Paul took them to the last place Arthur expected-his house. Apparently having a house in LA is a thing they had in common and they didn't even know it. The main difference, though, was that Paul's was much nicer than Arthur's.

"I wouldn't say it's much nicer," Arthur grumbled when Eames helpfully pointed this out to him. "I mean, it's more impersonal if that's what you're into."

Eames chuckled and headed straight to the picture window at the back of the house overlooking the gaudy pool/hot tub/waterfall monstrosity he kept back there. Arthur thought he might have a permanent scowl after this.

Paul handed Eames a credit card and gestured to the laptop on the kitchen counter. "Buy some clothes, have them overnighted." He pointed at Arthur. "There IS a daily limit restriction on the card, so don't try buying more than one suit." Arthur scoffed, but Paul ignored him. He swept out of the kitchen calling back, "There's a fresh pot of that Kona coffee you like. Help yourself."

Arthur glanced at Eames, who was glaring darkly at him. He offered a weak apologetic smile and opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again when he realized he didn't know what to say.

"There's a guest room down that hall, I'm down that one," Paul announced as he came back in the kitchen, his footsteps not slowing as he moved through the house. "I won't be here much, I'll be working, but here's a burner phone, my number's the only one in it." He placed a cell phone on the counter. "And it should be the only one you're calling. You're in hiding, remember?"

"Yeah, about that," Eames interrupted. "Are you sure that being in the same town as your psychotic bosses is really the best place to lie low?"

Paul narrowed his eyes at Eames. "Yes. Keep your friends close, etc. Right in their backyard is the last place they'll look. Besides, this place is completely off the grid, and it takes time to set that up."

"Paul," Eames said, and his voice was oddly quiet. It was the first time Eames had called him by his name, and the severity in his voice made Arthur look up in alarm, quickly gauging the distance between them. "What have they got on you?" Eames asked.

Paul watched Eames for a long moment, the muscle in his jaw flexing, but his face calm and flat. "Don't fuck in my pool," Paul finally commanded, fixing each of them with a glare and heading out the front door without another word.

The slam of the front door reverberated throughout the big house and Arthur felt a little stunned. He'd been so busy hating Paul's stinking guts for doing this to him after they'd been together, that he hadn't really stopped to consider why he might be doing it. He'd just assumed it was because he was a fucking asshole who had no soul. Although that was still a frontrunner for possible motivations, so he wasn't going to call it just yet.

"Well," Eames grinned, rubbing his hands together. "How long do you think we should wait before we fuck in his pool?"

Arthur made a big show of checking his watch. "I think we've got time to christen his bed first."

Afterwards, when they were both shaky and their bodies tacky with come and sweat, Eames propped himself up against the headboard and happened to glance over at the bedside table.

On it, in a frame, was a fantastic picture of Arthur. He was looking straight at the camera and smiling with a blinding amount of dimples while Paul kissed his cheek. Eames picked up the frame and smeared his thumb over the picture, leaving a large swipe of come on the glass. He glanced at Arthur to find him staring back intently. Arthur didn't look at the picture but instead crawled to Eames, plucking it from his hands and straddling his lap. He locked gazes with Eames and tossed the picture across the room, then kissed him deeply. Arthur cupped his face, then slid his fingers into Eames's hair. Their bodies were loose, warm, and fit together perfectly when Eames wrapped his arms around Arthur's waist and drew him closer. He slotted their mouths together, Arthur's warm tongue plundering Eames's until he couldn't hear or see anything outside the sphere of Arthur.

"You," Arthur breathed. "It's always been you, even when it wasn't you."

Eames replied by kissing him harder, rolling them so he could press Arthur into the pillows. He drew back so he could look at Arthur's face, open and soft and flushed from the sex they'd just had, but his brown eyes were steady and unafraid. Eames kissed him slowly then, wanting to drink it up and wishing he could absorb Arthur into his bloodstream. He wanted to steep himself in this moment and make it potent enough to last in his memories no matter how old he got: the day Arthur chose him.

When he woke up, he was alone. The late afternoon sun beat in through the window, stretching across the bed and casting a surreal look to the room. Eames fumbled on the floor for his trouser pocket and sighed when he wrapped his fingers around the poker chip. He recounted the last 24 hours, just to make sure he remembered every detail about how he had gotten here, then went over them again. If there was ever 24 hours to remember, this was it. He let himself be soothed by the balm that was Arthur, in every frowny, brilliant, sexy as hell iteration.

He found him in the kitchen in his boxer briefs, propped on a bar stool and peering at the laptop. Eames hesitated, but Arthur didn't startle when he smoothed his fingers over the lines of Arthur's shoulders and instead actually pressed back into his touch, almost unconsciously. Eames' chest tightened oddly at the familiarity of Arthur's reaction. He wanted to drape himself over Arthur's back, mouth kisses along his naked shoulders and neck and drag him back to bed just so he could touch, taste and explore all over again. Instead, he dropped a light kiss on the side of Arthur's neck and got a hold of the wall of rushing emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. "What are you up to, pet?"

