Arthur woke up feeling fuzzy and disoriented, the light outside his curtains telling him it was far too early to be awake. But his limbs felt oddly achy and— oh. Shit.

"Eames?" He sat straight up, everything rushing back to him, but the only sign he hadn't hallucinated last night was a half-drunk glass of water on the nightstand.

"Ah, fuck," Arthur muttered to himself. Fuck. Of course Eames was gone. Well, so much for a summer fling. More like a summer one night stand. He always did this, god fucking damn it, he was such a screw up. He was definitely going to have to find a new vet for Frank, someone who wasn't going to look at him like he was insane when he brought in a goldfish. Oh shit, Frank.

Arthur pulled on a pair of gym shorts to check on him.

"Morning, Frank, how'd you make out last night? Better than me, I hope," he mumbled, reaching for the fish food.

"Aw, now," the voice behind him said, making him jump. "It wasn't so bad, was it, pet?"

Arthur spun to see Eames handing him a mug of steaming coffee with a mischievous look. "Jesus fucking Christ," Arthur gusted. "You scared the shit out of me." He took the mug, feeling his face heat abysmally. "I thought you'd left."

Eames was wearing his boxer briefs and his unbuttoned shirt, and he looked good enough to eat. He raised an amused eyebrow at Arthur and sipped his own mug. "Left? After you promised to respect me again in the morning?" He gave him a reproachful look. "Who in their right mind would do that?"

Arthur ducked his head, face flaming, and grinned. "Yeah, well."

Eames turned. "Your trousers were buzzing, so I grabbed your mobile for you." He passed it over. "Who is 'The Knob'? Anyone I should be jealous of?"

"Oh," Arthur said, taking it. "That's my boss. Jesus, what time is it?" he said, checking his watch. "I'd better call him back. I'll just…"

"Go," Eames said, taking the mug back. "Must be important."

"It better be," Arthur muttered, escaping into the living room.

"Arthur!" came Dom's voice before it had finished ringing. "How's it going? Listen, I've got great news."

"Oh?"

"Old Man Fischer died!"

"... Oh," Arthur croaked out. "God, Dom…"

"I know! Which means Robert will get to move up, and I talked to Browning today, and he says I'm a shoo-in for Robert's position."

Arthur sat on the couch. "Uh, wow. Dom. That's, that's great. Great news. Congratulations."

"Bet your ass. I'm taking the day off, you're taking the day off, we're all taking the day off. Hey, do you want to get drinks tonight?"

"Oh, um," Arthur stuttered into the phone. The phone case creaked in his hand and he unclenched his fingers. "I don't know if I—"

"Oh, hey, you know what, I'm getting a call. Raincheck on those drinks, 'kay? After all, I should probably wait until they offer it to me, hahahaha!"

"Heh. Right."

"Perfect, Arthur, you're the b—"

The call ended and Arthur looked at the phone in his hand.

"Everything alright, darling?"

Arthur turned to see Eames, pants on but shirt still unbuttoned, thick hands cradling his mug. "What?"

"Some sort of architect emergency?"

"Oh," Arthur said, remembering the phone in his hand and setting it carefully on the coffee table. "Not really. I guess I have the day off."

Eames made an interested hum around the rim of his mug. "Why do you sound miserable about that?"

Arthur swallowed and looked away and felt more than saw Eames come into the living room. When he settled onto the couch next to him, Arthur looked up into concerned eyes and felt it tumble out of him.

"It's just me being stupid, just because someone died, and I didn't even know him personally. But Dom was practically celebrating because it means his dream job opens up, and he's giving us all the day off, and I shouldn't be miserable, because it's not even someone I know, except…"

He stopped the flood of words with a grimace and Eames pressed his knee into Arthur's.

"Except… it reminds you of your mum."

Arthur's breath rushed out of him. "Yeah. Yeah, it does."

