Detour

Disclaimer: I do not own Inception or the characters

Pairing: Arthur/Eames

Rating: T

Notes: Inspired by a picture of Tom in a wig from the "Marie Antoinette" movie

Summary: Arthur tracks Eames down to a back alley theatre hall and is met with an unexpected surprise.

Arthur had a job coming up and Eames wasn't returning his calls. Arthur was unimpressed.

Not worried.

Just… perturbed.

He opened up his laptop and began the process of tracking Eames down. Arthur found a bank statement from one of Eames' lesser-used bank accounts but the payment was two weeks ago. Eames could be anywhere by now. Eames also seemed to have disconnected the phone Arthur was most familiar with, forcing Arthur to turn his attention to Eames' scattered emails. After a few false leads Arthur found an email buried in one of Eames' haphazardly-named folders.

200 Front Street

London

March 3rd. 1pm

Be there mate.

Arthur inputted the address into his phone and checked the date. March 1.

He debated for a moment and then turned back to his laptop, booking a flight for later that evening. Perhaps it seemed a little rash to fly across the ocean to find Eames, a waste of time and money, but Arthur rationalized that the job was in Spain and he would have to fly over to Europe within the week anyway.

Might as well stop by England en route for a quick detour.

Once the tickets were booked he began packing, picking out enough clothes for the two-week job that would be suitable for the English and Spanish climates at this time of year. Once his bag was packed he grabbed his laptop bag, slipping his laptop in followed by the burner phone he would be using once the job began. He made an early dinner, turned down the heat in his New York apartment and then headed for the airport.

Arthur couldn't sleep on planes. Never had, probably never would. He occupied himself with two on-flight movies and then transferred his headphones to his phone, listening to music as he mentally prepared a checklist for the upcoming job. It would be relatively simple to pull off as long as they had a competent forger to persuade the mark into talking to them. The extractor Arthur had already waiting in Spain was brilliant at what she did but the mark was instinctually paranoid about strangers. By the time the plane landed and Arthur got a taxi to his hotel, he was happy with his plans and fell into bed without a second thought.

The next day he woke up with sun in his eyes and took his time showering and picking out an outfit for the day.

Not that he was dressing up to meet Eames, of course.

Arthur just liked to look sharp.

He looked himself over in the mirror critically, smoothing out his deep green waistcoat and reconfirming his cufflinks were in place. Once Arthur was satisfied he made his way down to the hotel restaurant for a late brunch and then headed out into the bustling London streets. With his destination address programmed into his phone Arthur began walking the fifteen minutes to Front Street.

The address took him to what looked almost like a warehouse, one main door with a frosted 200 painted overtop leading into a hallway with multiple other doors, many of which were lacking any sort of useful signage. Arthur had no idea where to go from here, except for a mysterious large arrow printed on a sheet of paper and stuck to the wall at the end of the hallway, pointing left.

Arthur checked his watch. He was still almost an hour early. After a moment's deliberation Arthur turned on his heel and stepped back out onto the sidewalk, crossing the street to sit at a window table in the café across the street. He ordered some tea and sipped it slowly, watching the front door of 200 Front Street with sharp eyes and checking his watch occasionally.

The time edged closer to 1pm. Then it passed 1pm.

Although he had seen a few people disappearing into the building here and there, Arthur had seen no sign of Eames.

Arthur wasn't worried, but he was definitely perturbed.

What if the email had been a false lead and Eames was halfway across the country? What if Eames had arrived early? What if this had been a trap? What if Eames was simply running late?

Arthur checked his watch again. 1:14pm. If the meeting was anything important then Eames wouldn't be this late. Obnoxious and a little fashion-challenged? Yes. But he was professional when it counted. Arthur rubbed his palms against his tailored pants, wiping away sweat. Then he pulled out a few coins and left them on the table, heading for the door.

When he stepped back into his destination the arrow on the wall called to him. On slow, light feet Arthur traveled down the hallway and looked around the corner. There were a few more doors on either side and another arrow on the wall at the end of the hall, this time pointing right. Arthur continued down the hall cautiously and followed the arrows until he reached a dead end – only one door waiting for him at the end of the hall.

Arthur didn't like going in anywhere blind. It was why he was a point man. He liked to know as much information as he could before doing something, and he was damn good at what he did. However, Arthur found himself unwilling to back off and do more research this time. He didn't want to miss Eames and have him disappear again, or leave him unsupported if this meeting had gone sour. He took a deep, steadying breath and grabbed the doorknob, turning it and stepping in briskly. He was prepared for anything.

Or so he thought.

