He could feel Arthur stir when he slid out of bed to pull on his pants. Eames leaned back to kiss his sleepy mouth and whisper, "Be right back," before padding barefoot to the kitchen. He drank a glass of water in the dark, then refilled it, his fingers twitching, thinking. He brought the glass back with him and paused for a moment in the doorway to take in the sight of a thoroughly rumpled Arthur tangled in bedsheets and looking delightfully debauched. Christ, he had missed this man. He had ached for him with every fiber of his soul, and he couldn't even put a name or face to what it was he was longing for. And yet, he knew. Somehow, it had been Arthur all along.

He rubbed Arthur's arm. "Hey, darling, wake up for a moment, yeah?" When Arthur blinked a bleary eye at him, he offered the water and Arthur sat up, reluctantly, to drink. Eames watched his throat work, the way he always did when Arthur drank anything and realized he didn't have to do that anymore. He could kiss Arthur right now if he wanted to. And he did.

"Mmph!" Arthur grunted as Eames pressed himself into the space between Arthur's shoulder and jaw, licking little kisses along the column of his throat.

"Ok, did you want me to drink the water or not drink the water because I'm getting some mixed signals here," Arthur grumbled, but Eames could hear his smile. He pressed himself into the sleepy warmth of Arthur's normally starched and untouchable chest dropping kisses everywhere he could reach just because he could.

"Darling?" he said in between lazy kisses along Arthur's clavicle.

"Mmm?" Arthur leaned into the kisses, glass forgotten in his hand.

"I hate to break up the afterglow, but I do have a question."

"Mmmmhm."

"How did Paul get inside your house? And how did he even know where your house was? Because you and I know that PI thing was a line of crap."

He felt Arthur stiffen beside him, jerking upright and sloshing him with water.

"Ok, touché," Eames muttered, swiping at the droplets.

"Oh, fuck, I don't...you don't think someone sent him, do you?"

Eames stilled, looking Arthur in the eye. "Do you?" he asked seriously.

Eames could see Arthur thinking furiously, that adorable frown between his eyebrows. He got up, slapped the glass on the bedside table and pulled on his trousers. He grabbed Rhonda and went to check the rest of the house. Eames sat up against the headboard waiting for him to return and feeling strangely calm about the whole thing. When Arthur came back a few minutes later looking unsettled, he was still trying to memorize the picture of a half-naked Arthur with sex hair, holding a gun, and strafing out of the bedroom.

"The front door is unlocked but nothing is missing," he reported, moments later. "I guess I'd better change the locks anyway. I don't even have any other security on the place because I'm never here." He placed his gun on the table next to the glass. "Eames, how did he find me? No one finds me, I find them."

"Did you find him?"

Arthur frowned. "What do you mean?"

"When you first met. Did you approach him or did he approach you?"

"He...fuck, you think he was casing me?! What the hell for?! It's not like I..." Understanding dawned across his face, then horror. "Oh, God. I..."

Arthur spun and Eames could hear the front door open and close. He laced his fingers over his belly and waited. Arthur burst back in looking stricken.

"He took them. The PASIVs, they were in the car and he broke the window and FUCK! I can't believe I didn't...first the curtains and I still didn't even...god DAMN it!" He plowed his hands through his hair and sat on the edge of the bed. He looked a little green.

Eames got up and went to the pile of clothing on the floor and came back with his trousers. He reached into the pocket and dropped a wallet in Arthur's lap before pulling them on.

"See what you can do with that."

Arthur flipped through the wallet, pulling out cards. "Where did you get this?"

Eames shrugged. "When you wear loose jeans and push past me whilst being a prick, you're basically begging for it. "

Arthur quirked an eyebrow at him. "You think those jeans were loose?"

Eames gave him a look. "Daring, have you seen your trousers?"

Arthur examined the wallet again. "Is it wrong that I find this extremely hot?"

"Probably. "

"He took my laptop too, but I'd wiped everything before we went to the hospital, so he won't get anything from there," Arthur said, ignoring him. "Jesus fuck, I can't believe I did this. And all because I wanted to get laid." He shook his head. "If anyone knew..."

"They wouldn't believe it anyway," Eames cut in smoothly. "We will get them back, Arthur."

"Eames...I slept with him."

"I'd assumed," Eames said wryly.

"How could I have...and the whole time he was here for the fucking PASIV. He just didn't know where it was."

"Yes, we've hopefully established that he's a giant wanker and you'd much rather be with me."

Arthur's eyes snapped to his. "Of course I would. I..." he blushed. Arthur blushed. "I did before."

"You did what before?" Eames asked, distracted by the adorable flush that was spreading down Arthur's neck.

Arthur fidgeted. He fidgeted! "Want to be with you."

Eames took a moment to let that process. Lord, this man was going to kill him. "You don't say! And when did all this wanting start?"

Arthur groaned. "Do we have to do this right now?"