Eames nodded. "It was recent then? That she passed?" Arthur nodded and Eames sucked his lip. Then a look of dawning realization hit him. "Wait. Not to change the subject here, but… was that…" he jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the bedroom. "Did we just have funeral sex?"

Arthur wasn't familiar with the term, but he could figure it out. Let loose after a funeral. Remind yourself you're alive. He had personally been hoping for something a little less specific, but if he was being honest with himself, was "funeral sex" more accurate? He held his hands up helplessly. "I…"

Eames sat back. "Oh. Oh, I see." For the first time, Eames appeared self-conscious and subdued. "You know," he said, standing and setting his mug on the coffee table, "I actually should probably get going. I've got a full day of patients today."

Arthur stood also. "Oh. Alright."

"Excuse me."

Arthur watched him stupidly as he gathered pieces of clothing from the floor and put them on. He didn't know what to do with his hands.

"Eames, I—"

"Say goodbye to Frank for me, would you, darling?" Eames said, his voice breezy as he attempted to smooth his hair down. "And you be sure to get ahold of me if you need anything."

For the fish? Or for himself?

"Yes," Arthur said, holding the door as Eames opened it. "I will."

Eames grinned at him, a crooked and lovely grin, except that it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Ta, then."

And then he was gone.

Arthur spent most of the day puttering around his apartment, stripping the bed, doing laundry, watching episodes he hadn't caught up on yet. It was loathsome.

"Frank," he said, head thunked onto the back of the couch. "What am I doing?" It had been a common question since Frank had shown up. "I should text him, right? Apologize. Except I didn't actually do anything wrong, so what am I apologizing for? I'm sorry I fucked you?" He glanced at the tank where Frank was bobbing gently. "Sorry. 'Had sex with you,'" he corrected. "But that's what people do, right? Even on regular dates. It's not because I was… it wasn't funeral sex. It was regular sex."

He took his phone out of the pocket of his shorts, typed out a message, and then deleted it. He paced until he ended up in front of Frank's tank. He took a seat. "So. No apologizing. Hell, maybe I should wait for him to text me. He's the one who left. Right?"

Frank's side was looking a little better in the week since he'd been to Eames' office the first time. He thought so anyway. He scrolled back through his conversation with Eames so he could compare it to the pictures he'd sent. Except he got caught up re-reading, and smiling, and his face heated, and before he knew it, he was trying to scroll to see what happened next, but there were no new messages and Arthur felt like he'd fucked up.

He checked his watch. "What's normal for a day-after-sex conversation, Frank?" No answer, so Arthur sighed and Googled it.

After thirty minutes, he shut his laptop. "Jesus, Frank, how is everyone on the internet an idiot?"

Frank agreed in his quiet way and Arthur smoothed his hair and started composing a text. It took several tries before he settled on:

—Frank wanted to know if he would ever see you again. I didn't know what to tell him.

Slightly funny, but not too funny. That was good, right? Then he snapped a picture of Frank, only slightly blurry, curled his bare toes into the carpet, and hit Send.

He watched the screen for a few moments to see if the read status changed, but nothing happened. So with another smoothing of his hair, he put down the phone and decided to change Frank's water.

He rolled Eames' possible responses around in his head while he worked. His reply, hoping he got one, might be frosty, or even outright angry. But Arthur was guessing, based on the way Eames' face had dropped into a blank mask, like shutters latching into place, that he'd be very, very, neutral.

Not sure, he would type, or maybe, You never can tell.

Christ, with a reply like that, Arthur might almost prefer one with some shouting shoved in between the lines. Only if you ring me after the next funeral. Maybe he'd even have exclamation points, and then Arthur would know where he stood.

Arthur could probably chalk it up to a stupid one-night stand and try to move on after that, but he didn't know where to go with neutral. The thought made his gut clench.

Neutral Eames meant there was no summer fling, no group texts, and definitely no more sex, funeral or otherwise. Neutral Eames meant it was over. And that thought made him feel like crawling back in bed and pulling the covers over his head for a month.