There was a man sitting at a desk in the following entranceway, narrowing the path available for walking down to the width of one person. The man was doodling in a notebook, his hair falling in his eyes, and Arthur noted a second binder with a college emblem printed on the spine. He looked up when Arthur closed the door, pulling on a half-hearted smile. "It's a fiver to enter."

"Excuse me?" Arthur turned to focus fully on the man after skimming the open area behind him.

Arthur knew his accent was obvious and the man's expression changed. "Five quid," he said.

Arthur's gaze drifted back again, taking in the single door waiting for him beyond the open area. What exactly had he walked into? Some sort of show? Arthur was briefly horrified at the thought of what kind of show Eames might be putting on but he reached into his pocket to pull out his wallet anyway. He pulled out a five pound note and handed it over, and in return he was offered a pamphlet.

"You better hurry," the man said as he took the money and slipped it into a cash box that must be hidden below the desk. "It's already started."

"Alright," Arthur swallowed and walked past the desk, heading for the only door left for him. He should've looked at the pamphlet before walking in, really he should have. But Arthur was flustered and stepped through the door into the unknown, pamphlet clasped in his hand tightly.

The room beyond the door was dark, though the far wall and the centre of the room were brightly lit. Arthur had walked into a small theatre, perhaps about fifty seats set up on the three surrounding sides of the stage, three levels rising around the stage to offer clear views of the stage from anywhere in the room. The play had already begun with actors in period-dress moving around the set, carrying on the act despite the sound of the door closing behind Arthur.

Someone in the back row of chairs looked back at him and gave him a glare, motioning for him to sit down and be quiet. Feeling out of sorts, Arthur looked around and then edged his way towards a vacant seat in the centre section of seats on the highest level. He apologized as he shuffled down the row of chairs, trying to not step on anyone's feet. And just as he reached what appeared to be the last empty chair he heard a voice he would recognize anywhere.

Eames.

Arthur looked quickly back to the stage just in time to see Eames stepping onto stage, halfway through delivering a line when their eyes met and locked. Time froze as Eames' words died on his lips. Arthur wanted to sit down and let the play continue, anxious as a noticeable pause of silence filled the theatre, and he also wanted to look Eames' costume over. He couldn't though. He couldn't move. He could only stand there and watch Eames' eyes watch him and turn warm.

Just for a second.

Then the moment was over and Eames cleared his throat, turning to another actor with a smile. Eames offered a line that was probably filler but fit the time period perfectly – of course – and then began again with his interrupted line, the play regaining its smooth rhythm. Arthur forced himself to sit down, ignoring the way the audience on either side of him was giving him weird looks.

He settled in the chair and touched a hand to his chest, feeling the way his heart drummed against his ribcage. Arthur could feel heat in his face though the blush was hidden in the darkness of the theatre, and he chided himself silently on his reaction. What was he, some giddy schoolgirl seeing her crush for the first time after summer break? It was ridiculous.

Arthur's body had no right to act like this. Okay yes he had been a little worried and it was relieving to know that Eames was safe. Fine, Arthur would admit it. But it wasn't like Eames had been in true danger. And the way their eyes had met across the room hadn't meant anything, nor had that little twinkle in Eames' eyes that Arthur probably imagined. Arthur had just caught Eames off guard – understandably so – and he had momentarily forgot his line.

Clear cut, done and done.

Somehow still feeling more flustered than ever before, Arthur turned his gaze down to the pamphlet in his hands. He could see where the paper had wrinkled from Arthur's tight grip but it was still legible. Marie Antoinette, the title read. A historical biography and drama. Arthur flipped it open to look at the inside pages, skimming his eyes down the list of actor names. Eames' name wasn't there, as Arthur had expected. He had heard Eames' character name though, said by another actor, and Arthur looked for that on the list.

Raumont: Cameron Brant.

Cameron Brant? Arthur's mind repeated in confusion. That didn't even sound close to the aliases Eames preferred. Nor was it his legal name, which Eames had attempted valiantly to bury but Arthur had managed to dig up anyway three years back when they had their first job together. Thomas Eames Edwards. Arthur still remembered getting pinned against a wall for that, Eames demanding that Arthur never speak the name again. And despite Eames' cocky attitude that occasionally grated on Arthur's nerves, Arthur had promised. He had read of a sister left behind with a grandmother that Eames wanted to protect and Arthur had had no interest in causing problems.

However, this still left Arthur with the puzzle of who Cameron Brant was, and why Eames was performing in a period-play in a back alley theatre for five quid a ticket.

Arthur lifted his eyes from the pamphlet and felt his breath leave him when he saw that Eames' eyes were on him again. Just for a second. Then Eames was returning his gaze to the actress beside him, his dialogue never stuttering. Only when Eames looked away did Arthur feel he was allowed to study Eames and his costume fully. And Arthur was forced to admit that Eames looked... well, good.

