more?” Eames asked very neutrally.

Arthur took a deep breath. Eames, neutral and asking, and Arthur was in too deep for no. “A tour guide would help.”

Camden was touristy and busy and sunny and noisy, full of bright stalls and small shops that promised a multitude of things from inside its doors. They walked along the market and Arthur peered at colourful little knickknacks that he wanted to take home to either his mantelpiece or Philippa. Eames pored over the covers of books with spines that looked like they were crumbling. Arthur eventually lost him in an antique store and he came out carrying a heavy long bronze giraffe, its neck as long as his arm.

“This reminded me of you, darling! Look at how graceful and slender it is!” he exclaimed to Arthur, who resolutely refused to help him carry it home. Eames called him cruel and impetuously bought a shopping trolley to cart it along.

“You know, I don’t really mean to rag on Cobb,” Eames said later in the day, the giraffe trailing behind him patiently, Arthur pretending it wasn’t there. He caught the look on Arthur’s face and amended, “Or, I do. I really do. It’s just that it’s not just him. It’s other people he’s risking, being in that frame of mind.”

“Yeah, I know,” Arthur said, squinting away from the late afternoon sun and into Eames’s direction. He did know. Eames was full of bullshit that drove Arthur wild for a myriad of reasons, but he was excellent, always professional, and Arthur trusted him with his body and his mind. Perhaps now that Cobb had done what he had, Eames was the only one he trusted with his body and his mind. “You can’t trust him. He put you in danger.”

“He put you in danger, Arthur,” Eames said. He was looking fully at Arthur, storm-eyes steady and eyelashes tinged gold; Arthur swallowed and looked back. “And I’m not very known for playing it safe, but surely you know by now that’s a risk I’m not willing to take.”

Arthur swallowed again.

The moment held.

Eames’ phone rang.

“What? Rose, what?” he said. He looked urgent and intense, capable. Arthur took in a breath as the moment dissipated. “Okay. Okay. I’ll be there.” He hung up and fumbled with his screen. “I think she’s in labour.”

“I’ll stay with Lily,” Arthur said. Eames nodded at him distractedly and gratefully. When the car came he left his trolley behind in his hurry, so Arthur trailed it patiently after himself; Eames turned around and almost collided with him.

“Arthur, you remembered,” he said, grabbing at the handle and smiling at him, the look bright and completely focused. “What would I do without you.”

~~~

Rosie was not in labour. It was false labour, Braxton Hicks contractions, and they returned home in the late evening. Lily had been coaxed to the park, begging Arthur to push her higher and higher on the swings, so she had hardly noticed their absence. She ran up and to her mother, grabbing at her leg. Rosie ruffled her hair and took her hand.

“She’s supposed to be on bed rest,” Eames said. “Rose, get in there right now.”

“I just want this thing out,” Rosie said bleakly, looking down at her belly.

They got her settled in her bedroom and she lay there, complaining once in a while about her back and her feet and her bladder and the general unfairness of the world. Eames, clearly trying to distract her, talked about the nurse who had given him directions to someone else’s room and how he’d entered the room to a wide-eyed woman and her husband, who screamed at him in Italian to leave.

“What are you planning to call him?” Arthur asked, after Eames had exhausted his stories and Rosie looked more exasperatedly amused than frustratedly exasperated.

“Will,” Rosie said, smiling.

Eames frowned. “You know I hate that name.”

“Well if you won’t use it anymore, I might as well give it to this kid,” Rosie said, unperturbed. To Arthur, she said, “William Walliams wasn’t a very good look for Mum and Dad, I’ll give him that.”

Arthur pressed his lips together, stifling the smile, but it wasn’t as if he hadn’t known Eames’s unfortunate given name. Eames glanced at him, grimaced, and mumbled to Lily, who was sitting on his lap, “Hope your brother stays in there for another week. See how Mama likes that.”

~~~

When Rosie fell asleep, Eames started making dinner. Arthur realised he hadn’t really seen him cook before. He did it like he did most things, extravagant and intuitive, pouring salt and pepper into the pot without measuring it out, swiping gravy off the ladle with a finger and tasting it. He looked over at Arthur while he was doing this. Arthur heaved a sigh, looking heavenward. Eames laughed.

“You’re good with Lily,” Eames said. “She likes you.” Arthur was nodding as Lily drew on a pad, nudging her crayons away from the wood of the table. She was explaining her creations to him, gesticulating wildly.

“I like her,” Arthur said.

“She’s going to miss you,” Eames said offhandedly, ladling food into bowls. “You could visit again.”

Arthur determinedly kept his eyes on Lily’s crayons. “Wouldn’t be safe, both of us coming here more. It wouldn’t be safe for them.”

