Inception: you don't do it on purpose but you make me shake (2/?)
first of all, thank you so much for all of your lovely feedback on the last chapter - I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. ♥
also - I lied, this story is not going to be a two-parter after all. I'm sort of working out how everything will go as I write, so the length of each chapter will probably stay around 2500 words (ie. not very long), but it's more likely that this fic will end up four or five parts.
you don't do it on purpose but you make me shake (2/?)
inception: arthur/eames
pg, 2678 words
eames wakes up five years in the future.
previous.
Eames has always been a little charmed by Arthur.
It's not like he's hopelessly in love or anything, god no - he's just a little attached, one could say. Physically, Arthur is undeniably attractive, all long lines and sharp angles, and Eames is repeatedly entertained by his snide comments and unexpectedly sly smiles. He's always been attracted to wit and intelligence - qualities that Arthur possess in excess - and, well. In his line of work, it's not easy finding someone who you trust not to sell you out, but someone who's also competent enough that you won't be inadvertently putting a target on their heads by forming ties with them.
Arthur - well, Arthur is the best at what he does. They've worked on and off together for years now, and they're on level ground. Eames has no desire for a relationship - that's a possibility he's never even entertained since getting into his current business - but Arthur's fit and sharp and, with a little cajoling, clearly willing to be persuaded into something with no strings attached. As far as Eames is considered, that's perfect.
Except five years down the line, something's obviously happened, and judging from Arthur's reaction to everything, it's pretty clear that whatever they are, it's definitely more than just friends-with-benefits. In fact, it looks pretty damn long-term, and the thing is - Eames doesn't know what to do with relationships. He can flirt better than anyone and he's certainly no stranger to sex, but he hasn't bothered with anything more for years.
Relationships can become a liability far too easily - and the proof of it is right in front of him.
If someone had informed Eames ahead of time that all this was going to happen, Eames would have predicted that past the initial shock of it, Arthur would be fine. It would be stressful, but that's the thing about Arthur - no matter what you throw at him, he'll always seem unfazed and take it all in stride. This is something Eames has come to take for granted. If someone fucks up and a job goes to hell, Arthur will be there to watch his back, hands steady even as all of their careful planning falls apart.
But this Arthur - this Arthur is different. This Arthur is softer around the edges, and looks at him with plainly worried eyes. This Arthur is a careful mix of the steely resolve and vulnerability. His tongue is as sharp as Eames remembers, but sometimes he grips Eames' shoulder just a little too desperately. Sometimes, when he thinks Eames doesn't notice, he looks at Eames as if searching for something precious.
Eames can't tell whether or not Arthur finds what he's looking for.
~
Arthur calls Dom, then Yusuf, then a few of his other trusted contacts, but no one seems to have any answers for them. Yusuf is insistent that none of his experiments should have induced amnesia, or had any effects on memory at all, for that matter, but he promises to look into everything again.
Eames is agitated, then worried, then frustrated - but slowly, over the course of a month, he learns to take it in stride. It still bothers him, of course, that he can't remember anything that's happened to him in the last five years, but he's a practical man. Yusuf says he's working on it, and there's nothing Eames can accomplish by going into hysterics.
Which isn't to say life isn't weird. His older self (except not really, it's just him, isn't it? He is his older self.) may have learned to live with Arthur over the years, and they've apparently established some sort of routine in their daily lives, but it's not something Eames is familiar with. Arthur is careful, of course, to not cross any personal boundaries, but even Arthur is only human, and some awkwardness is inevitable.
They keep touching to a minimum, but they still share the same bed. Arthur had offered to sleep in the living room at first, but considering that there's no quick solution in sight, it seems both unfair and foolish to Eames to have Arthur sleep on the less-comfortable couch when the bed is clearly big enough for two.
He says as much, and Arthur agrees, if a little warily. The first night, Eames falls asleep after some turning and tossing, but when he wakes up to use the washroom in the middle of the night, he finds the other side of the bed empty, and Arthur sitting with a cup of coffee in the kitchen. Eames pauses, hidden from sight by the shadows of the hallway.
If this was five years ago, he would have joined Arthur without a second thought. As it is, he doubts the other man would want his company right now.
Eames goes back to bed alone.
