Fool

by BeyondtheSea

Sequel of sorts to Jazz. Eames is late and Arthur's a fool.

Fool.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Note: This is a sequel of sorts to Jazz, though you don't really need to read that one to enjoy this one. Please read and review :)

….

Arthur gave his watch a cursory glance though he already knew what the time was. Looking up, Greg caught his eye and Arthur tried to give him an easy smile. There was no problem. He couldn't cover up the wince however when his bruised cheek and jaw objected.

They were seated in a corner booth of a London pub. Arthur's old college roommate, Greg, and his new boyfriend, Marcel were seated across from him and an empty seat. Behind them a mirror had been affixed to the wall, giving Arthur a perfect view of the door.

When Greg had found out that Arthur was in the area he had immediately contacted him, slowly but surely wearing Arthur down into agreeing to catch up sometime. It had snowballed from there when Eames heard and thought it'd be a great idea to join, and then Greg had suggested Marcel come along too, and now here was Arthur. Date-less on a double date.

Greg scrutinized him and Arthur turned to Marcel to dissuade any further questioning about the injury by Greg. "So, how long have you two been dating?"

"Three months, I guess?" Greg answered, laughing lightly and throwing his arm around Marcel's shoulders in a very Eames-esque motion. Unlike Marcel though, Arthur almost always shook the arm off, never having been much for physical displays of affection in public.

"And how'd you meet?" Arthur continued though he'd already stopped listening for an answer, his eyes turning to his watch once again. Eames was forty-five minutes late, and while it was a miracle if the man was ever on time for anything, 45 minutes was pushing it, even by Eames' standards.

An awkward silence fell over their little party as Arthur realized that he was expected to respond to something. "Ah, well, fancy that." He supplied pathetically and just barely stopped from grimacing. He was even beginning to talk like Eames.

Arthur coughed slightly and shifted in his seat. "How's it been with the orchestra?" He offered to Greg.

Greg brightened and leaned forward, extracting his arm from around Marcel to place both elbows on the table they were seated at. Arthur watched, rather bewildered, as a series of emotions flitted over Marcel's face. Pain, anger, disappointment, and then artificial happiness. He found it quite perplexing, how easily people expressed their emotions. The easier you were to read, the easier you were to con. It was self-preservation, really, maintaining an act of indifference. Why didn't they understand that?

Sometimes, it's better to suffer than to be alone, Eames had once said.

Arthur's eyes looked to the door, believing that if he just stared hard enough it'd produce his wayward Eames.

"Eames is a freelance consultant you said?" Marcel interrupted, cutting Greg off just as he began to explain in detail how the conductor couldn't get the cellos to harmonize.

Arthur's eyes snapped to Marcel and saw pity more than anything else in the young man's face. Instinctively Arthur's back straightened and his chin rose slightly. He did not require this man's pity just because Eames had not shown. "Yes," Arthur managed to get out with his voice still soundly fairly light and unworried. "He must just be caught up in the job."

Marcel gave him a small smile and second-naturedly tucked some of Greg's chin length hair behind his ear.

Arthur could just feel the ghost of Eames' hand as he always pulled on his ear, directing Arthur's face towards his own, catching Arthur's lips in a dizzying kiss that Arthur would stop too soon when he'd remember that they were sitting in a movie theater, or restaurant, or on a park bench.

Arthur's fingers traced the face of his watch as he forced himself to not look at the time again.

"Have you tried calling him?" Greg asked Arthur, who'd been too busy watching the reflection of door to pay him any attention.

"Ah, yeah, voicemail." He answered. He hadn't gotten voicemail though, he'd gotten a computer message saying that the number was no longer in service. What if Eames had gotten into some trouble that he couldn't get himself out of? Arthur ran his finger over the inch long cut that was just above his eyebrow. He'd just barely gotten out of a scrape a week ago.

The job had gone south, that was for sure. He and Eames should've just gotten on the first plane out of the country when Arthur had discovered their warehouse burning to the ground. But they hadn't. Arthur had pushed to finish the job. Looking back, he thought, this week had not been full of some of his more brilliant decisions. His most foolish one however had to be running into the burning warehouse. Just to save useless data. He'd gotten out, but not before falling through the stairs. He hadn't fallen far, but it still had left him bruised and battered.