Eames considered this and visibly dismissed it. “We’re competent. We know how to cover our tracks. You know nobody knows we’re here.”

“Is it really a good idea, when we’re in this business?” Arthur asked.

“So we shouldn’t live our lives at all because of our work, darling?” Eames’s tone was light but there was an undercurrent to it that Arthur recognised from moments like How’s Cobb? Arthur still didn’t look up. He said, “I’m saying we should take precautions because of our work.”

“That seems unfair to us.” Eames sounded firm and Arthur could imagine it, he’d seen Eames go tense before, his eyes sharp and his jaw set. It no longer sounded like they were talking about visiting Lily.

“It’s better than losing people you care about.”

“Ah, Arthur,” Eames said, quietly. “So this is what it’s about.” The temperature of the room had changed. Arthur felt cold.

“Eames,” he said, a very quiet warning.

“I know she’s gone, Arthur, but we’re still here.” Eames’s voice was low and rough.

“Eames. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Mal’s gone,” Eames said, volume rising very slightly, “but I’m here Arthur, and you’re here, and we’re here. Can’t we even talk about–”

“It’s not just that,” Arthur said, looking up. Eames had come closer. The counter separated them, only the counter and nothing but the counter. “I’ll never be able to tell her about it. She was my best friend.” It felt awful saying was, and he hadn’t exactly been able to confide in wild-eyed despondent Dom Cobb, so it was the first time he had said it out loud to someone. He forced the words out anyway. “She was my best friend, and now she’s gone.”

Eames just watched him, eyes creased and all fight gone, looking almost tender. Arthur almost couldn’t stand it. “So you see,” he said, but didn’t know how to finish his sentence.

“So I see,” Eames said anyway.

In the long silence that ensued Lily, perhaps sensing that there was something wrong, started fussing. Eames came around and put bowls on the table. Arthur’s stomach rumbled; he still felt slightly sick. Eames sat beside Lily, opposite Arthur, and started feeding her, talking to her in low, soothing tones. “Sweetheart,” he was saying, “no really, it’s okay, drink this soup, I slaved over it. I learned this recipe from your grandmother, you know. I know you prefer your dad feeding you but he’ll be back soon and for now you’ve got me and my woefully inadequate soup. Sorry about that. Look, Arthur’s eating too.”

Arthur put a spoon to his mouth automatically. But the soup was good and warm and hearty, chicken broth that made him want more. After a while he took another spoonful.

“There, there,” Eames said, “Arthur’s eating too. And he likes it.”

“I like it,” Arthur admitted.

“Look, Lily-girl, your Uncle Will’s done it again,” Eames said. He was talking to Lily still, but his voice was calm and steady, his words nonsensical, glances thrown Arthur’s way as if he was trying to soothe him as well. “Really, Lily, is there anything I can’t do? I’m going to teach you all I know, too, don’t worry. Pick a lock and everything, but don’t tell your mother.”

“Pick a lock,” Lily repeated perfectly.

“Aw, Lil,” Eames said. “What did I just say?”

Arthur wished he didn’t feel better. Eames not pushing, Eames just there, Eames who had cooked him dinner. Eames who was being soothing and sweet, Eames who knew how to love a child, Eames who was being unfailingly patient with him. If he didn’t feel better, then Eames wouldn’t be able to infiltrate his defences like this.

~~~

In his hotel room Arthur called Cobb. London was eight hours ahead, so Cobb sounded chirpy when he asked, “Arthur? What’s wrong?” Voices shrieked in the background.

“Nothing. Eames is finishing up with some work. We’ll be there in about three weeks,” Arthur said.

“That’s fine,” Cobb said. “I told you it wasn’t a rush. Did you call to talk to the kids?”

Arthur hadn’t really, but he found himself saying “Yeah, yeah.” Cobb shouted into the distance, “Arthur’s on the phone!”

James got on first. “Uncle Arthur!” he said. “When are you coming back?”

“Very soon, buddy,” said Arthur. James told him about the Lego set he’d just gotten, and the new kite, and the telescope set. Privately Arthur thought Cobb was spoiling them slightly too much–Mal would never have stood for it–but he supposed as Cobb hadn’t seen them in a year, it was fine.

“It’s my turn!” Philippa was saying from some distance away.

“Bye Uncle Arthur,” James said quickly. “Come back soon.”

“Very soon,” Arthur promised again. Philippa came on. “Uncle Arthur,” she said. “I miss you.”

Arthur loved these children, not only because of Mal, but because he loved these children. He had rocked them both to sleep. James had banged his knee up for the first time and wailed “Uncle Arthur!”, high and pained. Philippa had taken her first steps toward Mal, but then she’d turned unsteadily towards him.

It had been hard for Arthur to visit them over the past year: he admitted this to himself now. Philippa had Cobb’s rare wide sunny smile but she also had Mal’s eyes, her way of tucking her hair back behind her ear. James accidentally spoke French sometimes because Mal had communicated with them almost exclusively in it. When Arthur had visited, he had had to turn away from them a lot so they wouldn’t see his face. It was easier not to visit.

“I miss you, Phil,” he found himself saying. “I’ll see you in about three weeks, I promise.”

“Dad is being weird,” she complained. “He keeps giving us stuff.”

“Shouldn’t turn your nose up at free stuff,” Arthur said.

“He got me a Barbie!” she said. “I’m seven.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Arthur assured her.

She told him about school and her friends and Marie, who dropped by at unexpected times to suspiciously check on Cobb’s parenting skills. Arthur sympathised with her over a particularly strict teacher, told her that an argument with a friend would blow over, and laughed a little over Marie, who was fond of Arthur and still texted him time to time. He said goodbye and told her he loved her. He went to sleep thinking Mal, you did something right. Mal, they’re still here.