Arthur dried his hands and checked his phone. The message was still marked as unread, so that was something, wasn't it? Maybe Eames really did have a full day of patients. Maybe he'd dropped his phone in the toilet. And maybe Arthur was obsessing over this guy after one date what was WRONG with him?!

He went for a run.

He dragged himself back through his door just as the sun was going down, wrung out and sweating, and he was collapsing on the couch with a belly full of water before he remembered to check his phone. But when he did…

—Darling! I am appalled at you! Sending me racy pictures when you know I'm at work. There's not a stitch of clothing anywhere in that photo!

Then there was a fish emoji and an eggplant emoji. Arthur's jaw dropped as he stared and stared at the response. Eames was... teasing him. Eames was flirting with him! He read it again and it stayed the same. A shaky laugh burst out of him in relief.

"Frank, you are never going to believe what Eames is saying about you."

He hurried to type back, grateful he was even getting the chance.

—Normally I would attempt to protect Frank's honor, but I don't think he's going to be happy with a purely professional relationship, no matter how high your integrity may be.

He hit Send before he could second-guess himself and bounced his knee as he waited for the reply. The three dots of anxiety appeared and Arthur put his phone down to wipe his palms on his shorts.

—Your fish is exceedingly clever because naked pictures are definitely the way to my heart. Dinner Friday?

Arthur collapsed on the couch, a grin stretching almost painfully wide on his face. With a flutter in his stomach that felt a lot like hope, he replied.

—It's a date.

Arthur insisted on choosing the restaurant, and he'd be damned if they split the check this time. He pictured Eames' kind eyes while he took Frank's jar from him. Eames stroking his arm until he fell back to sleep. The happy thrill in the pit of his stomach whenever his phone buzzed. Eames deserved better than funeral sex or a summer fling.

So he wore his best suit, showed up early, tipped the maître d' generously, and held his breath. Eames deserved better than someone who fucked it up.

When Eames walked in, he was wearing an olive-colored jacket and two-tone shoes, and Arthur couldn't bring himself to be upset about it. He hadn't shaved, his hair had an unruly piece sticking up in the back, and he looked amazing. Arthur stood.

"Hi."

Eames smiled fondly at him. "Hello, darling. Is this a proper date, then?"

"It is," Arthur said, happy and nervous and relieved he'd even shown up. He grinned and held Eames' chair for him.

They fell into an easy rhythm as they ordered and ate, Eames asking Arthur questions about his interests and his history and sounding genuinely interested, and happy to answer Arthur's "what about you?"s. But Eames was sitting far back in his chair, legs crossed, and Arthur held a thread of apprehension in his shoulders, like there was a shoe left to drop.

"Arthur," Eames said during their after-dinner drinks, and Arthur tensed.

"Yes?"

"Can I ask you something?"

Arthur took a bracing swallow and said, "Yes, of course."

"I get the feeling that we had different ideas about what Monday was supposed to be." He was turning his glass on the tablecloth, casual and relaxed and his eyes sweeping the room as he talked.

Arthur didn't miss the way Eames avoided saying the word "date" and put his hands on the table. "Okay, look, I—"

"For example," Eames interrupted him, cool and pleasant, a small smile on his lips. "I thought, at the beginning of the night, you might not be interested in dating at all, so I was determined to take things slow. I mean, you said it yourself."

Arthur frowned his confusion.

"What did we really know about each other, hmm? Maybe you didn't want a relationship. It wasn't like I'd asked. So I decided just to be your friend, and see where we went from there."

Eames turned to Arthur now, his eyes intense and his pleasant facade gone. "But you didn't want a friend, did you? You just wanted a fuck."

Arthur swallowed.

"Did you even hear a single word I said all night long?"

Arthur gaped. "Of course I—"

"Did you have any intention of asking me out again?"