This continues for a little over a week. Eames doesn't wake up in the middle of every night, but it's clear as day that Arthur is looking steadily worse every morning. By the eighth day, the bags under Arthur's eyes have seemingly tripled in size, and even the caffeine pills he knows Arthur has been taking more often than advised doesn't seem to have any effect.
When they go to sleep that night, Eames stares at the ceiling for a full ten minutes before sighing and turning to pull Arthur close - because he's not a monster and it's obvious that Arthur isn't adjusting to the situation quite as well as he'd like to pretend he is. Arthur stiffens under his touch, but Eames ignores it, wrapping an arm loosely around Arthur's waist. He lets their bodies tangle together before pulling the blankets up to cover them both.
Arthur relaxes in increments until he's pliant in Eames' arms.
~
One thing Arthur is insistent on is that they stop taking jobs until Eames gets his memory back. Eames knows that Arthur has a point, that he doesn't remember a lot of possibly-critical information, but it also means that he's bored out of his mind with nothing to do.
He spends his free time painting, and then cooking all three meals each day because Arthur is apparently incapable of going near the kitchen without setting the whole flat on fire. Eames doesn't mind though - it's not like there's anything else he can do, and it keeps him occupied, if nothing else.
He'd gone out to a bar exactly once, at the very beginning, but the expression on Arthur's face when Eames had automatically flirted with the cute bartender had stopped him short. He might not feel whatever it is Arthur feels, but he's not a complete bastard and, at the very least, Arthur is a friend.
So now he stays in his (their) apartment, and it's possible that sixty-year-old Mrs. Patterson from two suites over has a more exciting life than him.
Arthur must have sensed Eames' dangerous levels of boredom, because before Eames can actually expire from it, he's presented with two tickets to Paris. "Holiday. Ariadne's invited us," Arthur says by way of explanation, and honestly, Eames doesn't really care a whit about the details as long as they're going out to do something.
They stay for two weeks. Ariadne hasn't changed much in the last five years, it seems - she enthusiastically ushers them in, and barely an hour has passed before she's psychoanalyzing them without hesitation. To distract her, Eames' suggests going out for dinner. Effectively derailed, Ariadne changes the topic to the new Italian place she'd discovered, and Eames spends dinner listening to her cheerfully give him all the gossip he's missed out on. Arthur is mostly quiet, but he looks relaxed, and more than once, Eames catches his lips pulling up into a half-smile.
By the time they finally make their way back, it's late, but Ariadne eagerly shows Eames around her modestly-sized flat nonetheless. Her rooms are sparsely but interestingly decorated, and it's clear that she's done well for herself.
"You have pets!" Eames says when she shows him her desk, looking at the two tiny goldfish swimming around the small tank next to a stack of books.
Ariadne beams as she comes over to stand beside him. "Aren't they cute?" she coos. "I got them two years ago. The one making strange faces at you is Eames, and the other one's Arthur."
Goldfish!Eames blows a stream of bubbles at them before chasing after goldfish!Arthur. Eames stares at the way his namesake flicks his tail from side to side in his pursuit, and wonders if Ariadne is trying to tell him something.
~
Life goes on.
A month drags into two, and then three. Eames calls Yusuf every week for updates, on the off-chance that he's discovered something, but the replies are always negative. Eames is a pragmatic man, and he knows that even if Yusuf does end up providing some sort of explanation for everything, it doesn't mean that he'll be able to fix anything. If all signs point to him not getting his memories back - well then, he'll just have to live with it.
He finally manages to cajole Arthur into relenting on the job front after a few more weeks, on the argument that there's no guarantee he's going to recover his memory any time soon, and they can hardly sit around twiddling their thumbs until then. Besides, he's not an invalid - he just needs to be updated on what he's missed.
Their first job is an easy one - typical corporate espionage - and it goes off without a hitch. Eames watches in satisfaction as a Mr. Jones from Company X unhesitatingly leads them to a safe containing the information Company Z has hired them to obtain. The money gets wired to them two hours later.
After that, Arthur sighs and lets him selectively choose their jobs.
At some point, it occurs to Eames that he's settled in. He doesn't know when exactly he goes from always feeling slightly out of place to being relatively adjusted to it all, but it's so gradual a transition that he doesn't even realize until Arthur asks him to bring back Chinese takeout one day, and Eames orders Arthur's favoured Hainan chicken rice without even thinking about it.
A few months ago, he hadn't even known that Arthur liked Chinese food.
