Arthur needed to move, he needed his hands and mind busy, he needed to get out. He needed to go. Find Sergio's team, hunt them down, beat them down. His hands shook as he re-folded a shirt, corners precise and space maximized. His collar felt too tight and he yanked at the tie strangling him, sweat beading his brow and neck. On slushy knees, he crossed the room to rip jackets off hangers and socks out of the drawer, the guest room Eames had cleared out for him feeling more lived in than he realized as he tried to fit everything back into a case.

Arthur sensed movement behind him and turned to see Eames staring at him, a mug of tea in his hand, his socks soft on the floor. He looked surprised and confused as he took in Arthur's suitcase open on the bed, and the drawers all pulled out. His face hardened as he met Arthur's gaze.

"So that's it, then?" Eames asked. "You're done?"

"Done with what?" Arthur frowned. "This isn't a job. I'm not obligated to stay here."

Hurt flashed on Eames' face, and a tiny voice in his head reminded him that Eames could be trying to manipulate him, and Arthur hated that voice with everything he had. Eames stared at the floorboards, a muscle in his jaw clenching.

"Of course you're not, Arthur," Eames said quietly. "But I was sort of hoping you could stop treating this like a job."

Arthur stiffened and opened his mouth to respond, but then Eames muttered, "Especially after we…" and trailed off into his mug.

Arthur frowned, blinking. "What? After we what? Dreamed together? Or figured out the PASIV worked?"

It was Eames' turn to look confused. "No! After we…" He gestured to the bedroom, where they'd had sex the night before, wet open mouths panting against each other, both of them sweating and taut. Eames' bulk pressed against him as they frotted together, and lust and stupid inconsiderate memories of idiotic sap had shorted out all reason as Eames groaned into his neck. Arthur had been so caught up, he followed right along behind him, wrapping his agile fingers around both of them and tipping them both into simultaneous orgasms. Eames' choked sound was exactly as Arthur had remembered, and when Eames collapsed against him and pressed slack kisses into his neck afterward, Arthur felt a ridiculous tightening of his throat. Arthur swallowed through it and cleaned up as Eames melted into the pillows, a contented little smile on his face.

Now, with Eames' eyes on his tea, Arthur pushed those thoughts out of his head again. "That was just sex, Eames."

He regretted saying it immediately. Eames' head snapped up and his eyes flared, and Arthur stopped folding clothes. "Look, we're not 17 anymore," Arthur said. "Sex is not a magical bridge that takes a relationship to the next level. I'm aware that I have..." he paused, picking up a tie and re-rolling it. "I might have trust issues, but I can't just jump back into it like you can."

"So you're, what? Leaving? I've got to say, Arthur, I didn't peg you for a quitter. Or I expected you to at least try before you walked out."

Arthur scowled at him, indignation keeping his back ramrod straight. "Sergio and his team are still out there. I had a life, and priorities, before you waltzed in. Was I supposed to drop those and take up fucking you full time instead?"

Eames set down his mug on the dresser and faced Arthur, bland and cool. "No, of course not, Arthur. That was just sex."

Arthur winced. "That's not—"

"No, you're absolutely right and your low opinion of me is well-earned. Because I'm a liar, right? But Arthur," he said. "I haven't lied to you."

And suddenly the Eames in front of him was 17 years old again, slim and so full of energy he practically shimmered. He was looking at Arthur with the same eyes that broke the news that his parents were moving back to England. Usually Eames was the strong one, but that night, Arthur had been the one to comfort him. He'd collapsed in on himself and buried his face in his hands, refusing to come up until Arthur had inserted himself into the circle of Eames' arms and held him until he stopped shaking. After that, it was Eames making light of it, reminding him of their new texting capabilities and promising how much Arthur would love London when he came to visit. But that first night, Arthur had felt shaken by the depth of Eames' emotions and the well of hopelessness in him which seemed bottomless when Arthur stood at the lip and looked down.