Eames had been furious when Arthur had shown up at their apartment, bloody and slightly singed.

"Why the hell haven't you left yet?" Arthur had grumbled when he'd walked in to find Eames still there, just snapping his briefcase closed. He'd been hoping that Eames would have already been at the airport waiting to catch his flight to Hong Kong. He'd been hoping Eames wouldn't catch him looking like he was.

"Running late, as usual." Eames turned to look at him then and Arthur saw his breath hitch. "Bleeding Christ Arthur, what happened?"

Arthur's muscles were already starting to stiffen. He painfully pulled off his jacket and collapsed in the nearest chair, watching as Eames deftly moved about collecting their first aid kit and towels. "Warehouse burnt down." He managed to get out before he started coughing.

"With you in it?" Eames asked, standing in front of Arthur with a skeptical look as he rolled up his sleeves.

Arthur smirked, Eames knew him too well. "Well, no. I had to save a few things."

Eames crouched in front of him and gently examined the cut above his eye. "You are a fool, darling." He muttered. "I think we've still got some butterfly bandages left."

Eames turned from him and Arthur noticed how rigidly he was holding himself. Oh yeah, he was angry. "You're going to miss your plane," Arthur said, already on the defensive. "I can clean myself up."

"The job's off." Eames said tightly while placing a towel soaked in rubbing alcohol to Arthur's head, a bit more viciously than Arthur thought was necessary, too. Arthur hissed and jerked back. Eames merely pressed the towel to his head harder.

"The job is not off," Arthur growled, partially from pain, partially from anger.

Eames stayed silent for the remainder of the time that he tended to the cut. Once certain that Arthur had no other injuries, he'd stood up and moved an unnecessary amount away from him. "What the hell were you thinking?" He berated, crossing his arms. "You could've died."

"That information was pertinent to the job," Arthur said wearily, leaning back in the chair and letting his eyes drift closed.

"No, Arthur, it wasn't. All that information has been properly stored away in your head. You don't need any of those files."

"There's always a need for those files."

Eames was quiet for a moment. "You don't even care, do you?"

Arthur opened one eye and saw that Eames had moved to the window in their living room, as far away from Arthur as he could get in their tiny apartment. But he wasn't looking out the window; he was still staring at Arthur.

"Care about what?" Arthur asked, opening his other eye and straightening up. "I didn't die, I'm fine."

"But you don't care how such a decision affects more than just you." Eames bit out.

Arthur suddenly felt like a chastised child. He grabbed at the metaphor and went with it. "I'm not a child, Eames, I can do whatever the fuck I want."

"That's exactly my point! You took a needless risk with your life today with no regard to my feelings."

Arthur wanted to pull the words back but they tumbled out of his mouth quicker than his brain could comprehend. "Oh, so that's what you're worried about. Not if I die, just that it'll bother you." He knew it wasn't true, but had been too angry at the moment to care.

Eames looked as though he'd been slapped. Which, Arthur figured, he had, in a way. Eames' lips twisted into a hideous sneer and his voice came out rough, the sarcasm hardly noticeable. "Oh yes, spot on, Arthur. How very astute of you."

Eames grabbed his briefcase and opened the door.

"Where are you going?" Arthur had asked bitterly.

"I have plane to catch. The job, you know." Eames closed the door with a snap.

Arthur knew that he needed to apologize, to call Eames back, but he couldn't. "So now you're walking away?" He'd said instead, his voice raw with accusation as he followed him out to the hall.

Eames turned to him. "No darling, you pushed me away."

And then he'd left, left Arthur standing there like the fool he was in the middle of a narrow hallway, and caught that plane and Arthur hadn't heard from him for a week. His return plane had arrived the day before and if Eames had been on it, he hadn't returned to their apartment.

Arthur deliberated over the notion that Eames had been hurt or killed while doing recon for their job, but knew deep down, that Eames was alright. Men like Eames just didn't die; it was as simple as that. The only other option then was that Eames just didn't want to see him.

Arthur swallowed. He'd hoped that Eames would show at this stupid double date with Greg and Marcel, it was the only reason he'd gone himself. Eames had been rather excited about the idea of meeting a friend of Arthur's, though Arthur had wondered if it had more to do with this animosity that seemed to reside between Greg and Eames. They'd only met once before but he'd noticed the strain in both of their voices whenever they spoke of each other. But if there was one thing that Eames loved more than anything else, it was being an aggravation to everyone around him.

