Title: Light Outside
Pairing: ArthurxEames
Rating: T
Word Count: 1,516
Summary: Arthur wakes up to find Eames gone and assumes the worst.
Not beta'd
When Arthur woke up that morning, the bed was cold. He wasn't immediately alarmed. The fog in his head made him momentarily forget that there was supposed to be any warmth there in the first place. With a glance at his alarm clock, he turned over, pressing his face into the freshly laundered pillowcase and letting his eyes slip closed, hoping he could get a few more winks of sleep in before Eames stirred awake.
Wait…fuck.
Arthur threw the light sheets back, sitting up and setting his feet on the floor. He pulled open his bedside drawer, grabbing the Glock and clicking off the safety. There was a brief moment where he considered whether or not he was overreacting, that maybe Eames had just went to the kitchen to start their customary Sunday morning breakfast of omelets and coffee, or maybe he had an important call he needed to answer (because although clues pointed toward otherwise, Eames actually did things other than flirt at work).
That thought had floated away almost as quickly as it materialized. Much to Arthur's dismay, Eames seemed to think that the whole world should wake up with him every morning.
So the fact that the bed was empty and Arthur's dreamless sleep had gone interrupted was unusual.
With his gun cocked and held cautiously at the ready, Arthur pushed open the door to their comfortable, safe bedroom and padded out to the spacious, considerably less momentarily safe hallway. He kept close to the wall, his brain trying to break through the grogginess so he could remember where the particularly creaky floorboards were. He felt a bit ridiculous with his guard up so high when they had intentionally picked a neighborhood where the worst crime that had ever happened was an unknowing grandmother accidentally serving pecan pie to her neighbor with an allergy. He couldn't find any reason to be alarmed enough to be tiptoeing through his own home.
He blamed his foolish thinking on the drowsiness and lack of recent consistent training, then sharpened his senses to listen for the slightest sound. No matter how secure the neighborhood was, Eames had plenty of enemies…and Arthur had at least as many, most of which would be willing to stoop low enough to snatch his boyfriend up from under his nose to catch his attention. He couldn't lower his defenses just because the police had never been called to the area before.
His ears perked when he heard something in the silence, an almost inaudible noise that sounded like a shallow breath, and it was just around the corner where the hall turned to their bright living room. It seemed foolish for an intruder to try to navigate through such an open space where the bay windows would cast betraying shadows, but Arthur wasn't one to take chances. For all he knew, he was just dealing with a common robber, or perhaps he wasn't dealing with anything at all, but he wasn't about to let himself feel at ease yet. He made sure his hands were steady before whipping around the corner with his gun held out in front of him like a natural extension of his arm. His finger clenched, ready to pull the trigger at the slightest hint of danger.
He glanced around, studying the room for anything out of place…but every detail was the same as how it was left, right down to the drained coffee mug rom the night before that had no doubt left a stain on the side table's wood finish due to Eames' lack of interest in coasters.
No one was there. Nothing was amiss.
Well, except for Eames that is.
Arthur looked over his shoulder to where he came from, as if expecting him to be leaning against the archway to the hall or peeking out of a doorway.
Suddenly, inexplicably, he felt like this was a cruel trick. Maybe this was a fabricated test of his love, or maybe just a tune-up in his combat skills.
That didn't stop him from searching the roomy house anyway.
As nice as it was to have the extra space, a larger house also gave more hiding places, something the couple obviously hadn't considered when purchasing it. It meant that Arthur had to take time to comb through every nook and cranny, and even though it was nothing close to a mansion, it was still laborious to trek through. He started from the top down, scanning the second floor's bedrooms and bathrooms and offices and kitchen, down to the first floor landing to examine the foyer, and then even further into the bowels of their dank basement, home to their unkempt laundry room and Eames' disorganized "mancave" where the television he was much too attached to resided.
He spent as little time as possible down there. The scent of must and stale chips from Eames' soccer viewings ("Darling, the proper speak is crisps and football. You sound absolutely American") was not so appealing.
He did the rest of the house another once over, this time pulling back the curtains to their sliding glass door leading to their deck to have a quick once-over to the outside.
That's when he noticed the door was unlocked. From the inside.
It also came to his attention that the gate to the deck steps was swung open. This was a familiar sight from when a certain Englishman went to garden. He never managed to break the habit, no matter how many times Arthur reminded him that the gate was close to falling off its rusty hinges, and the wind whipping it around wouldn't help.
Arthur ran a hand through his slept-in hair with a sigh, stepping outside to close the gate before returning and locking the door. If Eames wanted back in, he would have to find a different way (Arthur had no problem admitting he was a tad bitter.)
There was no intruder. There was no test. There was nothing amiss.
Arthur just lived with the least responsible criminal he has ever met.
He shuffled lazily back to the bedroom, the tension he had just put himself under melting from him and making his movements languid and sluggish. As he made his way back, he wondered why Eames had left in the first place.
Poker with the neighbors? A bit early for that.
Grocery shopping? Wouldn't be completely unrealistic, except they had just gone the night before.
Thievery, trickery, and otherwise illegal activities? Probable.
Arthur would grill him about it when he came back.
Except when Arthur pushed open the door to their bedroom, he found the felon in question stretched out under the sheets, his eyes closed and a relaxed smile on his scruffy face. He was trying to pass himself off as asleep, but either he wasn't trying too hard or Arthur knew better. As he put his Glock back in its right place in the drawer and slithered himself next to his lover's muscled body, he realized he wasn't breathing nearly as deeply as a properly dozing man should be, especially for one who snores as chainsaw-like as Eames.
"You left the gate open," Arthur decided to open with.
"Hm?" Eames asked quietly, playing up how "tired" he was. "Must've forgotten to close it yesterday while watering the pansies."
"Except I shut it then too," Arthur shot back. "You don't expect me to buy into any weak excuses, do you?"
"I suppose 'I went to the toilet' would fall under that category?" he clarified, nuzzling his nose into Arthur's neck, his stubble leaving behind burning tickles against his skin.
"How stupid do you think I am?"
"Not stupid, love, just far too observant." He pressed his plush lips at the same spots on his jaw he had just scratched.
"Or you're far too careless." Arthur knew he was supposed to be angry, but he hugged his warm body closer despite himself. "Where were you really?"
"Meeting with a client," Eames replied. "I can't tell you details without putting you in danger."
Arthur sighed against Eames' hair, his hand running up the back of his shirt. This was typical, but it didn't make things any easier. "Where are you headed?"
"Istanbul," Eames responded, rolling to be on top of Arthur and pressing his weight into the mattress, a firm mass on top of him. "Not this Monday, but Monday next."
Arthur didn't stop Eames as his hands roamed underneath his loose bedclothes. "You could've told me earlier, I wouldn't have pried for details."
Eames pulled his lips away from the corner of Arthur's lips so he could look into his eyes. "But you surely would have looked into the details yourself, and I can't have that."
"But here I was thinking you were smuggling wild animals or something…"
"Darling, don't you think that would be a bit hard to hide?"
"Wouldn't stop you from trying," Arthur pointed out, his hand settling on the back of Eames' neck to pull him into a proper kiss.
Eames smiled against his lips, pleased that Arthur had obviously never checked in the pantry.