~~~

At eight the next morning Arthur called Eames.

“Arthur?” Eames rumbled, voice sleep-rough. “Arthur,” he said, going from sleepy to worried, “are you alright?”

“People keep asking me that,” Arthur said. “Have I not been alright?”

Eames chuckled, warm, in his ear. “Not really, darling,” he said.

“Well,” Arthur said. “I was just wondering if you would like to go out today.”

“Where?” asked Eames.

Arthur had done some research. Eames probably knew this place, but Arthur wanted to take him to it. He sent Eames the location.

“Okay,” said Eames, his voice giving nothing away. “I’ll be there.”

Arthur knew Eames, with all his artist’s soul, loved poetry. Arthur knew that once in a run-through Eames had dreamt up the sea, drifting in a little boat, book in his hand while Arthur had waited out Cobb in another level. Arthur had seen the painting Eames liked in the Tate.

Arthur knew this wasn’t close, but he turned up at the canal at two. Eames was already there, inscrutable under his shades, wearing a bright pink shirt with palm trees on it, loose pants that were probably only held up with suspenders and luck. “What is this place, darling?” he asked.

“It’s a small library on a boat,” Arthur said, shrugging. “A community thing. I thought you’d like to read, maybe. Later there’ll be kids from school. But it’s quiet in the mornings and afternoons, it’s out of the way.” On the boat there was a wooden platform with sunchairs and pillows, to read. The sun streamed wispily down on them.

“Hmm,” Eames said. He ducked into the boat. Arthur waited, listening to the animated voices inside: Eames and the woman who owned the little library.

Fifteen minutes later he came out, shades off and with a slim blue book in his hand. He was grinning. “Arthur,” he said, “do you know what they have?” Arthur didn’t get to know what they had, because Eames leapt onto the platform and threw himself down onto the platform, sliding a cushion under his head. He opened the book up.

Arthur ducked inside the boat and smiled at the woman. Books littered the counter, the shelves, the carpet, her arms; books clearly well-beloved and well taken care of. He spent his time selecting something familiar, smiling at Khadijah–her tag read–when she said, nodding at his choice of book, “Classic.”

Settling down in the deck chair beside Eames and looking out at the canal, Arthur observed the trees in the park on one canal bank, and back gardens of houses on the other. His gaze drifted down. Eames was so still and heavy-lidded Arthur would have thought he was asleep, if it hadn’t been turning a page every so often.

He looked calm, peaceful. He did not look lonely. Arthur looked down at his own book.

And wishes, had he any?

Just his sigh, accented,

Had been legible to me.

And was he confident until

Ill fluttered out in everlasting well?

Out of the corner of his eye, Eames placed his slim volume of poetry down on his chest. “Do you want to hear a bit of it?” he asked.

“Sure,” Arthur said.

Eames picked it up again and began to read, voice low like a secret.

“If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy,

don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty

of lives and whole towns destroyed or about

to be. We are not wise, and not very often

kind. And much can never be redeemed.”

He did hesitate then, looking up at Arthur, something indecipherable in his eyes. Arthur kept still, head slightly turned toward him.

“Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this

is its way of fighting back, that sometimes

something happens better than all the riches

or power in the world. It could be anything,

but very likely you notice it in the instant…”

Eames took a breath and continued steadily, “In the instant

when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case.

Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid

of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.”

Eames stopped reading. A moment later, he turned the page, eyes still firmly on the book.

The sky above him was clear and he looked so safe and solid, his large hands steady, his jaw so well-cut. He looked painfully handsome, lying there like a figure in a painting, one of the classics lovingly rendered. He’d waited for Arthur and he was waiting more, patient with it and letting Arthur come to him.