But Eames hadn't shown. And Arthur was now trying to act polite and not panic. Perhaps Eames was hurt. Perhaps when he'd walked out a week ago, it'd been for good. Perhaps he really was dead.

Just so he had something to do, Arthur sipped at his pint of beer. In his head he could hear Eames laughing as he once had when he'd witnessed Arthur drinking beer. It just doesn't suit, pet, he'd said.

What if he never heard Eames laugh again? Or kissed him again? What if he'd wasted their precious time together with Arthur's own insecure disposition?

Are you ashamed? Eames had finally asked when Arthur had once again extracted himself from Eames' arms, making sure to step back at least to arm's length.

They'd been at some silly street fair that Eames had wanted to check out, full of hand made jewelry, and goat's milk candles, and kabobs. He had asked it calmly, and if Arthur hadn't known Eames as he knew him, he probably wouldn't have caught the quick shift of his hips and shoulders, almost as though he'd braced himself. He was upset. And it made Arthur feel like rubbish.

Arthur had taken a small, almost cautionary, step towards Eames. "It's not that." He murmured, worried that one wrong word said would make Eames think that he was ashamed.

"Do you know how bloody much I just want to show you off?" Eames hissed angrily, and an old woman near by turned her head in their direction sharply. "How much I want to shout at anyone who'll listen that you're mine, and no one else's?"

Arthur hadn't reacted immediately, thinking through how he wanted to respond. He never acted before thinking, and now was not the time to drop such a practice. He didn't exactly feel the same way for Eames as it seemed he felt for him. He'd always been content just having Eames, he didn't care if the rest of the world knew that or not.

Eames made a disgusted sound and stepped back. He was taking too long to answer, Arthur knew, watching as Eames couldn't seem to stop his spite and rage from gaining on his cool demeanor.

Compulsively, Arthur grabbed for him, his hand catching his shoulder just as he'd turned to leave. "I- I'm sorry." He said uncertainly, walking around to face him. "You know I'm horrible at this right?"

Eames' eyes seemed to have taken on a glassy quality and Arthur smoothed out the wrinkles that he'd caused to the jacket, buying for time. "It's not that I'm ashamed." He finally said, letting his hand rest against Eames' chest. "But- This- I've never considered- It just makes me nervous."

Eames said nothing, asking for a better explanation with a narrowing of his eyes.

"It makes me nervous when they stare." He elaborated, "I don't like it when strangers notice me." It was a pathetic reason, Arthur knew it the moment he'd said it out loud. He gave Eames an apologetic smile, having nothing else to say.

Eames had stared at him for a long time then, not moving closer, but not stepping away, either. And it made Arthur more nervous than if the whole world had been watching him.

He couldn't meet Eames eye, and looking down, realized that he was tracing a button of Eames' shirt.

Arthur had glanced shyly up at Eames before unbuttoning the top button of Eames shirt, revealing the hollow of his throat. He leaned forward slowly and placed a chaste kiss there before pulling back and re-buttoning the collar. "I love you, you know." He said matter-of-factly as he straightened Eames' collar.

His eyes met Eames' and they were once again unreadable. "Sometimes," Eames said letting out a breath, "that's all a fella wants to hear." He gave a small smile and Arthur returned it with a wider one of his own.

Eames' fingers interlaced with his, and he let them, relieved that Eames was satisfied with what Arthur could give him. He had been a bit more lenient for the rest of that day with the displays of affection, and had even let Eames talk him into eating a kabob from a stand.

But they'd fallen back into the old routine quickly, Arthur always pulling away too soon. Eames wasn't happy about it, Arthur could tell, but had been patient. That was, until a week ago.

You don't even care, do you? The question echoed through Arthur's head. Was that true? Of course he care, but was his desire for self-preservation hurting Eames? Was Eames being hurt more by Arthur's refusal to be physical in public, than Arthur would be by loosening up and letting Eames hold his hand? And Eames had been right about the warehouse. Why had Arthur risked his life for information he already had?