And now Arthur was standing on the edge again, looking at him. "I… Eames, I'm—"

Eames looked away, his lips pressed into a harsh line. "This was my mistake, Arthur. I obviously misread the situation. I had no idea your feelings for me had changed so completely."

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut as the lid he'd shoved on his box of Eames feelings flew open. God damn Eames, he thought, but mostly Arthur was furious with himself. Furious with how, after 12 years, Eames could still make him feel like he couldn't keep up, couldn't quite catch his breath. Even now, with Eames standing in front of him, he wanted so much. Every relationship Arthur had been in, every date he'd ever been on, deep down he'd been hoping to find something resembling the puppy love they'd had. He wanted the way he was swept under by Eames, and everything he was, and the promise of everything they could have together. God, he wanted that again. To be so sure, and yet so vulnerable again...

Arthur sagged, the tie in his hands falling into the open suitcase. "God damn it, Eames," he whispered. "That's not true. That's not true and it's not fair. I loved you so fucking much it hurt."

"I remember you saying so." Eames' voice was brittle, like if Arthur wasn't careful it would shatter.

But Arthur wasn't a fucking child anymore, and anyone would tell you the same thing. Solidified even more by being someone in the dream business, Arthur knew that puppy love wasn't real. It had the hazy, fuzzy quality of a fantasy, and he'd lived long enough to know what real relationships were like. They were difficult, and full of compromise, and in his experience usually brief, brought entirely on himself because in the back of his mind, he was hoping for more of what he knew you only got one of. Well. He supposed there was, after all, a reason you didn't forget your first.

"I did more than just say it," Arthur said defensively. "You act like you were the one who got left behind. But you didn't. You were gone, and I was stuck there, alone, in that school full of assholes who though pounding on sad gay kids was a good time. I loved you until I couldn't anymore because the hurt was fucking real, Eames. And I had to protect myself."

"And that's my fault, eh? I chose to up and leave you, needing nothing in my life but a sweatshirt and a few texts, just sick of it all and waiting for you to move on. Is that it?"

Arthur pressed his lips together. "Well, it wasn't my fault you left either."

Eames threw his hands up in frustration. "Who gives a shit about fault, Arthur? Look at what you have now! Look what's in front of you!"

Arthur refused to glance around the room he'd thought of as 'his' or at the suitcase he'd filled to the brim trying to empty it. Eames stood in front of him, angry and hurt, and Arthur realized he was right. Jesus Christ, he was right, and Arthur was a dumbass. What was the point of confounding fate if you weren't going to pick up what it dropped in your lap?

"Are you really going to walk away?" Eames asked. "After all this time, all the thousand scenarios that could have played out, and all of them leading us to this moment? You're going to chuck it all in the bin? And over what, my parents making me get on a plane?"

"No," Arthur said softly to the floor, wondering at his own stupidity.

"You're going to choose not to trust me, because make no mistake darling, that's what you're doing, instead of letting me help you, letting me be with you?"

"No," Arthur said again, louder this time.

"Because if you are," Eames said, shouting now, "then I'm done, Arthur."

"I'm not."

What Arthur had been saying seemed to finally sink in, and Eames stared at him, hands on his hips, nostrils flaring.

"I'm not," Arthur said again. "Please, don't be done."

Eames shifted his weight, still fuming, lips pursed.

"Let me try again," Arthur said calmly, despite his thundering heart. "I… I promise to try harder."

"Good," Eames spat. "Because I don't know how much harder I can try."

Arthur shook his head. "You don't have to. You've never had to." He shrugged weakly. "I don't think I've ever stopped being in love with you."

"Yeah?" Eames said, his voice still harsh and irate. "Well, good. Because I never did either."

Arthur's lips ticked up at the huffy admission, still so full of righteous anger, until he couldn't hold back a smile.

"Stop packing that fucking suitcase and get over here," Eames demanded, but his voice cracked and Arthur knew he wasn't mad anymore. Maybe he never had been. Maybe he'd been just as scared as Arthur.