"Yes, Eames, I—"

"Did I in some way indicate to you that I was interested in something short-term? Is that what you think of me?"

"No, of—"

"Would you have cared what I wanted, if it had crossed your mind to think about it for two bloody seconds?"

Eames' voice had risen and they were getting looks from the other patrons.

Arthur licked his lips. "Okay," he said, holding up his hands, "you're right. Okay? You're absolutely right. I was a total asshole, and I'm sorry."

Eames didn't appear any calmer, eyes still narrowed and nostrils flared. His lips pressed together in a tight line and Arthur wished he could touch him.

"I know I fucked up," he admitted, "and that's why I wanted to do this right tonight. Not start over, necessarily, because I really liked Monday, and, you know, Monday night," he said, and Eames shot him an unimpressed look. "But I really like you, okay?"

Eames considered him, his jaw still set in stone, and then he raised his eyebrows and took a slow drink.

"I mean," Arthur said, "I like all of you. Not just the Monday night stuff."

Eames waited.

"At first," Arthur admitted slowly, "I thought I wanted, I don't know, a summer fling or something." He chanced a glance at Eames, who gave him a very unsurprised look. "But," Arthur insisted, "I was wrong. I don't want that. I, you know, actually like you."

Eames sighed and leaned forward to fold his hands on the table. "Well, I'm glad to hear that, Arthur," he said gravely. "Because I actually like you too."

Arthur grimaced. "I think that might be more than I deserve."

Eames looked down at the table and said softly, "Oh, I don't think that's true at all."

And Arthur didn't know what to say to that.

Eames considered him. "Can I ask you something else?"

"Yeah, sure," Arthur agreed. But he took a drink first.

"Have you seen the new Marvel movie, and would you like to go see it tomorrow?"

Arthur huffed a laugh of disbelief and said, "Really? You're going to let us start over?"

"No, Arthur. Not start over. But I would like to get to know you better."

"Uh, yeah, I would like that. Yes. Please."

Then Eames grinned at him, that same charming, wonky grin. "Brilliant. It's a date."

Arthur ducked his head in response, his own grin of relief on his face. Eames was a gentleman. Handsome, accomplished, flirty, and a gentleman. Arthur was sorry he hadn't seen it before.

They parted ways at the restaurant, a searing kiss before Arthur ducked into the waiting cab. Eames spun his keys on his finger as he watched Arthur drive away, a smug look on his face.

Arthur was determined not to fuck it up this time. He could be a gentleman. He could be more of a gentleman than Eames, if he wanted. He could out-gentleman anyone, anywhere. He'd be the best gentleman in the whole damn world.

Which, of course, meant Eames looked completely gorgeous when he showed up to the movie. Instead of the loose and casual slacks and button downs Arthur was expecting, Eames was wearing jeans that molded to his thighs, and a v-neck t-shirt showing off ink. Asshole.

So when Eames came up to greet him with a grin, Arthur blurted out, "I'm not going to sleep with you." He wasn't sure who he was trying to convince. A family nearby looked at them, the mother glaring.

Eames raised his eyebrows, an amused look on his face. "Hello to you too."

Arthur glanced around him and steered Eames toward the popcorn line. "I mean," he said, in a hushed tone, "I want to get to know you too. I care about other stuff than just that. So I just wanted to put out there that I wasn't going to, you know, try anything."

Eames looked even more like he was suppressing a laugh, and Arthur pushed down his frustration. He was trying to do the right thing, here.

"Very appreciated, darling," Eames said with a grin. "Would you like snacks?"

Arthur scowled the whole time Eames bought popcorn and led them to their seats, but as they settled, Eames grabbed his hand and nuzzled a kiss onto his neck, and Arthur blinked.

"What was that for?" he asked in surprise.

"You smell good," Eames said easily. "Popcorn?"