Some small part of him had already knew that the job was off, that something, somewhere, had been leaked to the wrong people, and yet he had still insisted that they continue, and now Eames was late.

Arthur looked at his watch again.

Eames' self preservation skills were even better than Arthur's, and it was entirely probable that Eames had gotten on a completely different plane and was at this moment sitting on a private island somewhere sipping on a piña colada. Arthur tried not to think about how he'd feel if Eames had left him behind.

Darling, you pushed me away.

"I'm going to make a run to the little boys' room," Marcel said, breaking into Arthur's muddled thoughts. Unfocused, he watched as the man walked away.

"Now tell me the truth. Are you doing alright?" Greg pressed as soon as Marcel was out of earshot.

Arthur shrugged, taking another sip of beer.

"I'm worried about you. I mean, I hardly ever hear from you and when I finally do see you, you look…" Greg didn't finish his sentence, merely reached across the table and grabbed Arthur's chin lightly, turning his face so he could see the bruises. It had been quick. So quick that by the time Arthur realized that Greg had touched him, his hand was already back on his side of the table.

A vague anger settled in Arthur's stomach. "I told you, I fell down some stairs, nothing more." He said, a bit of annoyance creeping into his voice. To help calm himself down, he traced a wet ring on the table top.

"But-," Greg's hands suddenly clasped onto Arthur's wandering hand, holding it in both of his, "are you happy with this Eames fellow?"

Arthur stared at their hands. It was wrong. He didn't like the feel of Greg's hands. The callous fingers were from playing an instrument, not from everyday life, like Eames' were. They were warmer and softer and smaller. They weren't Eames'. Eames held his hand as though it was the most natural thing in the world, Greg clung to him, as if he expected Arthur to disappear in a cloud of smoke. Eames' fingers knew every scar and mark intimately, he'd traced them all so often absent mindedly. His favorite was the long thin one that ran across the back of Arthur's hand and ended past his watch band on his arm.

Arthur looked back up, but not at Greg, his eyes seeing right passed him to the mirror behind him, where he watched as Eames strolled in, completely at ease, and most definitely not injured, or dead, or on some stupid island. Eames' eyes met his through the mirror and he gave him his most devilish smirk. He started moving towards them, but not fast enough for Arthur.

He stood, knocking the table slightly, and crossed to Eames in long strides.

"You would not bel-," Eames started to say but Arthur cut him off.

Arthur crashed into him, their lips coming together in a fury. He kissed Eames for all he was worth, hoping to start making up for all the kisses that he hadn't allowed.

They broke apart slowly, Eames keeping a tight hold to Arthur, not letting him pull away too far. Not that Arthur was going to, not again. "If I'd known that was the greeting I was going to get, I'd have paid that cabbie more to drive faster." Eames said lowly, massaging the back of Arthur's neck, mussing up his hair. Eames' eyes moved passed Arthur to look at Greg. "And what's going on over there?"

Arthur sighed heavily. "Torture, pure and simple." Arthur looked to Eames and could see that he was waiting for more of a story. He was very good at waiting, Arthur thought dejectedly. Why had Eames waited for him so long? "Well," he said, looking out the window, not at Eames. "This is going to sound ridiculous, but I think that he might have been hitting on me."

Eames chuckled, and tightened his grip on Arthur. "Of course he was, darling, you're quite the catch, you know."

Arthur hated compliments, Eames knew that, so Arthur didn't acknowledge it. "How was the job?" He asked instead, taking Eames' hand out of his hair, and interlacing their fingers.

"Job's off, Arthur, I already told you that." Eames smirked, and started leading Arthur across the pub, towards Greg and the recently returned Marcel.

Arthur dug his heels in, yanking Eames back. "Then where the hell have you been for the past week?"

Eames gave him an appeasing smile. "It seems some thugs burned down my warehouse and inadvertently tried to kill my boyfriend. I had to retaliate." He kissed the corner of Arthur's mouth quickly before starting to pull Arthur towards their table again.

"Eames." Arthur grumbled.

"Oh, and by the way, I think it best if we disappear for a while." He said over his shoulder.

"Eames." He growled darkly, stopping once again. Eames turned to him expectantly. Arthur narrowed his eyes. "You took a needless risk with your life," he found himself saying, "with no regard to me."

Eames smiled fondly. "Come on, love, introduce me to your friends."