Arthur stepped into his arms, relief wrapping around him along with Eames' scent. He held on, tighter than could possibly be comfortable, but Eames just held him back. He turned his face to bury it against Eames' neck, and heard the unmistakable sound of a sniff being muffled against his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Arthur whispered.

"What are you trying to do to me, huh?" Eames muttered. "Break me? Stop fucking leaving."

"I won't," Arthur promised. "I'm sorry. I thought if I…" Then he swallowed, pushing his stupid brain aside. Who could have predicted this? He'd spent so long running away, he hadn't recognized home when he got there. "I'm sorry. I love you, Eames."

The words felt like they couldn't contain everything he was feeling, but Eames didn't seem to notice. He just pulled back far enough to kiss Arthur, and Arthur touched his tear-streaked cheeks. "I love you," he whispered again.

Eames hiccuped a sob and kissed him harder, walking him backwards. When Arthur's legs hit the bed, Eames stopped long enough to toss his suitcase to the floor with a little more force than was necessary, before pressing him into the mattress.

He breathed into Arthur's skin again, mouthing words he couldn't hear, and this time when they came together, it was soft and sweet and achingly perfect. It was their first attempt, and every encounter they'd had since then, and none of them at all. Arthur ripped the lid off the box inside him, letting everything spill out of his eyes and his mouth and his hands, and Eames drank it all up, sipping with his lips and his whole body.

The twin bed beneath them sang its displeasure, and there was an annoyed thumping from the floor beneath them, and they giggled into each other's mouths, refusing to stop, not having to stop, laughing at the differences the years had gifted them.

They lay together afterwards, sweat sticking their skin together uncomfortably and the bed nowhere near big enough to hold them both for long, and Arthur thought nothing had felt more right. Fate, that fickle bitch, might have been in his corner the whole time. He pressed a kiss to Eames' shoulder, right on the raised line of his scar, whispered, "I'm not going anywhere," and got up to make him a new cup of tea.

"Sergio is in Hong Kong," Arthur muttered as Eames exited the shower the next morning.

Eames paused, one towel rubbing his hair and another around his hips. "Hong Kong? What the bloody hell for?"

Arthur shrugged. "Looks like he's laying fairly low. Shouldn't be too hard to track down once we land." Eames nodded but he was still frowning. "What?" Arthur asked.

"Nothing. It's just odd. He told me once he hated Hong Kong. When are we leaving?"

Arthur looked at his watch. "There's a flight in four hours if we can make it, otherwise we wait until early tomorrow morning."

Eames nodded. "I'll pack up. Where's he staying?"

Arthur clicked some more. "He checked into a motel two days ago in the north part of the city."

Eames shifted. "Darling, far be it from me to tell you how to do this, but are you sure? I've never known Sergio to stay somewhere that doesn't have 24-hour room service and 2400 thread count sheets."

Arthur straightened and frowned, then looked at his computer screen again. "Um. Give me a moment to double-check something."

It was more than a moment. Arthur worked through their flight, and the next day's before Eames finally pulled his laptop away and shut it, despite Arthur's outraged protest.

"Come on, let's get out of the flat for a bit. You've been locked in here for nearly two days pouring your heart and soul into whatever it is you're doing. What say we pour some heart and soul back into you, hmm?"

A small, fanatic part of Arthur told him that he needed to finish this, just five more minutes, please, but the bigger part of him didn't want to even look at the laptop screen for another thirty seconds more and Eames could drop him in the middle of an iceberg for all he cared. Arthur shrugged into his jacket and followed Eames down the stairs.

"Where are we going?" Arthur asked, watching Eames pay for two gelatos from the cart vendor on the corner.

Eames handed him one, hazelnut, and kept the stracciatella for himself. "You've got ten blocks to eat that, Arthur. Can't take it inside."

"Eames."

Eames smirked around his mouthful of frozen treat. "When I was a shy, retiring lad of 18—"

Arthur snorted.

" —I had very few friends, what with being moved about from place to place every few years, and I would find myself wandering the neighborhood, hoping some nice older bloke would find me and take pity on me."

"I bet."