“Eames,” Arthur said, rough.

“Arthur,” Eames said gently. “It’s really all right.”

Arthur was afraid. He knew he was. He wanted to be. Joy would never be a crumb for him. When he allowed himself to love Eames he would do it fully and completely. This was a scary, scary thing. The call in the middle of the night, the things the people you loved could leave behind. Arthur knew the real fact of the matter was that even so, it was too late for him.

Eames’s phone rang.

Arthur wondered why this kept happening.

“Rosie,” he said, getting to his feet. “Okay, okay, okay, calm down and give me fifteen.” To Arthur he shot a wry look, the moment between them quietly broken, and said, “This could finally be it.”

~~~

It was it. Eames called an hour later to inform Arthur these were real contractions, not just fancily named ones. Lily was louder today, sucking her thumb and saying “Ar-fur,” tottering over to be picked up, as if she was already worried that attention from grownups would now irrevocably be split between her and a new sibling.

Arthur made her dinner and let her watch another episode of Creatures of the Sea. She watched the goblin shark with a measure of fascination, Arthur narrowing his eyes at the creepy looking creature, and then Arthur put her to bed. Beside the bed sat a copy of Frog and Toad Are Friends, which Arthur picked up and read to her. Outside, the evening drew on, and Arthur’s voice grew hoarse. He wanted to finish the story anyway.

“Toad was very pleased to have it,” he concluded finally, and realised she was asleep. He smiled slightly, pulling up the blankets around her, feeling intensely fond. Switching off the lights he said, “Night, Lily.”

He was tired too, only realising it after having settled on the sofa and yawning, loud and satisfying. Between one moment and the next, he had fallen asleep.

At around six am his phone rang. “He’s here!” Eames announced. “Healthy as anything and crying like–well, he’s crying like a baby. Rosie’s good, she’s sleeping. You and Lily can come in a couple of hours. Darling, wait till you meet him. He’s perfect.”

He sounded like Cobb, calling Arthur up once, then twice a couple of years later. The pride in his voice. Mal, on the phone next, exhausted but chattering to Arthur about Phil’s little thumbs and her little toes, James’s wrinkled pink smile. Arthur hadn’t been there for either of their births, had been off working, but he’d been there for Philippa’s first steps, there when James had fallen down. His best friend was gone, but Arthur would always have that.

“I’m sure you think he is,” Arthur said. “He’s named after you, isn’t he?”

“Darling,” Eames said, sounding wildly delighted that Arthur was flirting back.

“We’ll be there in a couple of hours,” Arthur told him. He put down the phone and couldn’t stop smiling.

~~~

There were nerves in the pit of his stomach. It was like he’d made a decision, or like the decision had been made for him. Eames laying gently back, his large hands holding the little book, reading low and smooth, everything Arthur could now admit to himself he had wanted to come home to for some time now. The sun in his hair and his eyes lovely as the sea. Whatever happened, Arthur would have had this.

Lily woke fretting about Rosie, but was quickly calmed when Arthur informed her they were going to see her mother and her little brother. “Wew,” she tried out, tugging on her shoes.

“Yes, Lily, Wew,” Arthur said, bundling her safely into Rosie’s car.

They reached the hospital and Eames was waiting for them outside. His hair looked sort of greasy, sort of like he’d run his hands through it many times. He looked like he hadn’t slept. Arthur kind of wanted to kiss him, and thought perhaps he might.

He stopped short when Eames said, “My parents are here.” He looked wry. “They thought they couldn’t make it, but they got here hours early. Anyway, they just arrived. Heads up.”

That was all the warning Arthur got before the doors opened again and two people Arthur assumed were Eames’s parents came hurrying out. Robert Walliams was short and pleasant-faced, smiling, and Cora Walliams was taller, still golden-haired, assessing Arthur and Lily with a look in her eyes Arthur would almost describe as shrewd. They stopped short when they reached Eames.

“This is Arthur,” Eames said very formally, but he raised an eyebrow at Arthur like he was amused. “Arthur, this is my mum and dad.”

“Arthur,” Robert said affably. Cora said, “Thank you for taking care of Lily, Arthur.”

“It was great, she’s lovely,” Arthur said, setting Lily down so she could toddle up to her grandparents.

“You work with Arthur, son?” Robert asked, sounding very British and dad-like. He reached forward with a hand.

Arthur nodded, taking it. “On and off,” he said, feeling strangely nervous.

“Will’s has never brought a friend back before,” Cora said, sounding very like Rosie, looking at Arthur with Eames’s gimlet-eyed gaze.