"Snooping and shopping," Arthur replied offhandedly.

Eames couldn't help grinning and mouthing another kiss onto Arthur's shoulder. "Sounds like your kind of afternoon. Find anything?"

Arthur grunted, then stretched his arms over his head and arched his back. Eames's mouth went dry at the ripple of muscles across Arthur's lean frame and missed the first part of what he was saying.

"...locked down pretty tight. Give me enough time, though, I could do some damage. Also, I bought a suit."

Eames chanced moving a little closer and pressing them together, back to front. He idly traced the faint bruises on Arthur's hip bone that were the exact size and shape of his fingers. "You don't say? Off the rack?"

"Ugh, don't say that word. And don't ask me where I got it. I can't say it out loud."

Eames chuckled at Arthur's cheeky grin over his shoulder. "What did you get for me, then?" Eames asked.

Arthur's smile faltered a bit, replaced with a hint of apprehension. "I didn't, really. I thought you might want to pick out your own." He reached for the card and slid it closer to Eames. "I didn't want to presume you'd like the same things you used to, so I..." His voice trailed off when Eames couldn't stop the way he reacted, frozen and rigid and hating himself for it.

"It's fine, darling, thank you," he forced out and made himself relax. "I would like to choose some things, ta." He felt Arthur relax against him slightly and brushed a quick kiss against his lips. "You didn't buy me anything, though?" He gave Arthur an exaggerated pout just to see the flash of dimples it awarded.

"Well..." Arthur drew out the word and Eames raised his eyebrows. "Maybe one thing, Mr. Eames."

Eames rumbled a noise of approval and spun the stool Arthur was sitting on, turning him so he could step between Arthur's thighs and bend down to capture his delectable mouth with his own. He nipped kisses along Arthur's bottom lip until he groaned and slid his pelvis closer to Eames.

"Piss off, we're busy," Eames growled. Arthur pulled back, confused, which was when he noticed Paul standing in the doorway.

"Uhhh..." Arthur broke off awkwardly, panicked gaze flashing back and forth between them.

"Oh, no, please. Make yourselves the fuck at home," Paul spit at them, dropping the bags he'd been carrying on the counter and storming out of the room.

"Now, where were we?" Eames leered at Arthur.

"Eames," Arthur chided, but he was smiling.

Eames smiled back, then he ran his palms up Arthur's warm thighs and kissed him once more. "Alright, darling. I'll try not to make our generous host angry, although I just want you to understand how difficult it is for me not to rip his cock off and fling it in the hot tub."

"Yes, you're the picture of restraint," Arthur said dryly.

"Quite." Eames let Arthur go, enjoying the view as he left to get dressed. He could hear Arthur's voice, then Paul's, coming from the office down the hall and the desire to eavesdrop was almost overwhelming. He busied himself ordering an outfit online instead, the suit charcoal grey rather than black, with a salmon colored tie that reminded him of a shirt of his that Arthur had always hated. He threw in a silver wallet chain, a pair of shoes that closely resembled his favorite ones he'd owned in limbo and a combination of casual t-shirts, vests, pants, and socks that would keep him dressed for a while. Eames refused to order pyjamas, because fuck Paul.

He listened to their voices from down the hall, his fingers drumming on the counter. He truly didn't want to watch them interact, but his imagination was far too good to stay in the other room, so he navigated past Paul's bedroom, grinning at the rumpled mess they'd made of the bedclothes, and sauntering into the office.

They were both huddled over a computer, Arthur's thinking frown turning down the corners of his mouth. When he caught sight of Eames, his face softened slightly and Eames felt a thousand times better. He stretched out on the sofa in the corner, content to let Paul assume he knew anything about whatever it was they were talking about.

Arthur was focused on the screen, watching as Paul's flying fingers pulled something from somewhere and connected it to something somewhere else and as far as Eames was concerned, they might as well have been waving wands around. "Huh," Arthur said in an awed tone in reference to whatever Paul was doing. "Wow."

Eames rolled his eyes. He changed his mind, his imagination was going to be his saving, not his undoing. "Darling, I'm going to have a swim. Feel free to join me when you're through."

"Huh?" Arthur didn't tear his eyes away from the screen. "Oh, right, I will."

"There're extra suits in the pool house," Paul supplied, also focused on the screen, but not above throwing a smirk in Eames's direction.

Eames smirked right back, picturing the sheets on his bed. "That's nice."

Two sets of eyes followed him from the room, one staring and one glaring.

"So," Arthur broke the silence, "is your real name actually Paul?"

Paul looked up from the screen he'd been studying, turning to look at Arthur. "Yes."

"What about your last name?" Arthur asked.

"What about yours?" Paul replied, one eyebrow raised.

Arthur leaned back and shrugged a shoulder. "Fair enough," he allowed. "What about the service? Are you really a Marine?"

Paul hesitated and Arthur watched him carefully. "I'm in the US military," he finally said.

"So, I guess we're not going to do that whole 'truth' thing, then."