"Most of the time, I ended up at the park, down that way," Eames gestured, "where I found a few not-so-nice blokes who were good at finding trouble. But every once in a while, I took the road less traveled." His hand brushed Arthur's as he brought it back down and Arthur wanted to take it, but didn't.

"And that has made all the difference?"

Eames hummed, sinful lips wrapped around his food and making Arthur avert his gaze.

"I don't quite know about that. I did spend an awful lot of time in the park, you see. But I want to share this place with you, Arthur. It's magical, truly. And it's important to me that if you see only one place while you're in my London, it's this one."

"Mm hmm," Arthur said. "And you sure there's not another bird you're aiming for while we're there?"

Eames grinned at him, smug as anything. "We shall see. Depends on my timing, doesn't it."

The gallery was small, and set in what used to be a residence, but the inside was breathtaking. The man at the front greeted Eames by name and then discreetly left them alone to wander among the art.

"Wow," Arthur breathed over one painting in particular, eyes wide. "This is incredible, Eames."

Eames nodded and murmured what he knew about that particular artist, a young Ukranian man Vasily Ermilov, and about when it was painted. Arthur stared at the work in silence. He could see what Eames liked about this place. The closeness of the room and the careful display of each piece made the art feel very intimate. He glanced at Eames out of the corner of his eye.

The few other patrons milled around them, politely shuffling aside to share the space as they moved from piece to piece. Arthur liked it, and he could practically see Eames' excitement radiating from him, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Alright, Eames," Arthur asked, once they'd made the loop once, "what's the real reason you brought me here?"

Eames shook his head. "You really do have trust issues, darling. I fell in love with art here. Isn't that a good enough reason to bring you?"

"Yes," Arthur agreed, "but you generally have more than one reason for doing things. It's awfully hard to trust the reasons that you give me while I'm waiting for the real one to come to light."

"And how do you know this first one isn't the real one? Maybe the other reasons aren't as compelling."

Arthur frowned at the painting they'd ended up back in front of, the Ermilov. He studied the top-down perspective of a room, seemingly half-finished but with colorful emphasis on certain parts. Surely all the parts were important, not just the highlighted ones?

"Why can't I have all of them?" he hedged.

"Arthur," Eames said, his hand on Arthur's arm, turning him to see his face. "What are you really asking?"

Arthur steeled himself and licked his lips. "Why did you invite me to London?" he asked, trying to push down the queasiness that told him it was at least two birds, if not more. "I want to know all the reasons, Eames."

"Oh," Eames said, smiling, "that's easy. I invited you because I have been in love with you for over a decade and I wanted to be with you. I wanted to see if I could convince you to love me back."

Arthur blinked, amazed at how effortlessly it rolled off Eames' tongue, like it cost him nothing, when last night his honesty had felt like ripping open an old wound. A warmth spread from his chest, and he was surprised at himself at how much it meant to hear it back.

"And, of course," Eames continued with a wink, "it didn't hurt that you could build a PASIV."

And just like that, the floor fell out from under him. "What?"

"Well, I didn't know that at the time, did I? I was planning on knicking one, first chance. Maybe even the one Sergio stole. But then you, brilliant man that you are, said you can build one, and," Eames spread his hands, "now here we are, sightseeing. Better than planned."

Arthur hoped his face was scowling instead of breaking into pieces. "Wow. That's a shit thing to say to someone. 'I'm glad you're with me, it really worked out better for me than I planned?'"

But Eames just smirked at him, unhurt by Arthur's barbs and shook his head. Arthur really wanted to punch the smirk off of him. "Darling, you asked for every reason. You're not going to believe I hadn't at least thought it. Besides," he said, reaching for Arthur's hand which had curled into a fist all on its own, and brought it to his lips, "the first reason was the most compelling."

He turned Arthur's fist over and kissed his fingers, light brushes of his mouth that made Arthur's hand unclench, despite his annoyance. After all, he'd only said what Arthur had already suspected. He hadn't lied to him.

