02

Another night, another freaking nightmare. It was always worse when they were prepping for a complicated job, all the planning, the in and out of dreams, the sleeping in chairs, falling asleep in a suit, none of it could be good for him.

At least this time most of the team was out, only Yousef and Eames were in the apartment that was the team's workshop tonight. Arthur woke suddenly, throwing the light blanket on to the floor and huddling on the edge of the battered couch he had ended up in, once again curling forward and focusing on sensations, he tried to get his breathing under control.

Maybe it was worse that he couldn't remember any images – he was such a visual/tactile person, it was more terrifying for the dreams to lack any shape. It made things hard to remember, and left him shattered and possessed of disjointed feeling that was hard to shake.

He heard the squeak of a chair being pushed back in the next room, the quiet padding of footsteps coming towards him, then the couch shifted suddenly as another body sat beside him; close but not invading his space, a gentle hand ending up on the back of his neck before shifting to rub slow circles on his back.

Arthur's breath hitched as he tried to mutter something to the obviously-not-Yousef sitting beside him, but the whisper became a light sob without his permission… He was so fucking tired. Tired of not sleeping (not really), tired of waking up in strange places with a mind full of unknown terrors, just… tired. He never cried, he tried to remember as he shook his head in frustration, a silent tear running past his cheek, but what the hell, you're already way past being mortified that this is being witnessed.

Eames shifted closer, slowly and without his hand leaving Arthur's back, then pushed his arm over the smaller man's frame and pulled him back towards his chest, entwining his arms around him and cupping his hands around his shaking fingers. "Shhh…. Just breathe, c'mon then…" he whispered, twining his callused fingers around Arthur's thin digits.

Arthur closed his eyes and shifted his focus away from the lingering feelings of the dream, away from his growing embarrassment and anger at his own weakness, away from thinking and focused on touch: Eames' chin above his head, the warm hands exploring his own, the warmth of a thigh against his knee, the motion against his back as he breathed. And he breath slowed down to match the motion. His heart beat settled. The shaking dissipated, and the quiet sobs stopped.

As they did, Eames relaxed his grip a bit, less cradling, and more just lingering in a shared space, less urgent, more comforting in his presence.

Arthur opened his eyes, still facing forward, and lifted his hands to run them down his face, letting lose a deep exhale before dropping them back to his lap. "…Thanks."

Eames made no move to relocate, but moved a hand back to run fingers along Arthur's wrist. "Anytime."

Arthur huffed slightly, "lately seems to be all the time. How did you know?"

"I always know."

Arthur didn't question, he could tell Eames wasn't done. Eames paused, shifting his weight to a more comfortable slouch behind him.

"Your architecture," his hand stopped moving as he tried to describe it, "all those clean lines, perfect patterns, geometric forms, it gets sloppy – like its running away from you on the days this happens. Not a lot, mind, but enough to notice if you pay attention to details. As you know, darling," Arthur shifted, annoyed by the off-abused term of endearment, but Eames didn't let him go, "I pay attention to details."

Arthur had no reply for that. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Eames still with his arms on either side of Arthur, the smaller man still slouched against his chest. They breathed in unison, a slow in and out the was comforting, and warm. Arthur stared ahead out the window overlooking the city, feeling Eames relax behind him, then jerk slightly as his head bobbed up.

Arthur had to smile at that, "have you even slept tonight?" he asked.

Eames shook his head, "you caught me. No."

"Wait… You weren't waiting for …this?" Eames didn't answer, which was telling. Arthur turned to look at him, curious, his dark eyes searching. "You did… you were… you knew….? How long have you known?"

Eames looked away before answering, "for a while. But it wasn't until the other night I realized you might appreciate some… assistance?"

Arthur chuckled slightly at that, more the hesitation, uncharacteristic from Eames, "Well I appreciate that." He replied with a small smirk, raising an eyebrow. He raised a hand to rub at his eyes, "We both could use some rest." Arthur rose, and Eames let him, he walked out into the common area for a moment, before dragging one of the reclining work chairs into the room, placing it, and then motioning to Eames to relocate. "I claimed that couch fair and square. Now move."

Eames pouted, "I think we could both fit…"

Arthur cut him off with a look.

"But you're so little?"

"Don't push it, Mr. Eames."