Arthur took a handful, still mindful of where Eames' lips had touched his skin. Just a kiss. For no reason. The lights dimmed and he chanced a glance at Eames. His profile was lit in the blue light from the screen and Arthur felt a clench in his chest. He studied the shape of Eames' nose, his chin, his throat.

Eames dragged his gaze from the previews and shot Arthur a concerned look. "Everything alright?" he whispered.

Arthur swallowed. "Yeah," he whispered back. "Yeah. I'm good."

He tried to focus on the screen and when the final credits rolled, he was fairly sure he could come up with the main plot points in an emergency, so he called it a success. Eames casually grabbed his hand as they left the lobby and led him down the sidewalk, strolling in the starlight and streetlights.

After a few blocks, Arthur asked, "So, where are we going, exactly?"

"Exactly?" Eames asked with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. He rattled off an address, and Arthur frowned.

"And what's there?"

"A slightly overpriced flat and a slightly nosy neighbor we're going to have to dodge," Eames said. "We're going back to mine, Arthur," he added at Arthur's continued frown. "It's not far, so I walked."

"But I said I wasn't going to try anything," Arthur protested, drawing to a halt.

Eames cocked his head. "And I heard you," he said. He tugged Arthur forward anyway. "Come on."

True to his word, Eames eased open the entrance and held a finger to his lips as he tiptoed exaggeratedly past the first door in the hallway. Arthur followed him, an amused smile on his lips, and watched him grimace as the door cracked anyway.

"Eames?" a cloud of gray hair in a house robe asked. "Are you back already?"

Eames widened his eyes at Arthur in a "what did I tell you?" gesture and smiled at the elderly woman. "Yes, Mrs. Fitz. Just heading in."

"Is this your young man? Well, let me look at him." She stepped out of her doorway and Arthur caught a glimpse of doilies and flower patterns behind her.

Eames cleared his throat and looked at Arthur apologetically. "Arthur, this is Mrs. Fitz, my neighbor and the love of my life."

She tsked Eames with a purse of her lips and took Arthur by the elbows. She peered up at him, and Arthur had the impression he was supposed to open his mouth so she could inspect his teeth.

"What is your last name, Arthur?"

"Cohen, ma'am."

"Are you Jewish?"

"My family is."

She gave him a look reminiscent of his mother. "But are you?"

He refused to look guilty as he admitted, "No, ma'am."

She hummed and looked him over, head to toe. "Are you all the way gay or one of those half and half people?"

Eames shifted uncomfortably and said, "Alright, that's—"

"All the way," Arthur said. "But those aren't the only two distinctions, as it happens."

She looked mildly intrigued but just patted him on the cheek. "Just like my Jimmy. Alright, then. Are you boys being safe? Sexually, I mean."

Eames closed his eyes. "Jesus Christ."

Arthur couldn't help but grin at the pink color Eames was turning. "Yes, ma'am."

She nodded with finality. "Good. Because I was alive in the '80s, you know, even if you weren't. And I remember reading—"

"OH-KAY," Eames announced, pulling Arthur away. "We're going to go now, thank you for embarrassing the shite out of me, Mrs. Fitz, and have a lovely evening, my dear."

He tugged Arthur down the hall, and Mrs. Fitz dropped Arthur a sly wink as soon as Eames wasn't looking. Arthur grinned so hard it hurt.

Eames struggled to get his door unlocked quickly, as if Mrs. Fitz was going to charge after them, and Arthur had to chew on the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Eames let out a sigh of relief when he crossed his own threshold, and Arthur had never wanted to kiss someone so badly.

And then a battering ram of excited fur hit him in the legs.

"Oof, oh, hi, Buzz," Arthur said, patting him as Buzz tried very hard to keep all four paws on the ground, his tongue out and his entire back end wagging.

"Come in," Eames said, closing the door behind them. "Make yourself at home. I'll just put the kettle on."

He ducked around a corner to what Arthur presumed was a kitchen and Buzz took the opportunity to put his paws on Arthur's chest and lick every scrap of skin Arthur had showing.