Paul turned back to the screen. "I'm not even supposed to tell you that much."

"Then why did you?"

Paul didn't answer, just kept typing. Arthur watched the back of his head from where he sat, slightly behind him. He contemplated the shape of his ears and wondered how much he actually knew about this man. Arthur hadn't been exactly forthright in their relationship, but he hadn't exactly lied. Much. Except for everything about his job. And about being completely obsessed with Eames. And some of the stuff about when he was a kid, and what he did after high school. Ok, fine, he lied more than he realized.

"There," Paul finally declared. "That's the CCTV circuit for this area, you should be able to see who's coming and going. Now, here are some things to watch for, just patterns I've seen them using-" He started a list, jotting notes and drawing maps of the neighborhood. Arthur watched. He'd been watching all afternoon. Paul was damn good at this. He wasn't surprised by most of his methods, but there were a few he hadn't been aware of. He knew that Paul was hyper-aware of what he was showing Arthur, so he fully expected some tricks up Paul's unexpectedly long sleeves that he'd never run into. Which was humbling, and intriguing, and terrifying, all at the same time. It was probably more enlightening than Paul intended, though, so that was settling.

"Paul," Arthur said, and the pen stilled. Arthur had carried a thousand questions around with him since he'd seen Paul standing in his living room, but now they crowded in his throat. He swallowed, trying to force them down without choking on them.

"I wouldn't do this, Arthur," Paul said softly, not turning to meet his eyes. "If I had any-this isn't who I am. I just...I wanted you to know that."

Arthur sighed. He felt very tired, all of a sudden. "Maybe someday I will. In the meantime, I've got some cleanup to do. Do you mind?"

The bags Paul had previously dumped unceremoniously on the counter had annoyingly useful things like deodorant and toothbrushes, as well as infuriating things like a Moleskin and the hair gel Eames knew that Arthur used.

Eames placed them in the guest room, then begrudgingly remade Paul's bed. He figured he didn't have to act like a complete git. Then he dug through the fridge, pulling out things to make a stir fry. He'd never had a chance to cook for Arthur before, so it seemed appropriate that the first time he did so should be the time he cooked for Arthur's ex-boyfriend too. Christ, what a mess. This had better not last the full two weeks.

In the middle of chopping vegetables, Eames heard movement behind him. Paul took a look at what he'd been preparing, then pulled a wok from the cupboard above the fridge. Eames nodded his thanks as Paul grabbed a beer and settled himself on a barstool.

Neither of them said anything for a long while, but Paul finally broke the silence. "So there are all kinds of rumors floating around about you, but I can't tell if any of them are true."

Eames glanced at him over his shoulder before turning back to what he was doing. "You're going to have to be a bit more specific than that, mate."

"Well, how long have you been in this business?"

Eames wielded the knife with precision. "A long time." He popped a piece of green pepper in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "But that's not really a rumor."

"Is it true you can speak any language?"

"Ich spreche nur die Wahrheit."

"Are you really a forger?"

At that, Eames stilled. Slowly, he put the knife down, wiped his hands and turned to face Paul. "Ah. Now that sounds like the real question."

Paul rested knowing eyes on him. "And that sounds like not answering it."

Eames crossed his arms and rested a hip against the counter. "Is this an interrogation, then?"

"Do you think it is?"

"For Arthur's sake, I hope it isn't. I'd really hope you didn't go through Arthur for a chance to interrogate me."

Paul paused, his steely eyes flickering over Eames, calculating. "You don't have to hide behind Arthur."

"I'm not hiding behind Arthur. I don't need him to fight my battles for me."

"Is this a battle, then?" Paul asked.

"Do you think it is?" Eames challenged mockingly.

Paul held up his hands in surrender. He got up from the counter. "For Arthur's sake, I hope it isn't." Then he left, Eames's glare following him from the kitchen.

"Sodding prick," he muttered under his breath. He regretted changing the sheets.

When everything was ready to eat, Eames gritted his teeth at the necessary domesticity of calling the two of them to dinner. In the office, Paul was leaned over Arthur working at the computer, pointing out flaws in the something, something, something-, "Hey, food's ready if anyone is hungry."

Arthur blinked up at him owlishly. "Oh, right. Is it that late already?" He checked the watch that used to reside on Eames's wrist but had been on Arthur's since he'd woken up in the hospital. Eames remembered buying it. It had been blazing hot and they'd been walking forever and he was desperate to keep the afternoon from ending. Arthur had been wearing a linen suit and looking far too cool and unaffected by the heat, and Eames couldn't stop teasing him. But Arthur hadn't seemed to mind. He'd told himself he was going to wear it on jobs with Arthur so they could joke about it but ended up wearing it on every job, full stop. It was stupid, he knew, but it made him feel better, like a part of Arthur was there with him. And it looked perfect on Arthur's wrist.

Arthur stretched his arms above his head with a small groan, then shut the laptop and stood. He seemed surprised and confused to find both of them looking at him. "What?"

"Nothing," Paul said, too brightly. "Smells good, Eames."