“Can’t use that name anymore,” Eames said, “now that Rosie’s stolen it for baby William.”

“But you’ll always be the first William, dear,” Cora said reassuringly. Eames sighed. “Anyway, Arthur,” she said, placing her arm in his. “Where are you from?”

She kept up a steady stream of conversation as they re-entered the hospital, all the way up to Rosie’s room, whereupon she started cooing over her grandson. Lily ran to her mother. Arthur, slightly stunned, realised she had coaxed out of him how many siblings he had, his mother’s career, and how he felt about London (and probably also how he felt about Eames). He realised quite suddenly this was where Eames had begun to learn to wheedle information out of people. Exchanging a look with Eames, who looked slightly apologetic, he approached Rosie’s side.

Rosie, flushed and tired and triumphant, handed baby William over to him.

“Isn’t he perfectly darling?” she asked.

“Very,” Arthur agreed, because baby William lay sleeping and red-faced in his arms, indeed perfectly darling.

“And you’ll come back and visit him of course,” Rosie said, looking up at him.

“Of course,” he promised.

“Eames will make sure of it,” said Cora, perfectly sure herself.

“Only if Arthur wants,” Eames said patiently.

Cora smiled over at Arthur like she could see ten years into the future. “Arthur’s smart,” she said. “He knows good things are worth keeping.”

Then Charlie, Rosie’s husband, arrived in a bustle of wild hair and riotous happiness, and Lily started crying at the sight of this interloper of a brother taking up her father’s attention, and everything became very bustling and extremely chaotic.

Arthur backed away a bit, into the waiting room, to give them some space. He waited there a little while with the magazines before Eames came out.

“Sorry about my mother,” he said, joining Arthur by the water cooler.

“She’s very like you,” Arthur told him.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Arthur,” Eames said, abruptly, turning towards him, “everyone’s here. So they don’t need me. I’ll probably stay a few more days, but we can go do the job soon.”

“The job,” Arthur repeated blankly.

Eames frowned. “The one you came all the way here for. Arthur, I know I’ve brought you around and… tried to woo you…” He stood up, restless.

“Tried to woo me,” Arthur repeated. “Woo me.”

“Woo you, court you, take you around town.” Eames tilted his head, caught Arthur’s eyes. The hospital noises around them faded into the background. Earnest, tender, Eames said, “But I know it’s been hard. I didn’t mean to pressure you, darling. I know you’ve been grieving. We can do the job. You can take all the time you need.”

“Ah,” Arthur said. They would go do the job in a few days. Then what? Would they fall back into that pattern, bickering and push-and-pull, glances at Eames’s back and a sandwich just the way he liked it on his desk, checking on whether he was alive from across the world? He tried to summon the bravery he’d felt on the way to the hospital.

“Darling, it’s okay,” Eames said uncertainly, watching him again. Lower, like a secret, he said, “I really can wait.”

Arthur knew he could wait. He had waited. He could read the truth in the questioning bow of Eames’s bottom lip: he would wait. But if you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. It flooded into Arthur's stomach, his lungs, his heart. Mal, you’re gone, but look at me, I’m still here. You’re gone and you’ll never see how happy I will be but it’s enough that I know what you’d say because I knew you so well. It’s enough that your children live and I love them. You love and you lose. You love again.

“Well I can’t,” Arthur said, so he took Eames’s lovely, surprised face into his hands, giving into his eyes, an endless sky and an unending river. He reached up to kiss him.

~~~

“I have a confession,” Arthur said, “This job… it’s a favour to Cobb.”

Eames kept his gaze on him. “Oh,” he said. “Another of Dominic Cobb’s messes.”

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said.

“Are you?” Eames said consideringly. He leaned in slowly closer, murmuring it into the shell of Arthur’s ear. “How sorry? Will you make it up to me?”

Arthur leaned back. “You knew,” he said accusingly.

“I suspected, so I asked him,” Eames said, grinning. “So you’ve been manipulating me all this time. All of this has just been because Cobb owed someone and you feel you owe Cobb.”

“Not all of it,” Arthur said. “Not all of it.”

Behind Eames the sky, pinkish blues, was turning into morning. They were only a matter of hours away from LA and it felt like it, felt like hovering over wide plains and wider homes. Arthur had a hotel room booked for them. It was old in a way that suggested comfort, slightly faded carpets but wood paneling to die for.

He had a hotel room booked and James to fly a kite with, Phil to listen to intently as she grew up quicker than he entirely liked. Eames would teach her how to pick a lock. When the job was done maybe they’d go back to see Lily and Will and Rosie for a bit.

“I haven’t seen much of LA, you know, darling,” Eames said, nuzzling behind his ear. He was lying, but Arthur smiled anyway. “I could use a tour guide.”