"Okay, okay, buddy," Arthur whispered. "Yes, you're a good boy, but I don't think Eames wants you to jump on people."

Buzz's tail moved double-time at the words 'good boy' and Arthur set him back down with a ruffle to his ears and only a furtive look at his suit. He looked around as Buzz sniffed the cuff of his pants with excitement. Eames' apartment was the opposite of his in every conceivable way. Squashy overstuffed furniture crowded the living room, and there were doors and hallways everywhere instead of his empty, open floor plan. Eames' furniture appeared to be brown and black, but it didn't matter because there were three colorful, crocheted blankets folded on the back of the couch and a sheet spread out on one half of the cushions, clearly marking Buzz's spot. A small table in the corner looked to serve as both dining room and office, and on every wall there was art. Framed prints and canvases thick with paint were side-by-side with crayon drawings of "ME AND UNKL EAMES" on lined notebook paper.

Arthur took off his jacket and hung it on the back of the office/dining room chair and took a seat on the part of the couch not covered with dog fur. Buzz immediately jumped up and turned to fwump down next to him, resting his head on Arthur's thigh.

Arthur couldn't help but chuckle at his dramatic sigh. "Did you have a rough day at the office today, Buzz?"

Buzz looked up at his name and the sound of his tail hitting the couch was loud.

"I am so sorry about that, Arthur," Eames said, bustling in with two teacups and handing him one. "She cornered me on my way out the door and I should have realized she would be lying in wait for me to get back." He took the armchair and waved at Buzz. "Get down, you pest, Arthur doesn't want you on him."

"It's alright," Arthur murmured into the rim of his cup, and he meant it. "I don't mind Buzz. Or Mrs. Fitz. Should I just go ahead and assume she's already tried to set you up with 'her Jimmy'?"

Eames snorted. "Only every time he visits. Except 'her Jimmy' is in a long-term relationship with his married professor and has no interest in telling his grandmother about it, for some reason."

"Can't imagine why," Arthur said, and set down his cup and saucer on the end table with a smile. The coaster there was well-ringed and faded and Arthur realized he was in Eames' usual spot. "But, uh, it's sort of good, I suppose. I'm glad there's someone looking out for you."

Eames set his cup back in his saucer and looked at him oddly until Arthur frowned, wondering what he'd said.

"I suppose I should thank her," Eames said. "She found out quite a bit about you I didn't dare ask."

Arthur frowned some more. "You can ask me anything you like, Eames. We're getting to know each other."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that right? Okay, then. What are your nightmares about?"

Arthur stilled, his fingers resting behind Buzz's ears. He hadn't realized he'd been petting him. "Wow. My nightmares. That's intense. Is this some kind of test?"

Eames looked shocked he would ask such a thing, and for some reason, it made Arthur angry.

"No, of course—"

"I thought you were going to ask me about my religious upbringing, or my sexual preferences or something, Eames. What are you, a part-time therapist?"

Eames' jaw clenched and his eyes turned steely-gray. "No, but if I was, I might say you are deflecting. Or trying to change the subject. Or trying to push me away so you don't have to talk about something difficult."

It was Arthur's turn to grind his teeth together, and for a moment, they sat in Eames' very comfortable living room glaring at each other. Then Buzz sighed again and yawned.

"Fuck." Arthur rubbed his eyebrow with his thumb. "Fuck, you're right, okay? Sorry. And, no, I don't really want to talk about it."

Eames looked bewildered. "Well, that's all you had to say, Arthur. This is a date, not the Spanish Inquisition. Jesus. What kind of person do you think I am?"

Arthur threw his hands up and stared at his knees.

"I don't even know what you don't want to talk about," Eames muttered. "Do you have PTSD from your time in the military? Were you abducted by wolves as a child? Are you scared of the dark? Do you occasionally have to suppress your desire to go on killing sprees? Who knows! Not me!"