When he gets back to the flat, he finds Arthur curled up on the couch with his laptop resting on his legs and the indistinct murmur of the TV in the background. Arthur looks up distractedly at his entrance, giving him an absent smile as his eyes turn back to the computer screen.
"Just give me a second," he says, and Eames nods in assent, settling himself down next to Arthur before proceeding to dig through the takeout boxes for his beef noodle stir-fry. He flicks through the channels as he eats, but there's nothing interesting on. Unconsciously, he finds his gaze wandering back to the man beside him instead.
Arthur's brows are furrowed in concentration as his fingers fly across the keyboard, but the rest of him is as relaxed as Eames has ever seen him. He's wearing faded jeans - Arthur in jeans!, Eames' brain thinks gleefully - and a worn t-shirt, and his legs are tucked beside him in a position that Eames is convinced can't be as comfortable as Arthur is making it look. He doesn't even have socks on, and Eames has a sudden urge to stretch out Arthur's legs and put them across his own lap.
Eames has no idea where that stray thought comes from.
To distract himself, he leans over so that he can see the laptop screen. "What are you doing?" he asks, blinking at the Excel screen, because they're in-between jobs and there's certainly no research to do.
"Just keeping track of some contacts," Arthur says, still not looking up. "Hang on, I'm almost done."
"Well, hurry up then, your chicken is going cold."
After dinner, Eames insists on a Doctor Who marathon, mostly because there's not much else to do and he has five years' worth of episodes to catch up on. Arthur makes a token protest, but Eames isn't fooled - he sees the smile Arthur hides behind his hand when he thinks Eames isn't looking.
Arthur falls asleep first, about six episodes in (which is admittedly longer than Eames had thought he would last), and his head somehow winds up against Eames' left shoulder. For a second, Eames considers moving him, but he might wake Arthur in the process, and besides, it's not uncomfortable for him or anything.
He doesn't know when he himself drifts off, but the next thing he knows, he's lying sideways on his couch, there's a blanket wrapped around his body, and there's daylight streaming through the windows into the living room. Also, his back hurts.
"Ow," he says as he sits up, stretching out his arms above him to try and work out the knots in his shoulders. He thinks he smells coffee from the kitchen, but before he can go investigate, Arthur shows up and hands him a cup of Earl Grey - two sugars, a splash of milk: exactly how he likes it.
Eames hums happily into the cup. "You're too kind, darling," he says appreciatively, the endearment falling from his mouth without a second thought, and the only reason he realizes is because Arthur visibly stiffens.
Eames puts down his tea, and wonders if he should apologize. He's been calling Arthur a broad assortment of endearments for years and years now - at first, just to annoy the other man, but by now it's become second nature - but it should have occurred to him that it would be different now, for this Arthur. To Eames, it's just a habit, but it would've actually meant something to this Arthur, when this Eames - the Eames that he's not - had said it, and it's undoubtedly insensitive of him to keep calling Arthur all these things he doesn't actually mean.
"I'm sorry -" he starts to say, but before he can continue, he's cut off.
"It's fine," Arthur says, voice quiet. "Don't worry about it."
What does that even mean? "No, Arthur, listen to me," Eames insists, shaking his head. "I shouldn't have said that. It slipped out, but I'll stop from now on -"
"Eames." Arthur just stares at him for a moment, as if looking for something Eames can't see, before something in his expression softens. "It's been months - chances are, we're going to have to learn to live like this. So it's okay. Do you know what I'm saying?"
Eames doesn't, not entirely, but he thinks he understands the gist of it, so he nods hesitantly.
Arthur smiles suddenly. "Besides, you've been calling me all that since two weeks after you met me. You shouldn't have to change, especially when I don't mind."
"You know that I wouldn't mind if you did mind, right?" Eames asks, because he needs to get his point across. Their whole situation so far has been about compromise, but Eames can compromise too - it doesn't always have to be Arthur.
Arthur nods. "Rest assured, Mr. Eames, if I had any problems with anything, you would be the first to know," he says, dimpling just a little, and Eames knows Arthur well enough to know that the other man isn't being entirely truthful, but it's good enough for now.
"Well then. Breakfast, I think?" Eames says, deliberately changing the subject as he stands up and wanders towards the kitchen. "You haven't burned anything down while I was sleeping, have you?"
"Screw you," Arthur says, glaring, but follows him into the other room, and Eames, who's always known how to look for the little details, can hear the amusement in his voice.
next.