~~~

To Know Just How He Suffered Would Be Dear, Emily Dickinson

Don’t Hesitate, Mary Oliver

Frog and Toad Are Friends, Arnold Lobel

[mister-eames]

Hi! I don't know if you already answered this before, but I'm curious to know if you have any headcanons about Arthur and Eames families and how they grew up? Thanks :)

Hello lovely!!! Yes I certainly do, thank you so much for dropping by!

For Arthur I have really only have one headcanon for him. He grew up in a single-parent household with his mum. No other siblings but as close enough to an older cousin to consider them one. Dad either long passed or out of the picture. Definitely didn't grow up with a silver spoon, if you know what I mean, government schools, government housing, foodstamps, second-hand or hand-me-down clothes, learned how to make food stretch as far as it could kinda thing. Lots of challenges with himself and his mum, was sometimes her caretaker, but he otherwise grew to be a good kid.

Eames' headcanons do vary for me - but there is one constant I am going to yank from canon - 'the relationship with the father' thank you Mister Tom Hardy for delivering the line in such a way it couldn't be anything but personal. Daddy issues. And a hundred thousand iterations of them, they all work for me - i.e. big mean dad, cold and distant dad, disapproving but supportive dad, had-a-big-fight-with-dad-before-i-left-the-country-and-he-died dad, dad works for interpol, etc etc. Love it when he grows up in a super rich household as much as I love the idea of a middle class upbringing. He definitely gives me middle child energy, so at least two siblings. Lots of turmoil within the family -- not so much family dysfunction, but just series of unfortunate events -- sibling had a serious illness, childhood friend passed away young, both sides of the parents family didn't get along etc etc. Also had to learn how to be resourceful, but in terms of navigating people and not putting his hand in fire lest he be burned.

Thank you for your ask, nonnie!!! <3

[strawberry-peach]

Day 21: Who is the best and worst hugger?

I am basing this in my assesment of their bear-hug potential. That said, you probably already know who's my first runner. Ok, all under the cut because I did the whole gang and can't control myself.

1. Eames

Surprise? No but really, besides the arm-shoulder-back-torso-etc game he has going here (which, come on, come on!), don't you feel he'd be a wonderful hugger? Just picture him hugging a dog and extract the potential from there. Do you see it yet? I bet he could make the world stop and everything cease to exist for a moment in which all there is in the universe is him hugging you. His inclination to hugs might be reserved for like six people in the world (and dogs), but if you are on his "people I like" list, oh my lord, hug paradise!

2. Cobb

I don't think he'd be particularly affectionate (outside his kids) and I do think he'd be a bit self centered, but I don't see him being stingy with his hugs and I believe he'd be one of those not-long-but-rather-firm-tight-hug hugger, the *squeez you**patpat* kinda hugger, the "I know I'm not the best, but I mean this" kinda dude, the "it's ok buddy" comforting dadguy hug. Dunno, looks like those would be some very nice hugs.

3. Ariadne

Look, yeah, she tiny. But she also zealous. I bet she'd put her all into the hug and make it count, goddamit. Maybe she wouldn't be a bear hugger but a koala hugger. Does that make sense? Do I make sense? She'd be a tiny but fierce hugger.

4. Arthur

I just don't think Arthur looks like a big hugger. He seems pretty easygoing, so I guess he'd be ok with tame physical shows of affection, but hugs wouldn't be his battle horse. So yeah, I think he'd be ok with them, and would give you a nice hug, he's a strong boy, ok? Don't be fooled by first impressions, there's power under those suits!

5. Mal

I actually don't know about Mal. I think she'd be that friend that knows when to hug you, but she'd be delicate about it. Comforting but not in the "I'll crush you and build you up anew" way, just soft and kind and gentle and warm. Lovely, just not bear hug at all.

6. Yusuf

He gives me the impression of simply not being inclined to hugs (or pda at all) and also of being a soft hugger. Like, he'd appreciate being hugged and he'd hug back, but that's as far as he goes. He'd be one of those hesitant ones that take a moment to hug back and then is just not sure how much, how strong or for how long the hug is supposed to be.

6. Robert

I think he'd need more hugs that he'd give. He looks like a very reserved guy. It'd all be prefunctionary contact, if at all. Quick, swift, firm but impersonal, pat pat, business done.

7. Saito

Just. No. Like Robert but worse. I don't know if he needs any hug at all, I can't tell, but this sir doesn't hug.

@inception30daychallenge

[belbeten]

Day 23 for @inception30daychallenge -- Cobb’s post-canon dating profile:

So I obviously can’t match the genius of the original scene from It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia (video at the bottom in case you’ve never seen it), but I like to imagine Arthur and Eames trying to help Cobb set up his profile would be pretty similar:

Eames: Cobb, we’ve decided we're going to help you get back on the dating scene, mate.