Eames drank his tea grumpily, as much as one can look grumpy holding a cup and saucer and sipping out of it. Arthur felt his lips twitch.

"Well, now I'm just depressed it's not actually as interesting as any of that."

Eames set his cup back down but his frustration was still firmly in place. Arthur sighed.

"It's always the same nightmare. They started after my mom died."

Eames watched him, waiting, but he didn't look angry anymore.

Arthur petted the dog and talked to the top of Buzz's head. "It's not really anything that happens in the dream," he tried to explain, stomach starting to clench as he remembered. "It's more of a feeling. Like a sense of dread. I feel trapped and I can't move. Everything gets darker and darker, and then I hear my mom's voice. She's laughing, and she says," he licked his lips. "Well, she always says the same thing. Something she told me the last time I talked to her."

Eames stood up from the armchair and pushed Buzz unceremoniously off the couch. Buzz got down with an offended huff and claimed the armchair, daring Eames to tell him no. Eames ignored him and sat on the couch next to Arthur, a calm, reassuring presence. He didn't speak, just sat by him as Arthur tried to say it out loud.

Arthur took a steadying breath. "She told me she was sick, but that I didn't need to come home because I couldn't take care of a goldfish."

"Oh, Arthur," Eames breathed. He reached for Arthur's hand and Arthur took it, grateful for the warm, dry fingers twined with his own.

"I mean, when she said it, she was teasing me, and we both laughed. But I can't stop… thinking…"

He broke off when his throat refused to let any more words through, and Eames put an arm around him, pulling him close. He shushed as he pressed his mouth against Arthur's temple and Arthur let himself sink into his embrace. It was awful, and somewhat of a relief, but mostly awful, to relive the nightmare while awake. He felt ripped open and raw, and he hated it. He opened his eyes at the whine by his feet, and Buzz thumped his tail on the floor and put his head on Arthur's knee.

Eames sat beside him, one arm around his shoulders, fingers stroking his hair, and the other holding his hand. Arthur wiped his nose and sniffed.

"So these nightmares," Eames said quietly. "You don't think your mother is blaming you, do you?"

Arthur was shaking his head even before Eames got done speaking. "No, I don't. I mean, I feel like I should have done more, of course. But I realize it would only have been more of a help to Alex, not my mom. The doctors told her she had a few months, which she didn't tell me, but I couldn't have done anything. And anyway, it, it ended up being more like a few weeks."

Arthur's voice pinched off and he turned so he could see Eames' face. "Look, I know in my head I couldn't have saved her. I know that. I'm not an idiot. But I just, I keep having this dream."

Eames squeezed his hand. "Because you're sad, darling. That's totally normal."

"But I'm not," Arthur protested. "I mean, I am sad, of course I'm sad. But the dream isn't sad. It's terrifying. I wake up sweating and shaking and… well, you were there."

"Yes, I suppose I was, at that," Eames admitted. His hand joined Arthur's in petting Buzz's head, and Buzz leaned into the contact. "Alright, so what are you afraid of? Not in the dream, when you're awake."

Arthur frowned and thought about it. The quiet terror of the darkness in his dream, the sinking feeling at the sound of his mother's voice. "I don't know, just, missing something, I guess. Letting someone else down. Not doing what I'm supposed to do and something bad happens because of it."

Eames ran his thumb over the back of Arthur's hand.

Arthur swallowed and made an effort to reel everything back in. "Anyway. I am going to stop talking about it now. Promise."

Eames stopped petting the dog and grasped Arthur's hand in both of his, turning it over and opening Arthur's palm. "You don't have to stop on my account, love. It's good to get it out."

Arthur tried to smile past the rawness. "Yeah? Doctor's orders?"

Eames smiled and kissed the center of Arthur's palm. "Indeed. Apply liberally. Call me in the morning."

Then he kissed Arthur, and it would have been very ungentlemanly not to kiss him back, his heart between his teeth and a dog's head on his knee.