To say Arthur is pissed it putting in mildly. He searches the entire suite, the puppy following him anxiously, and when it's evident that Eames has disappeared, Arthur drops himself down into one of the chairs in the living room and swears quietly for three minutes solid.

Ariadne appears halfway through it, and rubs her eyes, looking confused and then upset. She moves through the suite and returns, wearing one of the robes. "Damn it. Where?"

"No clue, but I'll find him," Arthur assures her and reaches for the laptop. It takes only a few minutes, but in that time, Ariadne sees the wet wad of paper on the floor.

Arthur looks up briefly as she holds out a shredded mess, and winces.

"The dog ate his Dear John letter," Ariadne mutters, and tries to smooth it out as Arthur scours the browser history.

"He booked a flight into London three hours ago, so barring complications he'll be getting in around noon."

There's a knock at the door, and Arthur automatically reaches for the gun that's not there at the base of his spine. Feeling foolish, he pads over to the door and checks the spy-hole, hoping against completely unreasonable hope that it's Eames, back with some damned morning paper and a bag of pastries.

It would be just like the asshole; Arthur tries to argue with himself.

Instead, it's the anxious blue eye of Dominic Cobb, and Arthur yanks open the door. Cobb practically tumbles in, and they lock into a hard hug.

"Jesus!" Cobb mutters, and then because words fail him, he says it again. "Jesus!"

"Nope," Arthur tells him, grinning despite himself. "Not nearly that old. Damned good to see you, Dom. Damned good." He's choking a little, because there were times when Arthur wasn't sure he'd see his old partner again. But Dom is big and solid, smelling of Irish Spring soap and here.

"Dom!" Ariadne calls out and darts over, robe fluttering as she launches herself. Dom catches her easily with one arm, laughing when she clings to him.

"Whoah! Good to see you too!" he calls out, and kisses the top of her head, an indulgence that Arthur knows is only being permitted in the emotion of the moment.

Arthur lets go of the hug, but Dom isn't quite ready and hangs on a second longer before reluctantly releasing him. "Where's Eames?"

"Gone," Ariadne snaps. "Took off a few hours ago without telling us."

Arthur flexes his shoulders. "Something must have come up," he offers, and Ariadne shoots him a look before letting go of Dom and trotting back to the coffee table, pulling her robe more tightly around her. She squats down, smoothing out the wet and damaged note while Tyro enthusiastically sniffs at Dom's shoes, liking what he smells. Dom grins and pets the dog.

"Hey there," he murmurs, and Tyro's tail wags faster. Dom shoots a look at Arthur, who gives a slightly embarrassed shrug.

"A . . . complication."

"I'll bet. Picking up strays isn't like you," Dom points out, but he's smiling as he says it, his expression relieved and happy. "Cute though."

"He's not bad," Arthur offers, coming over to where Ariadne is. "So—what's it say?"

"He thanked us for last night . . . uh, for dinner," Ariadne stammers, and keeps her eyes down. "And he needs to get to Eng because of Gr. That's got to be granny. God his printing is awful, even without the dog spit and holes in the paper."

"Granny?" Dom asks, and Arthur fills him in while Ariadne slips away to dress. When she returns in sweatpants and hoodie, Dom looks vaguely amused.

"If he needs to head home then he needs to go. I'm not exactly the best person to argue against that point," he offers.

"Yes, but—"Arthur starts and then stops, looking away, aware that there's no explanation he can give that isn't incriminating. Luckily Ariadne clears her throat and pulls Dom's attention away.

"The three of us have been though a lot together," she reminds him. "It's natural that we'd be concerned about him. Eames is like . . . family."

Dom shrugs. "We can start by tracing his flight. Do you know anything about his home life or his base of operations in England?"

It sounds so cold, but both Ariadne and Arthur know Dom's questions are going in the right direction. Arthur pulls up the laptop and begins typing away while Ariadne tugs Dom aside and quietly fills him in on the details of their captivity.

He listens as he types, and Arthur is glad to hear that Ariadne is editing the emotional details. Time enough to fill Dom in on those matters; for the moment what's important is finding Eames and figuring out where to go from there.

000ooo000ooo000

Ariadne is feeling jumpy, and she can't quite put her finger on why. She's grateful that Tyro is pressed up against her shin, his little warm bulk a comfort as she speaks to Dom. He's attentive, asking questions and nodding when she speaks, and yet she feels nervous under his caring gaze.

He rises, and the sudden loom of him over her makes Ariadne shiver; she fights it, and tries to smile—this is Dom, he'd never hurt her. Hell, he just rescued her—but still, Ariadne can't quite fight the reactive tremor.

Dom misses it; Arthur doesn't. Ariadne tries to shake her head, but he rises and steps over, standing near her, his strong, solid presence taking the jumpiness out of her system as he speaks quietly. "I've got a lead on Eames. Look, it's going to take some time to re-establish our lives as it is, and I'm not sure it's a good idea to go back to old haunts just yet."

"Smart," Dom agrees. "You both can stay with me and Miles for the time being—he's offered, and I'm heading back there anyway to pick up the kids after I talk with your rescue team."

Ariadne manages a smile. "Yeah, where did they come from?"

"Koskinen and Laako work for Mr. Saito," Dom smiles. "Once we started narrowing the search around Lake Ladoga, they were the best choice for the work. Both of them have worked search and rescue for years, and knew the terrain pretty well. They're getting compensated nicely for it, believe me."

"How much is this going to set us back?" Arthur asks pragmatically, and Ariadne manages a dry smirk. Trust Arthur to want the bill upfront.

Dom laughs. "For right now, nothing, but it would be safe to say that we might be on retainer for a few jobs in the future, when you're up to it."