012411 - 020711
also - I lied, this story is not going to be a two-parter after all. I'm sort of working out how everything will go as I write, so the length of each chapter will probably stay around 2500 words (ie. not very long), but it's more likely that this fic will end up four or five parts.
you don't do it on purpose but you make me shake (2/?)
inception: arthur/eames
pg, 2678 words
eames wakes up five years in the future.
previous.
Eames has always been a little charmed by Arthur.
It's not like he's hopelessly in love or anything, god no - he's just a little attached, one could say. Physically, Arthur is undeniably attractive, all long lines and sharp angles, and Eames is repeatedly entertained by his snide comments and unexpectedly sly smiles. He's always been attracted to wit and intelligence - qualities that Arthur possess in excess - and, well. In his line of work, it's not easy finding someone who you trust not to sell you out, but someone who's also competent enough that you won't be inadvertently putting a target on their heads by forming ties with them.
Arthur - well, Arthur is the best at what he does. They've worked on and off together for years now, and they're on level ground. Eames has no desire for a relationship - that's a possibility he's never even entertained since getting into his current business - but Arthur's fit and sharp and, with a little cajoling, clearly willing to be persuaded into something with no strings attached. As far as Eames is considered, that's perfect.
Except five years down the line, something's obviously happened, and judging from Arthur's reaction to everything, it's pretty clear that whatever they are, it's definitely more than just friends-with-benefits. In fact, it looks pretty damn long-term, and the thing is - Eames doesn't know what to do with relationships. He can flirt better than anyone and he's certainly no stranger to sex, but he hasn't bothered with anything more for years.
Relationships can become a liability far too easily - and the proof of it is right in front of him.
If someone had informed Eames ahead of time that all this was going to happen, Eames would have predicted that past the initial shock of it, Arthur would be fine. It would be stressful, but that's the thing about Arthur - no matter what you throw at him, he'll always seem unfazed and take it all in stride. This is something Eames has come to take for granted. If someone fucks up and a job goes to hell, Arthur will be there to watch his back, hands steady even as all of their careful planning falls apart.
But this Arthur - this Arthur is different. This Arthur is softer around the edges, and looks at him with plainly worried eyes. This Arthur is a careful mix of the steely resolve and vulnerability. His tongue is as sharp as Eames remembers, but sometimes he grips Eames' shoulder just a little too desperately. Sometimes, when he thinks Eames doesn't notice, he looks at Eames as if searching for something precious.
Eames can't tell whether or not Arthur finds what he's looking for.
~
Arthur calls Dom, then Yusuf, then a few of his other trusted contacts, but no one seems to have any answers for them. Yusuf is insistent that none of his experiments should have induced amnesia, or had any effects on memory at all, for that matter, but he promises to look into everything again.
Eames is agitated, then worried, then frustrated - but slowly, over the course of a month, he learns to take it in stride. It still bothers him, of course, that he can't remember anything that's happened to him in the last five years, but he's a practical man. Yusuf says he's working on it, and there's nothing Eames can accomplish by going into hysterics.
Which isn't to say life isn't weird. His older self (except not really, it's just him, isn't it? He is his older self.) may have learned to live with Arthur over the years, and they've apparently established some sort of routine in their daily lives, but it's not something Eames is familiar with. Arthur is careful, of course, to not cross any personal boundaries, but even Arthur is only human, and some awkwardness is inevitable.
They keep touching to a minimum, but they still share the same bed. Arthur had offered to sleep in the living room at first, but considering that there's no quick solution in sight, it seems both unfair and foolish to Eames to have Arthur sleep on the less-comfortable couch when the bed is clearly big enough for two.
He says as much, and Arthur agrees, if a little warily. The first night, Eames falls asleep after some turning and tossing, but when he wakes up to use the washroom in the middle of the night, he finds the other side of the bed empty, and Arthur sitting with a cup of coffee in the kitchen. Eames pauses, hidden from sight by the shadows of the hallway.
If this was five years ago, he would have joined Arthur without a second thought. As it is, he doubts the other man would want his company right now.
Eames goes back to bed alone.
This continues for a little over a week. Eames doesn't wake up in the middle of every night, but it's clear as day that Arthur is looking steadily worse every morning. By the eighth day, the bags under Arthur's eyes have seemingly tripled in size, and even the caffeine pills he knows Arthur has been taking more often than advised doesn't seem to have any effect.