"Yes, we absolutely do. Specificity, darling."

Arthur leaned his head back and sighed at the ceiling. "Fuck. Fine, since Paris."

Eames felt something wither in his chest, just a bit. "Oh. Right. Well, I suppose you'd technically broken up, though, so I don't think you have anything to-"

Arthur looked at him, confused. "Not that Paris. The first time we were in Paris."

"The first time we...? Darling, that was our second job together."

Now Arthur really did blush, all the way to his hairline. He looked at the wallet in his lap, turning it over and over. "Yeah...well."

Eames felt something click inside himself, like a dislocated shoulder popping back into place, a flood of relief where previously there had only been pressure. "Well, I suppose I wouldn't be out of line then when I say, 'I win'." He grinned at Arthur's puzzled look. "I've wanted you from the first job."

"The first...you have?!"

"Darling, again. Have you seen your trousers?" he teased.

Arthur dropped his head on Eames's chest, groaning. "Ugh, think of all the time we wasted. A thousand nights in two separate hotel rooms."

"I know, pet. Just think of all the money we could have saved."

Arthur punched him in the arm.

"Ow," he laughed. "Darling, if you keep that up, I-" he broke off and they both froze at the sound of a knock on the front door.

Eames grabbed the gun from the table and leveled it over Arthur's shoulder. "Who is it?" he shouted.

The air exploded with gunfire, the staccato of automatic rounds hitting the house front. The rounds were tearing through the windows and drywall and Eames wrapped both arms around Arthur and rolled them twice, landing on his back on the far side of the bed.

"Window! Neighbors! 30 yards southwest!" Arthur yelled in his ear. "On 3!" Eames nodded. "1, 2, 3!"

Together they surged up and the hit the window at the same time, shattering the glass outward and they dropped into a roll simultaneously. Eames saw more than felt blood oozing from a cut somewhere on his shoulder but they were up and running before he could do more than switch the gun to his other hand. The gunfire rattled on and they crouched as low as they could, heading straight for the house Arthur had indicated.

They skidded behind an old sky blue Impala parked in the driveway, panting, and Arthur pulled open the driver's side door, leaning under the steering wheel. Eames covered him.

"Bloody hell! Is that a fucking Gatling gun?! Who the fuck is your ex-boyfriend, darling?"

Arthur ignored him, pulling wires from the steering column and working on stripping them.

"Holy shit, can you actually hotwire a car?"

Arthur ignored him.

"Well, that's very handy."

"Oh, yes, I am a font of resourcefulness. I'm out here with nothing, no shirt, no shoes, and 15 bullets between the two of us-THERE! Get in." Arthur ducked into the driver's side and Eames scrambled into the back.

"Go, go, go," he called up and Arthur didn't even wait for the final 'go' before he was peeling out of the driveway and speeding away from the gunfire that still hadn't paused.

"Christ," Eames said, covering them out the back window. "Didn't you check him out?"

"He wasn't a mark, I was just fucking him!"

"Arthur! Did you or didn't you?"

"Of course I did, he checked out fine!" He turned corners seemingly at random and far too fast. "I might not have dug that hard, though," he said, more quietly.

"And all that that implies," Eames muttered under his breath. To Arthur, he said, "We need to get-"

"Clothing, security, supplies, transportation. On it," he said tersely. He jerked the wheel harshly and before Eames knew what was happening, Arthur had pulled into the parking lot of a 24-hour drugstore, the fluorescent light garish against the pavement. Arthur turned to look at Eames and something flashed over his face before it was quickly replaced with the smooth and calm professionalism that Eames had come to know so very well. "You're bleeding."

Eames looked at his shoulder and saw the trail of blood all the way down to his fingers and smeared onto the white leather behind him. "Bollocks," he whispered to himself. He'd forgotten.

"Stay here. The car has to stay running. You ok to fire if you need to?"

"Yes, yes, just go."

Arthur nodded curtly and grabbed Paul's wallet off the seat before heading inside. Luckily, it was LA in the middle of the night, so no shirt and no shoes didn't raise many eyebrows. Eames scanned the darkness mercilessly and tried not to think about anything except covering Arthur as he walked with a studied nonchalance to and from the store.

Back in the car, he threw a bag to Eames and slid on a plain blue t-shirt and a pair of sandals. Eames opened the supplies and started cleaning and bandaging his shoulder before swiping ineffectively at the blood on the car seat. Arthur pulled away, the old car coughing and wheezing the whole time.

"Darling?"

"Mm."

"This was the only shirt they had, was it?" he asked, holding up the shirt apparently made out of an American flag.

Arthur met his eyes in the rearview mirror. "Yep."

Eames glared. "I don't believe you."

"I don't know what you're complaining about," Arthur said as Eames smoothed the shirt over his chest and discovered it was, at least, one size too small. "I think God is blessing America more already."

"Ha bloody ha."