Neither Ariadne nor Arthur say anything, and Dom sighs in the awkwardness of the moment. He rubs the back of his head. "So I guess the first thing would be to get you checked out, physically—"

"—no," Ariadne blurts. "The first thing is to find Julian," she corrects herself hastily, "Eames," adding, "He wouldn't have left unless it was serious."

Dom shoots a puzzled look at her, and Arthur breaks in, gently. "He was damned good to both us though it all; we owe him, Dom."

Ariadne is grateful when Dom gives a slow nod and sighs, pacing a little. "Okay. I can tell you right now that your dog isn't going to England though, not with that six month quarantine in place for pets without papers or health records."

She tenses until Dom adds, "But I don't think Miles and the kids would mind puppy sitting for a few weeks or two. I'd planned on staying in France until the end of the month anyway."

"You'd do that?" Ariadne blinks, touched at the offer. Dom squats down and offers a hand; Tyro bounces over and licks it, tail wagging. A moment later and Dom is scratching him under the chin.

"Yeah," he smiles, that kind and gentle smile Ariadne remembers from the early days. "He looks like a good little guy."

She can't fight a prickle of grateful tears, and sniffs to hide them. "He is, even if he does chew anything left on the floor."

Dom laughs. "James used to do that too. Now he'll have a buddy."

000ooo000ooo

Eames rubs his eyes and tries to get used to the noise of the traffic again. The impact of the city after so much time alone in the woods is intense, and he fights his flinches as horns blare and cars zoom past along the busy streets. Hammersmith remains much as he remembers it, albeit smellier and louder.

He steps into the hospital and speaks to the receptionist, who reluctantly checks her computer and nods. She gives him a visitor's badge and directs him to the seventh floor before turning back to her stack of files and coffee.

When he reaches the room, Eames hesitates outside the door, steeling himself, trying to make his expression nonchalant and light, but deep inside the fear solidifies in a huge dreadful lump, not helped at all by the scents of rubbing alcohol and plastic.

There are two beds here, and one is empty. The other holds a tiny withered doll of a woman, and Eames moves closer as the morning sunshine coming through the vertical blinds makes warm bright stripes across the tiled floor. He stares at her, studies her for a long moment.

She's gotten smaller, Eames thinks. Granny Jane's curls are bedraggled and damp, and her little face looks wan under the oxygen feed in her nose. He hesitates, and in that moment, she opens her bleary blue eyes and looks at him.

"Oh you boy," she croaks, and the dimples appear on her cheeks, reminding Eames a bit of Arthur's. "Finally comin' round to see me, eh?"

"Soon as I could," Eames rumbles in soulful honesty. He ambles forward and grabs a chair, dragging it over to her bedside. Her small hand is cool but surprisingly strong; Granny Jane grips his and squeezes.

"Boy, stop looking at me as if I'm ready to be laid out," she whispers to him. "This is nothing but my winter cold. I'll be fine."

"You will," Eames nods, settling into the chair lightly, like a cat. Granny Jane waits until he's comfortable, just watching him. She keeps her hand in his, and when Eames is relaxed, she narrows her gaze playfully.

"You're shaggy as my parlor rug, you are, and peaky-looking, pet. You haven't been in the nick in one of those far-off places, have you?"

Eames coughs to cover his surprise. "Maybe. Part of the time, anyway. But it's over now, and I'm here. Where's mum? And Vi?"

"They've been round a few times," Granny Jane murmured tiredly. "Nasty cats, the pair of them chattering away on those cells of theirs."

The conversation drifts through family gossip and fact; Eames is always amused at how sharp his grandmother is in her opinions, and how refreshing it is to hear her matter-of-fact assessments about everyone.

" . . . and of course Nicola is still pretending she's not still downing all those pills, but you can hear her purse rattling whenever she walks; honestly, the girl's got enough to open a pharmacy in that bag of hers,"Granny murmurs sadly. "Can't help but wonder where it all went wrong, pet. It's almost better your granddad isn't around to see our family now."

Before Eames can say anything, they both hear the harsh tapping of high heels coming down the hall. He gives his Granny's hand a squeeze and she squeezes back, the pair of them sharing a moment of comfort.

Eames looks up as a florid-faced woman in stylish clothes just a little too tight saunters into the room. She shoots him a surprised stare that immediately morphs into distaste as she looks him up and down.

"Well. You took your fucking time getting here now, didn't you? Gran could have been dead fifteen times over while you were off somewhere with some tart . . . or pansy."

"Language, Vi," Granny Jane growls, and begins coughing. Eames sets his teeth and flashes a chilly smile up at his aunt.

"Missed you too," he murmurs and turns back to hand Granny a tissue from the nightstand.

"It's ridiculous," Vi snaps, giving Eames a hateful gaze. "The way you favor him, and all for what? He disappears for months at a time, never bothers to come for the holidays, sleeps with God knows who . . . or what."

"Enough," Granny manages softly. "You shut it, Vi; he's a grown man and can do as he likes."

"I think we all know that," Vi gets in nastily before pacing to the foot of the bed and looking at the various monitors. "In any case it doesn't matter since you'll be coming home with me anyway. And don't you start," she warns Eames, pointing a talon-like nail at his scowl. "You may be her favorite and in charge of her legal affairs, but you don't have any sort of a permanent residence, Julian. Mum needs stability. She needs care."

"I'm going back to my own home, thank you very much!" Granny Jane announces in a croak. "The very idea! I'm not going to be shoved in with Nicola, or Davey and Trev!"

"Not in my lifetime," Eames agrees in a polite tone of pure steel. He rises up to his full height, but it doesn't intimidate Vi, who gives him a cold and slightly smug smile of her own.

"No fixed address, Julian. That's sure as hell not going to fly with National Health, believe me, sweetie."