Arthur: Yes, that's actually why Eames and I are here. We're going to put your profile on Match.com. 

Cobb: I don't see why. I just got my kids back, guys. And I’ve got the ol’ inception gang!  I don’t need anyone else.

Arthur: Right. But we thought maybe you could meet somebody new. Someone you like even more than “the gang”, as you’re apparently referring to us. 

Cobb: I don't see how that's possible! But I tell you what, let me finish sorting Phillipa’s Barbie clothes by color, and then we can get started. Okay? 

Eames: Okay, right. First things first.  Let’s take your photo for the profile, shall we? So... Ahh. Could you perhaps try squinting less?

Cobb: I am who I am. Right?

Arthur: Let's do who you are, but slightly less suspicious-looking.  Actually, let’s pretend you're not who you are, and just try to attract someone normal. 

Cobb: I’ll tell you what. What if I wore a cravat, a carnation boutonniere, and a goatee?! That could work!

Arthur: …. Why would you want a cravat and a goatee? Why would you want to look like an antebellum plantation owner? Who are you trying to attract exactly? 

Cobb: Intelligent people, who, ya know, enjoy things that are unexpected. 

Eames: Good lord. Okay. I'll just take the photo then, shall I? Ready? 

Cobb: Yeah.  Was that one good?  That felt good. 

Eames: But- well... It’s not even at all bright in here, is it?  Do your eyes open any wider?

Arthur: We'll Photoshop it. Or find another picture that we can use, and that will have to do. 

Eames: Yes, alright then. Let's talk about your likes and dislikes. How about your favorite food. What might that be? 

Cobb: Oh, dino chicken nuggets!

Arthur: What?! I am not putting dinosaur chicken nuggets. 

Eames: Just put chicken. Just put a regular grilled chicken sandwich or something. 

Cobb: Put dinosaur chicken nuggs. Whoever wants to date me should agree that dino nuggs are the best food.  I mean, the kids and I all love ‘em.

Eames: They won't agree.  Nobody agrees that those are the best food. No- Okay, all right. What's your favorite hobby? 

Cobb: Uh, windchimes. 

Eames: Windchimes? Okay, what, like listening to windchimes? Making windchimes, collecting windchimes? 

Cobb: Just windchimes. 

Arthur: I'm going to put surfing. We'll put surfing. All right, what are some of your likes? 

Cobb: Definitely the Beanie Baby craze. 

Arthur: Son of a bitch. What are you talking about now? 

Cobb: You know, the sensation that swept the natio--

Eames: Don't write that! 

Arthur: I'm not. I'm putting travel. Jesus Christ! What are your dislikes? 

Cobb: The letter R. 

Arthur: Come on! You’ve got to be kidding. You know what? We'll make it up. We'll make the whole thing up. 

Eames: Let's get out of here, darling. We'll doctor the picture.  I’m an excellent forger.

In case you haven’t seen it, I’ve plagiarized quite liberally from it, but it’s absolutely worth a watch:

[wadebramwilson]

Inception headcanons

My Arthur is shaping up to be a real community-oriented greenie and I am LIVING for it. There is nothing stopping me.

I just keep picturing him angrily eating his salad and in my heart I know he’s a vegetarian who feels guilty about the amount of private air travel they get up to.

Now that I’ve put him in a career that doesn’t need him to travel so much, he has decided that he wants to keep a community garden, drives a smart-car, will fix anything before buying a replacement, is passionate about recycling, and gets upset when he can’t avoid single-use plastics.

This is something that Eames, who loves comfort and luxury (and is a firm believer in treat-yo-self and your workplace crush), will have to get used to.

[kaydeefalls]

16, 18, and 31 for the ask meme!

Thanks! :D

16. Do you research for your fics? If so, how deep of a rabbit hole have you gone down by accident when researching?

Yup! I try. Wikipedia-level, at least, because accessible and decent overviews. I am most likely to rabbit hole for historical fics -- so, you know, Old Guard as a general rule, especially when I know the sort of scene I want and the general timeframe but not specifically where or what the historical context should be. The flashbacks in Travellers from an Antique Land led me to ALL SORTS of rabbit holes, let me tell you. But then there's also the google maps rabbit hole of deciding I clearly need to street view the entire walk along the canal from London's Little Venice to Camden Town. Like you do.

18. Do you have a WIP that you keep telling yourself you’ll eventually get back to, but deep down you know that’s probably a lie?