"We're going to talk about this later, Mr. Eames," was all Arthur could think to say as they approached Greg and Marcel.

Eames laughed and sent Arthur a mischievous wink. "I would want nothing else."

Arthur's relief overshadowed any frustration that he felt towards Eames' disappearance. He was content for the moment to just be glad that he'd come back in one piece.

They slid into the booth and Arthur noticed that Eames deliberately made space between their bodies as he'd taken to doing for Arthur's sake.

Arthur acknowledged that there could be no bigger fool in the world than he.

He moved closer to Eames, until their sides were flush against each other. He didn't look to Eames but he could see from the corner of his eye as Eames turned his face to him slightly. There was a beat of passing time, and then Eames settled his arm around Arthur's shoulders, shifted to pick up Arthur's pint of beer with his other hand and took a drink. Arthur smiled as he watched Greg's face slowly regain its normal expression.

He let his hand rest on top of Eames' knee. "Greg, this is Eames, my infuriatingly late boyfriend." He gave the knee a tight squeeze and heard Eames sigh a quiet "finally."

"I can't decide how annoyed I should be that it took you thinking I was dead before you finally realized what a dolt you are." Eames growled later as they settled into their airplane seats.

Arthur remained silent as he buckled the seatbelt. As soon as his hand was free Eames claimed it, lacing their fingers together tightly. Arthur smirked, looking at their hands. "Perhaps you should just be happy with the results."

Eames didn't say anything as he also looked at their hands and then he gave Arthur's hand a quick squeeze and laughed. "Poor Marcel."

"I told him about Greg while you two were mentally duking it out getting the next round of drinks. He is hopefully breaking up with him as we speak." Arthur squirmed slightly when Eames' thumb started tracing patterns on the inside of his wrist.

Eames sighed, leaning his head against the headrest. "God, what a long week."

"I think it's best if we take a break from the business." Arthur said lowly, as Eames' eyes drifted closed, and Arthur noticed the deep purple circles under his eyes.

"Sounds just fine, love." Eames muttered, hardly moving as he dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He blindly tossed it to Arthur. "Already lost all my contacts anyway."

Arthur turned the phone over in his hand, staring at the small hole that went straight through where the microchip should've been.

"Eames." Arthur said, his voice dropping even lower. "This is a bullet hole."

"That it is." Eames half opened one eye to look at Arthur. "Don't worry, I was wearing Kevlar." Arthur opened him mouth but Eames shook his head slowly. "Just let me sleep a little, pet, than you can yell all you want."

Arthur held back a frustrated sigh. It was nothing more than he deserved, he knew, but that didn't soften the throbbing in his stomach when he thought of Eames being shot at. Well, he thought, Eames was never one to lose an argument.

Eames took his iPod out and put the ear plugs in, before almost immediately falling asleep.

Arthur studied him. The beginning notes of 'Georgia On My Mind' drifted from the iPod and Arthur smiled despite himself. Eames had changed so much in the year they'd been together, but sometimes it seemed that he'd hardly changed at all.

He'd quit smoking, that'd been the first thing that Arthur had demanded. Arthur reached over and fingered Eames' shirt collar. Sadly his unfortunate taste in clothing had not. His eyes fell on the iPod, his musical tastes had expanded from rap and heavy rock to included some of Arthur's favorite jazz songs and he'd even discovered a few on his own that he enjoyed.

When they'd first gotten together there'd been nights full of bars and drinking (on Eames' part, Arthur merely stared in amazement at the amount of alcohol that man could put away) and rowdy crowds. Arthur had expected a bit of a fight when he suggested some quiet evenings together instead but Eames had accepted those date nights in stride.

And now here they were. Eames had changed, Arthur had changed him. But Arthur was just barely beginning to understand how little he'd given in return. He was still slightly uneasy with the physical contact. Uneasy with how quickly Eames had fallen into the habit of pulling him closer, just so their arms brushed as they walked.

Arthur settled more comfortably in his seat, automatically bringing his hand up to loosen his tie, but he grabbed at nothing but an open collar. When had he forgotten to put his tie on?

Looking down at their interlocked hands again, he realized that perhaps Eames had changed him too. Arthur smirked, he'd become quite the fool. All because of Eames.