the first time

"I...uh. Is that a no?"

Arthur has suddenly edged his way to the other end of the couch and is staring at Eames with wide eyes. After a moment, he softens, visibly relaxing before running an uncharacteristically nervous hand through his hair.

"Eames..." he starts, shaking his head. "Have you got any idea what you're asking?"

"I..." Eames trails off, peering at Arthur as if it could be a trick question. Suddenly his eyes narrow and he replies sharply, "Yes, I do, unless the meaning of marry me has changed since the last time I checked, which I doubt it has."

"Eames..."

"A thousand of our closest friends, saying I do, rings and cake. It's still the same, right?"

Arthur's lips tug into a tight smile, but his fingers are tapping nervously on the arm of the couch. He looks as if he's trying to decide between launching himself at Eames, laughing, hitting someone or crying.

Eames pales. "Oh god. You're actually saying no, aren't you?"

"No!" Arthur says quickly, finally making his decision and scooting closer to the other man. He lays a hand on Eames' knee and tries to catch his eyes. "Well, yes. But Eames — look at me, Eames — you have to understand..."

"Understand! Understand what, exactly?" He looks tired. His hands are covering his bowed head and for the first time in a long time, he shifts away from Arthur's touch. "Jesus. I thought we...I thought you..."

"We do. I do," Arthur insists. "But our job, Eames. We can't. If anyone found out they'd use us as leverage against each other. We'd be a danger to one another...we just can't."

Eames frowns. "But you want to?"

"What I want isn't the issue. Marriage just isn't on the table right now, okay?"

the third time

Arthur stares. Then he groans and without saying a word, offers his hand to Eames, who is kneeling in front of him. Eames takes his hand, pulling himself up and having the decency to look sheepish as his eyes come level with Arthur's.

"I hoped this would change your mind," Eames explains, before Arthur even has the chance to open his mouth, and gestures to their surroundings.

In reply, Arthur rubs his face with his hands in exasperation. He'd known that something was amiss when Eames had insisted that their next destination be Paris. You see, Eames hates the place—too many bloody French, he says. But no, he'd insisted. Arthur had agreed, mostly because he didn't like saying no to Eames...and okay, also because he really loves Paris.

...that doesn't mean he didn't know that Eames was up to something. He just hadn't expected this to happen again.

"Even Paris isn't going to change my mind about this," Arthur replies, his voice muffled in his hands. After a defeated sigh, he moves to place his hands on Eames' arms and says, "I thought you understood."

Eames pulls away and shuffles to the other side of the balcony. He takes a cigarette from his pocket and ignores Arthur's quiet protests as he lights it and lifts it to his mouth.

There's silence and Arthur takes the opportunity to circle the balcony. He blows out the carefully placed candles and begins to pick the not so carefully placed roses on the floor. Then he makes his way towards Eames, standing beside him without saying a word.

"We'd be fine, you know. No one would catch us. No one would be used as leverage. We'd be fine."

"Probably," Arthur agrees, taking care not to cough when Eames blows a ring of smoke in his direction.

"You still won't marry me, will you?"

"Your life isn't something I'm willing to bet on."

the seventh time

Eames hasn't been home for three weeks.

It's gone three in the morning when Eames quietly slips into his London flat and almost falls flat on his face. Catching his balance and letting a cuss word fly, Eames leans over to pick up the offending item that almost caused his demise and after taking a moment to scan the room, is horrified to note that this isn't just a one off.

The whole god damn flat is covered in crap. It's like a fucking bomb has gone off.

"Eames?"

Eames blinks at Arthur, who's rubbing his bleary eyes and leaning against a doorframe. Then he looks back at the unwashed pot in his hand and the various objects that litter his carpet.

"You've been here the whole time? Arthur, it's almost been a month."

"Well, you shouldn't have just upped and left then, should've you?" Arthur snaps.

Eames blinks again. "I left a note."

"I didn't see it."

Arthur looks so put out that for a moment, all Eames wants to do is stride across the room and hug him. But based on the look on Arthur's face, chances are if he even tries to do such a thing, he's going to find himself flat on the ground (and not in the good way) and with a bullet through his head.

Well, there's that. And there's the fact that he doesn't really want to move an inch because there's so much crap on the floor and Eames is fairly certain that'll he'd break his feet trying.

He settles for saying, "Sorry."

When Arthur refuses to reply, Eames decides against his better will to ask, "Why does my apartment look like...uh... Honestly, I can't even come up with something that comes close to describing this mess, darling."