Eames uncurled his fingers, one by one, kissing his fingertips gently in turn. "I certainly hope you will not ask me to give you absolutely every reason behind my decisions, forever. Because that would be unrealistic. However, I also can't imagine you accepting my first reason to be the absolute only reason either. We're both old enough to know there are no absolutes in life."

He kissed Arthur's palm, and Arthur swallowed, the frustration in his stomach feeling an awful lot like a lump of fear in his throat at the same time. "You have to roll with the punches," Eames continued. "There are no fool-proof plans, and that's okay." He was holding Arthur's hand, looking into his eyes. "Because sometimes life hands you something completely unexpected, out of the blue, and you realize it's better than you thought you'd ever get."

Arthur blinked at Eames' speech, but he was still wary in a way Eames' calm seemed to irritate. "And what happens," Arthur asked, taking his hand back, "if life decides to hand you something new? You just going to roll those punches over instead?"

Eames grinned at his wording but didn't take the bait. "Life did hand me something new, Arthur. It handed me all kinds of new things, one after the other. But look where I am now. Here. With you."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean. What if someone more interesting struts by?"

Eames raised an eyebrow. "You want an absolute, darling? You and your trust issues. What do you want, a promise for forever and ever? Do you want me to propose to you, right here, right now, in front of all these people?"

"No, you asshole, I—"

But Eames had already dropped to one knee and reached for his pocket.

"Arthur, darling," Eames said, his voice warm and soft, "would you marry me?"

The ring was platinum, simple and solid, and had been in his pocket all along. Arthur's lungs wouldn't work.

"Eames… is this... am I dreaming?"

Eames' grin was blinding. "If you are, you should dream a little bigger."

"No," Arthur grinned shakily, "no, this is perfect."

"Eames, come on!" Arthur hollered from the front room. "The kid's going to be in college before we get there at this rate."

"It's not even born yet," Eames muttered, "I just can't get this bloody thing…"

Arthur poked his head in the bathroom to see Eames, red-faced and swearing, struggling to take the simple, platinum ring off his finger.

Arthur felt his lips twitch. "Here," he said, taking Eames' hand in his. "You put on muscle. I'll get it resized next week." Then, before Eames could protest, he put Eames' finger in his mouth. Eames got very still as Arthur's tongue circled the metal circle, soothing the skin where Eames had been pulling on it. Hooking his teeth over the edge of the ring, he worked it off the spit-slickened finger.

"Mmm," Eames rumbled, his pupils dilated as he watched Arthur take the newly-freed ring out of his mouth. "Now I'm not letting you go anywhere but back to bed."

Arthur might have smirked. He set the ring on the bedside table next to his own and handed Eames his jacket. "Maybe we need to let the rings go."

Eames paused in swinging the jacket around his broad shoulders. "Darling!"

His hurt tone made Arthur pause and smile at him fondly. "I know. Maybe we just need something instead of rings."

Eames followed him out the door. "Matching totems?"

"I think Dom would figure that out."

"Oh, I don't know, darling. Would he?"

Arthur considered but then shook his head. "Come on, we're going to be late."

Eames laughed out loud, head thrown back, openly joyous. Arthur watched, because he could still be amazed by something like that.

"Late?" Eames laughed. "Really? Got the sprog's delivery all scheduled out now, have you?" He shook his head fondly. "I really want to live in a world where the only possibilities are the ones you've already planned for."

Arthur spun and slammed Eames against the wall in the hallway, face inches from his own. "You do," Arthur said, and then kissed him. Eames made a pleased, surprised sound into his mouth and then kissed him back, hands blatantly groping his ass and not being sorry about it.

"I love you," Arthur said. Eames grinned at him.

"I know, darling. I've always known."

Arthur snorted. "I wish I'd always known."

"Oh, Arthur," Eames said, tilting his head, "I think you knew. You just didn't trust it."

"Yeah," Arthur said, resting their foreheads together. "Silly me. Waiting on absolutes."

"So silly," Eames agreed, fondly. "Luckily, fate stepped in at just the right moment."

"Yes," Arthur agreed, giving him one last peck on the lips. "Luckily."