I'm in this picture and I don't like it. Um. Yes. There is an ancient Arthur/Eames fic that I really, really like my outline for (and the scenes I have written), and it's been ten years at this point but I keep telling myself that one of these days, I'll find the motivation to plow through it. And then there's a Steve/Bucky Vietnam AU. It haunts me. Fortunately, I'm not usually someone who posts WIPs, so the only person really bothered by their unfinished-ness is me. (I will fucking finish the FinnPoe soulmark AU, I swear to god, I realize it's been a year since I updated it but I WILL.)

31. Of the characters you write for, which is your favorite? Has that choice been swayed at all by your followers/readers’ reactions to certain ones?

See, that's not fair, I've written a shitton of characters in dozens of fandoms at this point, how am I supposed to pick a favorite? My favorites are my OTPs in any given fandom. Usually there's one of the pair whose voice comes more easily to me, so that becomes my "favorite" by default, but that's more about who I most enjoy writing, not which character I actually like best. I don't think I'm particularly swayed by readers' reactions, in that sense? Not in terms of who my faves are, at least. I do hesitate to write gen or femslash because it gets significantly less response as a rule, and heartily dislike the part of my brain that feeds that hesitation. So there is that, I guess.

[darlingandmreames]

Day 23 of @inception30daychallenge : Cobb's post canon online dating profile

"You should make a dating profile."

Dom frowned, his eyes taking a second to focus on Ariadne's face. He didn't drink as much now that he was home- between James and Philippa he had his hands full enough most of the time that he didn't have the time or energy for it- and the third glass of wine was hitting him harder than he'd expected. "What?"

"You should make a dating profile." Ariadne shrugged. "It'd be good for you. Help you meet new people."

"I don't- I'm fine. I don't need to meet new people."

"Dom, you're wearing a t-shirt with a three day old stain on it and you unironically described going to Costco as an outing this afternoon." Arthur raised an eyebrow from where he was seated on the couch. "I think Ariadne's right, it'd be good for you. Get you out of the house for a bit." He paused. "And out to somewhere that isn't Costco."

Dom leaned back in his chair with a groan. The thought of making some sort of dating account had admittedly crossed his mind- not that he'd ever admit it- but it had been years since he'd dated and the thought of putting himself back out there had been... uncomfortable. Maybe even a little scary. "What, you want me to make an OkCupid account or something?"

Eames snorted. "You're a little behind the times, I think. People used apps now, mate, on those new fangled phones they have." He leaned forward with exaggerated wonder. "They don't have buttons or anything!"

Dom rolled his eyes. "Fuck off. You're barely even younger than I am."

"Yeah," Eames grinned, "but at least I don't think people still use bloody OkCupid."

Dom flipped him off, earning a laugh, and took a drink. It was a stupid idea, honestly, but now that it had been brought up he couldn't seem to quite get it out of his mind. "What would I even say on something like that? A dating profile or whatever."

Ariadne sat back, thinking. "Keep it short and simple, and to the point. No one's going to read a long bio. And make sure you mention you have kids." She pointed at him. "People freak if the find out you have kids later." She shrugged. "List a few hobbies and give an idea of what you're looking for, and then just find a few nice pictures of you to go with it."

Arthur grinned, taking a long sip of his wine. "You could use that photo Miles got of you when Philippa insisted on doing makeup for you. I'm sure that'd get plenty of likes."

"Or your mugshot from when you got picked up in Shanghai." Eames fixed Dom with an amused look over his glass. "That's a real charming photo of you."

Ariadne kicked him lightly. "Shut up. Don't give him terrible ideas, he might actually try them." She turned back to Dom. "Don't worry, I can help you set it up and make it as not-weird as possible. We'll try to make you seem like a normal, reasonably well adjusted person."

"Thank you, how unbelievably kind of you."

Dom sat back in his chair to sulk but paused when he caught sight of Saito's expression across the table. He gave Dom a warm, reassuring smile. "I'm sure whatever you come up with will be nice. You're a charming man, and I have no doubt that'll come through."

A bit of heat crept into Dom's cheeks and he quickly looked down at his drink. Arthur and Ariadne exchanged a look but he did his best to ignore it. It was just the wine hitting him, that was all. Probably. "I...thanks. It's nice to have at least one vote of confidence around here."

Saito raised his glass slightly, still smiling. "Glad to be of service."

Dom kept his attention focused on his drink as the conversation moved on. The wine really was hitting him now and his thoughts were a little fuzzy, but they kept drifting back to the topic of dating no matter what. Maybe Ariadne was right. Dating profiles and apps still felt odd and foreign, but maybe trying to meet someone wasn't the worst idea. He glanced back up, catching a brief glimpse of Saito again as he laughed at something Arthur said. Not the worst idea at all.