"I was worried," Arthur replies quickly. By now, Arthur's gotten to work, on his knees and making a path from his place in the living room to Eames' by the door. "I don't do well when I'm worried."

Eames frowns, looking back at the pan in hand. "You didn't even do the dishes...and is that a pizza box you just threw at the—wait, what is that?"

"I was worried," Arthur repeats furiously, finally kicking his way through the final unidentifiable objects that act as a wall between the two of them.

Soon, the annoyed look on his face slips away and the two smile at each other. Except it only takes a moments for the same annoyed look to flash on Eames' face.

"Arthur, in all your mess making, did you happen to see—"

"—this?"

Eames cringes as Arthur raises his eyebrows, suddenly alert as Arthur throws the velvet box towards him. Despite knowing that Arthur is inwardly rolling his eyes, Eames snatches the box from the air.

"Yeah. Thanks."

Smiling weakly, Arthur takes a step closer to Eames. "I really was worried about you."

"You really do care, darling," Eames jokes, just as weakly.

"I do," he insists. "But I'm still not going to marry you. Christ...you really need to give this up. My answer's never going to change."

"Right," Eames mutters. His eyes are downcast and he adds, "Let's go to bed, yeah?"

But Arthur's not one to let the night end on a bad note and he frantically reaches for Eames, cupping his face and forcing him to look up. In a desperate attempt to salvage their reunion, he smiles and says, "Leave me like that again and I'll kill you."

He's rewarded with Eames' splitting grin and joking reply, "I wouldn't expect any different."

"Just so long as we're on the same page."

the tenth time — it's not really a proposal, but Arthur counts it anyway

Yusuf doesn't understand why Eames and Arthur aren't married. But they only ever talk about it in private, so it'sokay. After all, Eames doesn't really understand either.

...except then Yusuf mentions it when Arthur is right there, damn it. What's more, Arthur actually hears and he looks very ready to put a bullet through the chemist's head. Unfortunately, Yusuf's a bit of an idiot and doesn't notice, and so keeps jabbering away like there's no tomorrow.

"Yusuf," Eames hisses.

"Oh, come on," Yusuf retorts, completely oblivious to Arthur's death glares. "I mean, I know you want to get married. What's with the hold up?"

"We're..." Eames trails off, searching for the words. "We're not like that."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"We're just not—"

"—the marrying type," Arthur cuts in, after stomping across the room angrily. "Now, if you could both either get out or do your job."

Yusuf, only because he's scared out of his mind, does what he's told. Although he's still dying to know get his answer, because he still doesn't understand.

the thirteenth time — Arthur's sure Eames set this up, so it counts

One New Voicemail

Caller ID: Ariadne

"Hi Arthur.

Right, so this is kind of weird, but I've always wondered...like, I know you and Eames are a thing and everything, but how come you're not married?

Is this one of your commitment issue things? 'Cause Cobb totally warned me about that, before he realised about you and Eames, that is...not that I would've gone for you anyway, but you know.

...right. Well. Anyway, you need to get over these issues of yours.

I mean, seriously, Cobb told me that Eames has asked you, like, a bunch of times so I don't get it; why haven't you said yes?

...yeah, I expect an explanation. That, and when you call me back I expect you to have a job for me. I'm going crazy here."

the fourteenth time

"Yes?"

"Darling."

Eames' voice is strained and ragged, and Arthur immediately sits bolt upright. He clutches his phone, his hands shaking despite himself.

"Eames, where are you?" he asks, voice cracking with every word. "What's wrong? Eames?"

"I'm fine," comes the delayed reply. He's breathing heavily, but he hurries and blurts, "What about you? Are you alright?"

"Yes, I...why wouldn't I be?" His grip on his phone tightens as realisation hits him. "Eames, who's after me? Why are they chasing you instead of me? Eames, what have you done?"

The reply this time is even later than the first and Arthur finds himself twitching with each silent second that passes by. Then there's a gunshot and Arthur literally loses his mind and starts yelling into his phone.

"I'm okay," Eames splutters. "Arthur, darling, I'm okay."

"Why are they after you, Eames? Where are you?"

"So many questions."

"Eames."

"Alright, alright. These people, they say you crossed them on the Gibbons job. They're...well, they're rather cross with you, really."

"Why are they after you? And damn it, Eames, where are you?" Arthur's already out of bed and pulling on his trousers, his glock within arm's reach. When he hears a second gunshot, Arthur's out of the apartment and awkwardly shrugging on a wrinkled jacket.