When they go to sleep that night, Eames stares at the ceiling for a full ten minutes before sighing and turning to pull Arthur close - because he's not a monster and it's obvious that Arthur isn't adjusting to the situation quite as well as he'd like to pretend he is. Arthur stiffens under his touch, but Eames ignores it, wrapping an arm loosely around Arthur's waist. He lets their bodies tangle together before pulling the blankets up to cover them both.
Arthur relaxes in increments until he's pliant in Eames' arms.
~
One thing Arthur is insistent on is that they stop taking jobs until Eames gets his memory back. Eames knows that Arthur has a point, that he doesn't remember a lot of possibly-critical information, but it also means that he's bored out of his mind with nothing to do.
He spends his free time painting, and then cooking all three meals each day because Arthur is apparently incapable of going near the kitchen without setting the whole flat on fire. Eames doesn't mind though - it's not like there's anything else he can do, and it keeps him occupied, if nothing else.
He'd gone out to a bar exactly once, at the very beginning, but the expression on Arthur's face when Eames had automatically flirted with the cute bartender had stopped him short. He might not feel whatever it is Arthur feels, but he's not a complete bastard and, at the very least, Arthur is a friend.
So now he stays in his (their) apartment, and it's possible that sixty-year-old Mrs. Patterson from two suites over has a more exciting life than him.
Arthur must have sensed Eames' dangerous levels of boredom, because before Eames can actually expire from it, he's presented with two tickets to Paris. "Holiday. Ariadne's invited us," Arthur says by way of explanation, and honestly, Eames doesn't really care a whit about the details as long as they're going out to do something.
They stay for two weeks. Ariadne hasn't changed much in the last five years, it seems - she enthusiastically ushers them in, and barely an hour has passed before she's psychoanalyzing them without hesitation. To distract her, Eames' suggests going out for dinner. Effectively derailed, Ariadne changes the topic to the new Italian place she'd discovered, and Eames spends dinner listening to her cheerfully give him all the gossip he's missed out on. Arthur is mostly quiet, but he looks relaxed, and more than once, Eames catches his lips pulling up into a half-smile.
By the time they finally make their way back, it's late, but Ariadne eagerly shows Eames around her modestly-sized flat nonetheless. Her rooms are sparsely but interestingly decorated, and it's clear that she's done well for herself.
"You have pets!" Eames says when she shows him her desk, looking at the two tiny goldfish swimming around the small tank next to a stack of books.
Ariadne beams as she comes over to stand beside him. "Aren't they cute?" she coos. "I got them two years ago. The one making strange faces at you is Eames, and the other one's Arthur."
Goldfish!Eames blows a stream of bubbles at them before chasing after goldfish!Arthur. Eames stares at the way his namesake flicks his tail from side to side in his pursuit, and wonders if Ariadne is trying to tell him something.
~
Life goes on.
A month drags into two, and then three. Eames calls Yusuf every week for updates, on the off-chance that he's discovered something, but the replies are always negative. Eames is a pragmatic man, and he knows that even if Yusuf does end up providing some sort of explanation for everything, it doesn't mean that he'll be able to fix anything. If all signs point to him not getting his memories back - well then, he'll just have to live with it.
He finally manages to cajole Arthur into relenting on the job front after a few more weeks, on the argument that there's no guarantee he's going to recover his memory any time soon, and they can hardly sit around twiddling their thumbs until then. Besides, he's not an invalid - he just needs to be updated on what he's missed.
Their first job is an easy one - typical corporate espionage - and it goes off without a hitch. Eames watches in satisfaction as a Mr. Jones from Company X unhesitatingly leads them to a safe containing the information Company Z has hired them to obtain. The money gets wired to them two hours later.
After that, Arthur sighs and lets him selectively choose their jobs.
At some point, it occurs to Eames that he's settled in. He doesn't know when exactly he goes from always feeling slightly out of place to being relatively adjusted to it all, but it's so gradual a transition that he doesn't even realize until Arthur asks him to bring back Chinese takeout one day, and Eames orders Arthur's favoured Hainan chicken rice without even thinking about it.
A few months ago, he hadn't even known that Arthur liked Chinese food.
