"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Arthur asked for the umpteenth time.

Dom sighed. "Yes. And if you ask me that one more time, I'll tape your mouth shut."

"I did a background check on this guy," Arthur insisted, "and his reputation is shady at best. He is a thief, a liar, a professional gambler and known for solving his problems with his fists or a weapon rather than with words. Do we really want to work with someone like that?"

Now seriously getting annoyed, Dom turned to face him. "No, Arthur, we don't," he barked, "but we have no choice. Now is not the time to get squeamish about Mr. Eames' background, not when he's the only person capable of getting us out of this mess."

Arthur shrugged. "I'm glad to finally hear you admit that. So we need him… but we won't trust him."

"I'm not sure I trust you, and I've known you for two years now. Does that answer your question?"

Arthur was about to reply something, when the door swung open and a loud, cheerful voice announced: "Honey, I'm home!"

Both men tensed and warily studied the stranger who had just entered the room. He was tall, well-built and dressed like somebody who covers his body for no other reason than a primeval sense of decency, but without even a modicum of style, taste or interest. His dark hair was unruly and appeared to be slightly wet, maybe from an impromptu shower. He sauntered into the room as if he felt perfectly at ease, happy and unconcerned.

"Mr. Daniel Eames, I presume?" Dom advanced two paces and stretched out a hand.

"Quite," the man replied, wrapping a large, sun-tanned prank around Dom's hand and squeezing it. "Pleased to meet you. You can forget my first name right away since nobody uses it anyway." His eyes darted around the room, lively, dark grey and curious. When they found Arthur's face, he paused. "Who's this?"

Dom waited for Arthur to introduce himself, but the point man was staring at Eames suspiciously, his own eyes narrowed.

"Arthur Daley, my point man."

Eames studied Arthur with the sort of curiosity a thief might be expected to reserve for precious artifacts or jewelry. Dom didn't like that look, particularly because he was pretty sure that Arthur was not going to like it, and the tension in the room was already tangible enough to walk on.

"Arthur," Eames rolled the name off his tongue as if trying to get accustomed to the feel of it. "Did he call you away from your high school graduation for my sake?"

Arthur frowned. "What?"

"Well," Eames waved a vague hand at the dark grey suit Arthur was wearing, "you are overdressed for the occasion, and you are what, seventeen? Eighteen?"

Bad mistake, Dom thought, waiting for the explosion.

Arthur's eyes narrowed even further. "I'll have you know that I am twenty-two and that I finished college two months ago," he replied stiffly.

"Oh?" Eames asked innocently. "Could have fooled me. But still, the look suits you." He ran his eyes over Arthur's slender body appreciatively.

Arthur stared back unblinking.

Dom harrumphed. "Okay, can we get down to business?" He pointed to the low table covered with papers.

"Sure," Eames said, strolling over. As he did so, Dom watched Arthur's eyes following him. It was no surprise that the point man didn't trust Eames, but staring holes into his back wouldn't help.

"So, you ran into a bit of a tight spot and now you need a forger to help you out," Eames said.

"That pretty much sums it up," Dom agreed.

Eames nodded, then cast a glance at Arthur, who was now standing next to Dom and still staring at him. "I need a general overview."

While Arthur launched into a description of the job at hand and a brief summary of what had happened up to this point, Dom watched the two of them. He had no way to be sure, but he thought that he had seen something else besides hostility in Arthur's gaze. But that was impossible, right? His point man was colder than a dead fish and Eames had insulted him on first sight. No. Surely not.

"Okay," Eames said when Arthur had finished, "sounds rather straightforward and simple. I impersonate this guy and get the mark to talk, you'll learn what you need to know and that's that. By the way – who's going to be the dreamer? You?" He raised a suggestive eyebrow at Arthur, who looked as if he could barely contain a deep desire to hit this obnoxious idiot.

"Mal. My wife," Dom said quickly, deeming it wise not to give Arthur a chance to reply.

"You're married," Eames realized, sounding faintly surprised, but then he returned his attention to Arthur. "Still… what a shame. I would have welcomed a chance to enter your mind… see if it lives up to the exterior… "

Actually, there was nothing particularly troubling about this statement – except for the fact that it was spoken in such a low, suggestive bedroom voice as would have benefitted Cary Grant. Dom frowned. This was truly inappropriate. After all, they were trying to set up a working relationship here.

He fully expected Arthur to lash out at the forger now, but Arthur surprised him by actually remaining silent and blushing furiously.

Okay. So maybe it was a deep desire to do something entirely else…?

Dom shook his head in disbelief. Who are you and what have you done to my point man?

Thank you so much for your lovely reviews, guys! I hope the first chapter meets your expectations.