Eames sounds more exhausted than ever when he replies, "Remember when I proposed to you?"

"What? You've proposed thirteen times, Eames."

"The Italian restaurant. Near the bridge. I'm under the bridge, Arthur." Eames is silent for a moment, before he says, "Speaking of proposing, I'd really like to take this opportunity and—"

"—I'll see you in ten minutes — no, five minutes; I'll be there in five — and Eames? Don't move. Don't move, okay?"

"Arthur, these guys really have it out for you...maybe you shouldn't co—"

There's a shot. A gasp. Two more shots. A groan. Arthur's heart stops.

"Eames? Eames? Eames! Damn it, Eames."

The line goes dead.

the fifteenth time — the only time that actually mattered

When Eames' eyes finally flicker open, he immediately squeezes them shut. He'd like to keep it that way, because he really doesn't fancy be blinded by that ridiculous white again, but he can hear someone breathing and he's a bit more interested in telling them to shut up so that he can sleep than keeping his sight.

"Look, could you just...Arthur?" Eames breaks off, blinking franctically. He narrows his eyes when Arthur, still sleeping (and still breathing ridiculously loudly) doesn't respond. He takes a moment to squint at his surroundings, as blinding as they are, and his breath hitches when he realises where he is.

"Arthur." Eames leans over, his breath hitching when a sharp pain shoots up his side, and prods Arthur with as much energy as he can muster. "Arthur."

"Eames!" Arthur's eyes fly open. "You're awake!"

"Arthur, why are we in a hospital?"

"Seriously? You got shot. Where else was I going to to take you?" Arthur responds incredulously. He shakes his head, gently pushing Eames back into lying position.

Eames doesn't bother to try and get back up and settles for saying, "Fucking hate hospitals."

Arthur rolls his eyes and asks, "More importantly, are you okay? Feeling okay, I mean?"

"Yeah. I'm feeling fine." Eames grins. Then he looks carefully at Arthur and raises his eyebrows. "You, on the other hand, look like shit."

Arthur smiles weakly in return. "Yeah, well, I don't do well when I'm worried, remember?"

"I've been shot loads of times."

"Yeah, but..."

If Eames were obtuse, he wouldn't have noticed that Arthur was fiddling with his cufflinks. If Eames were obtuse, he wouldn't know that Arthur only ever does that when he's lying or nervous. And if Eames were obtuse, he wouldn't have realised that Arthur is avoiding his eyes...which means that either lying or nervousness is something that may occur in the very near future. But Arthur almost never lies to him, so Eames assumes that it's nervousness that's about to grace their conversation.

"They wouldn't let me visit you."

"Arthur, darling, I don't understand."

He sighs, placing his head in his hands. "We're not related, so they wouldn't let me visit you."

"Oh."

"I wanted to visit you." Arthur looked up, smiling weakly at him. "It was infuriating that I couldn't."

There's silence for a moment, because although Eames would like to say something—anything—he finds he has nothing to say. At least, nothing that won't come out as horribly condescending and merit a punch from Arthur.

Then Arthur quietly says, "Those men were after you because they knew that you could contact me—because they knew we're together."

"Oh, Arthur..."

"Even though we aren't married, they went after you. They tried to kill you."

"Arthur..."

"I wanted to keep you safe, damn it. Not marrying was meant to stop something like that from happening."

"Arthur..."

"And then I couldn't see you because we're not fucking married."

Eames' eyes widen at this and despite Arthur's weak protests, he sits upright. Placing his hand on Arthur, he says, "Darling, what are you trying to tell me?"

"That apparently everyone already knows we're together, so my plan of keeping you safe by not marrying you was, obviously, pointless. And that the next time you're an idiot and get shot, I want to be able to visit you."

Eames chuckles. "Darling, are you asking me to ask you to marry you?"

At this, Arthur scoffs. He reaches down to pick up a manila folder from the floor, before throwing it on Eames' lap.

"You've asked enough times, haven't you?" Arthur says, raising his eyebrows. "While you were unconscious and unable to annoy me, I decided to work on a guest list."

"That's not very romantic," Eames scolds. The words, however, mean nothing when coupled with the wide grin that stretches from ear to ear. "You're really okay with this?"

"Yes."

Then, just because he really, really wants to, Eames asks, "So, you'll marry me?"

"Yes."

"In front of a thousand of our closest friends? We'll have rings and cake?"

Arthur grins. "Yes. Though, if you're set on being traditional, I must insist that you wear the dress."

"Excellent. Bloody excellent."