When he gets back to the flat, he finds Arthur curled up on the couch with his laptop resting on his legs and the indistinct murmur of the TV in the background. Arthur looks up distractedly at his entrance, giving him an absent smile as his eyes turn back to the computer screen.
"Just give me a second," he says, and Eames nods in assent, settling himself down next to Arthur before proceeding to dig through the takeout boxes for his beef noodle stir-fry. He flicks through the channels as he eats, but there's nothing interesting on. Unconsciously, he finds his gaze wandering back to the man beside him instead.
Arthur's brows are furrowed in concentration as his fingers fly across the keyboard, but the rest of him is as relaxed as Eames has ever seen him. He's wearing faded jeans - Arthur in jeans!, Eames' brain thinks gleefully - and a worn t-shirt, and his legs are tucked beside him in a position that Eames is convinced can't be as comfortable as Arthur is making it look. He doesn't even have socks on, and Eames has a sudden urge to stretch out Arthur's legs and put them across his own lap.
Eames has no idea where that stray thought comes from.
To distract himself, he leans over so that he can see the laptop screen. "What are you doing?" he asks, blinking at the Excel screen, because they're in-between jobs and there's certainly no research to do.
"Just keeping track of some contacts," Arthur says, still not looking up. "Hang on, I'm almost done."
"Well, hurry up then, your chicken is going cold."
After dinner, Eames insists on a Doctor Who marathon, mostly because there's not much else to do and he has five years' worth of episodes to catch up on. Arthur makes a token protest, but Eames isn't fooled - he sees the smile Arthur hides behind his hand when he thinks Eames isn't looking.
Arthur falls asleep first, about six episodes in (which is admittedly longer than Eames had thought he would last), and his head somehow winds up against Eames' left shoulder. For a second, Eames considers moving him, but he might wake Arthur in the process, and besides, it's not uncomfortable for him or anything.
He doesn't know when he himself drifts off, but the next thing he knows, he's lying sideways on his couch, there's a blanket wrapped around his body, and there's daylight streaming through the windows into the living room. Also, his back hurts.
"Ow," he says as he sits up, stretching out his arms above him to try and work out the knots in his shoulders. He thinks he smells coffee from the kitchen, but before he can go investigate, Arthur shows up and hands him a cup of Earl Grey - two sugars, a splash of milk: exactly how he likes it.
Eames hums happily into the cup. "You're too kind, darling," he says appreciatively, the endearment falling from his mouth without a second thought, and the only reason he realizes is because Arthur visibly stiffens.
Eames puts down his tea, and wonders if he should apologize. He's been calling Arthur a broad assortment of endearments for years and years now - at first, just to annoy the other man, but by now it's become second nature - but it should have occurred to him that it would be different now, for this Arthur. To Eames, it's just a habit, but it would've actually meant something to this Arthur, when this Eames - the Eames that he's not - had said it, and it's undoubtedly insensitive of him to keep calling Arthur all these things he doesn't actually mean.
"I'm sorry -" he starts to say, but before he can continue, he's cut off.
"It's fine," Arthur says, voice quiet. "Don't worry about it."
What does that even mean? "No, Arthur, listen to me," Eames insists, shaking his head. "I shouldn't have said that. It slipped out, but I'll stop from now on -"
"Eames." Arthur just stares at him for a moment, as if looking for something Eames can't see, before something in his expression softens. "It's been months - chances are, we're going to have to learn to live like this. So it's okay. Do you know what I'm saying?"
Eames doesn't, not entirely, but he thinks he understands the gist of it, so he nods hesitantly.
Arthur smiles suddenly. "Besides, you've been calling me all that since two weeks after you met me. You shouldn't have to change, especially when I don't mind."
"You know that I wouldn't mind if you did mind, right?" Eames asks, because he needs to get his point across. Their whole situation so far has been about compromise, but Eames can compromise too - it doesn't always have to be Arthur.
Arthur nods. "Rest assured, Mr. Eames, if I had any problems with anything, you would be the first to know," he says, dimpling just a little, and Eames knows Arthur well enough to know that the other man isn't being entirely truthful, but it's good enough for now.
"Well then. Breakfast, I think?" Eames says, deliberately changing the subject as he stands up and wanders towards the kitchen. "You haven't burned anything down while I was sleeping, have you?"
"Screw you," Arthur says, glaring, but follows him into the other room, and Eames, who's always known how to look for the little details, can hear the amusement in his voice.
next.
012411 - 020711