He was dressed in a white suit with a high collar, accented by a back sash tied around his neck. The suit came with a ruffled cravat and matching ruffled cuffs, and Eames had a short white wig with a ringlet framing each side of his head. Yet somehow none of it looked out of place or even unattractive. Eames looked like he had stepped right out of history and would return to sweep someone off their feet as soon as he finished the play. His skin had been paled with powder but it made his full lips stand out, each quirky smile ready to steal a heart.

Arthur slunk further down into his chair and wondered what the hell was wrong with him.

Maybe he should leave. Except that wouldn't solve anything; it would only disrupt the play more than he already had. Arthur still needed a forger for the upcoming job and Eames had seen Arthur here. That meant that Eames knew Arthur had tracked him here for some reason and Arthur could only imagine his own embarrassment if he ran and inevitably ended up working another job with Eames sometime in the future. Eames wouldn't be able to help but ask about his little field trip to the theatre.

So Arthur sat in his chair and watched the play, pointedly keeping his face neutral and ignoring the way his heart skipped a beat each time Eames' eyes landed on him again. Arthur couldn't help it; there was just something about having someone pick you out of a crowd – repeatedly. Arthur certainly wouldn't admit that he felt a clench of disappointment in his chest when Eames' scene ended and he disappeared off-stage again, but he found himself enjoying the play as a whole until the final scene ended and everyone began clapping.

Arthur allowed himself to be swept up in the crowd spilling out into the tiny lobby outside the theatre. He rested his back against a wall and waited, watching the audience chat to each other and a few actors come out to meet with friends and family who had come to see their show. Arthur felt a little out of place, especially when a few people glanced over at him curiously, but he remained where he was until he felt a warm hand touch his shoulder.

Before Arthur could do more than turn, Eames was in front of him in full costume. "Liam, darling," Eames exclaimed happily, using Arthur's alias from their last job nearly ten months ago. "How good of you to stop by," Eames continued on cheerily and before Arthur got a chance to respond Eames had pressed a warm kiss to Arthur's cheek.

Arthur's heartbeat thundered in his ears.

"Come on," Eames slung an arm around Arthur's shoulders and dragged him towards a door in the corner, no doubt leading back to the changing rooms. "We have a lot to catch up on." Arthur let himself be dragged through the back hallways until he was shouldered into a small dressing room, which was when Eames' easygoing smile fell away. Eames spun on his heel and crowded Arthur back against the door, eyes intense. "Are you alright?"

"I—yes, why?" Arthur was momentarily caught off guard.

"You promise you're alright?" Eames asked again, watching Arthur sharply in search of a lie.

"Yes," Arthur insisted.

"And Dom and his little ones?" Eames leaned in closer. "And our little Ariadne?"

"They're all fine," Arthur promised. He raised a hand to Eames' shoulder, but his brain short circuited at the warmth of the body below the fabric and Arthur couldn't decide whether to nudge Eames away or pat him reassuringly. After a moment Arthur realized his hand was lingering and let it fall back at his side. "Why?"

Eames' face finally relaxed and he smiled. "Good, good," he said and turned back to the vanity and mirror on the opposite wall. Arthur was surprisingly touched by Eames' genuine concern. Though that idea promptly flew out the window when Eames deftly began peeling his costume off piece by piece, eyes holding Arthur's in the mirror's reflection. "I got a bit worried when I saw you. Normally you only track me this insistently when there's a problem."

The cravat and black sash fluttered to the floor, though the suit coat got hung up on the rack beside the vanity. Arthur opened his mouth but glanced away when Eames began unbuttoning the front of his shirt. "I have a job coming up and you weren't answering your phone."

The shirt slid off and Eames set it on the vanity. Now Eames was topless, the lights on the vanity painting his muscled back with shadows that danced along the tattoos wrapping around Eames' skin. Arthur had never seen the tattoos before and found his eyes intent on mapping each line and curve. It was only Eames' voice that could focus him. "Yeah, I dropped my phone in the sink by accident and that was the end of that. I lost most of my contact numbers so I was hoping you'd find me again when you needed me."

Arthur was about to ask how Eames planned on continuing to work after losing all of his contact numbers, but his mouth suddenly went dry as he heard a zipper being drawn a second before Eames was stepping out of his suit pants, leaving him in only a pair of briefs that didn't leave much to the imagination. "Eames!" Arthur choked out and spun around, facing the wall. His face was so red he could feel his ears burning. "I'd appreciate it if you kept your clothes on, thank you."

"Sorry, darling." There was amusement in Eames' voice. Luckily Arthur heard the shuffling of fabric and another zipper being drawn. "Carl wants me out of the costume immediately so they can get a few rips sewn up for tomorrow. Cameron's jacket didn't quite fit me."

"Cameron?" Arthur caught the name.

Eames must've understood his unspoken question. "An old mate of mine. He got the flu so he asked me to be his understudy for a day or two. I'm decent again," Eames added with a chuckle.

Arthur hesitated and then glanced back over his shoulder. The blush creeped down his neck. "You call that decent?"

Eames was still shirtless, and the jeans he had pulled on rested low on his hips, leaving the band of his briefs visible as they hugged Eames' skin. He caught Arthur's eyes in the mirror and refused to let him look away again. "Yes, I would call this decent," he smirked.

Arthur sighed but forced himself to turn back around. If Eames wasn't going to make a big deal if this, then Arthur certainly shouldn't. He just had to refocus on why he was here; talk about things he understood. "So will you help with the job?"

"Depends."

"On?" Arthur pushed when Eames didn't continue.

"You need to answer me a question first."

This was when Arthur noticed how curious Eames' expression was as he studied Arthur in the mirror. Eames' eyebrows were furrowed with hands on hips, as though genuinely perplexed. For some reason the white curly wig – which Eames still hadn't remembered to take off – wasn't enough to stop Arthur's body from heating further as he watched Eames look him over. "I already have an extractor—"

"Not a question about the job," Eames cut him off and Arthur fell silent. Eames faced Arthur directly and took a slow step forward. "Tell me. Since when do you blush?"

In that moment Arthur hated Eames because the only thing that could make someone blush harder was by drawing attention to it. Arthur immediately regretted his tie, the silk feeling tight against his throat. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Arthur," Eames cooed, sidling closer until their hips were aligned. If Eames leaned a few inches closer Arthur would be able to feel the warmth of his skin and the shape of his chest. Arthur didn't know why he hadn't thought about this before, since it seemed like such an important idea now. "It's okay. I'll keep your secret that you like guys in white wigs," Eames laughed, throaty and warm.

Something inside Arthur broke and he decided that if Eames was going to be a teasing asshole then Arthur was entitled to giving him a little shock in return. Arthur was an adult; he could handle a little embarrassment if it meant putting Eames in his place. "Actually," Arthur drawled, purposefully dragging his palms up Eames' arms, over his biceps and shoulders. Eames' eyes had gone wide as Arthur held the back of his neck with one hand and reached up with his other to knock the wig off Eames' head. "The wig could go."

Before Arthur could lose his nerve he pulled Eames forward by the neck, smashing their lips together. He could feel a jolt of surprise or maybe something more primal pass through Eames' body a second before he pinned Arthur to the door with his weight. Arthur slipped his fingers into Eames' hair, pulling it free of the pins that had held it in place under the wig. At the same time he tilted his head until his lips locked with Eames', eyes fluttering closed as he moaned.

It was only when Eames began to kiss him back that Arthur pushed him backwards, not above a little teasing of his own.

"Bloody hell," Eames muttered, touching a hand to his lips which Arthur could see were red from the kiss.

Arthur knew his lips were red too, oversensitive and tingling as he gave a smug smile. "I answered your question. Now, will you do the job?"

"Of course I'll help. You know I'll always work a job you're on," Eames said. Arthur tried to figure out if Eames' eyes had darkened or if it was just the lighting in the room. "But I do have one more day of understudy duty."

"That's fine. We have a little over two weeks to prepare." Arthur used the act of smoothing out his waistcoat as an excuse to stop meeting Eames' gaze.

"I have one more question though..." Eames' voice was no longer confident.

He wished he had just ignored Eames' teasing. Arthur was already dying of embarrassment and now Eames would never let him live it down. "What is it?" Arthur asked with resignation.

Eames stepped back into Arthur's persona l space. Arthur's face lifted instinctually the moment he felt a finger touch under his chin, drawing his gaze up. "Can we do that again?" Eames whispered.

Arthur's heart fluttered as his stomach did some weird flip flop. This was not what he had been planning at all. Arthur had flown over to England to find Eames and bring him onto the job. He hadn't been prepared to find Eames as an understudy in a theatre, acting a role that was not his own like he had been born to play it. Nor had he been prepared for Eames in and out of costume, or the way Eames' eyes made Arthur want to stay as Eames' focus of attention for a long time.

"Buy me dinner first," Arthur tried to hide the waver of his voice that betrayed his nerves.

"Well I was planning on doing that since you first walked into the theatre," Eames smiled, affectionate rather than teasing this time. "But maybe after?"

"Maybe after," Arthur agreed, though he didn't complain when Eames leaned forward and kissed him again then and there.

Arthur congratulated himself on his choice to take a detour into England.

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