"Why do you think they have something on him?" Arthur asked quietly as he sank backward into the cocoon of Eames. The bigger man curled behind him in the dark, his breath warm against Arthur's skin. They had made it through the world's most awkward meal without anyone throwing punches, so Arthur counted it as a win, but it was strained and it was wearing on Arthur.

Eames propped himself up on an elbow and traced his fingers idly down Arthur's arm and side. "You sound like you don't think that."

Arthur gave a half-shrug. "He seemed pretty intent on letting me know that he wasn't the bad guy. I'm just trying to decide how much of it is bullshit. I mean, he's helping us, but he kept us in town and brought us even closer to wherever they're camped. He's hiding us, but we're also locked down in this house." Arthur hesitated, then added cautiously, "He's dropping hints that he's upset that you and I are together, but I don't honestly know how that can be true. I don't know him at all."

Eames didn't say anything for a few moments, just continued to trace patterns on Arthur's skin. "I watch people," he finally said. "It's what I do. He's hard as hell to read, but he's definitely nervous, which means he doesn't want to get caught. There're only two people he could get caught by, us or them, and we are decidedly at a disadvantage at this point."

"Hmm. I've been thinking about that, actually."

Eames drew his arm securely around Arthur and pulled him even closer. "Kind of leaves a bad taste in your mouth, doesn't it?'

Arthur frowned. "This whole thing does. And it's not a position I'm used to being in." He turned slightly to see Eames, his face only just visible in the darkness. "What do you say we show ourselves around tomorrow?"

"Take a tour?" Eames asked, the corner of his mouth lifting.

"Just explore a bit."

"You mean snoop."

"Spy."

"Extract."

They grinned at each other.

"Go to sleep, Mr. Eames."

"Then stop teasing, darling."

Arthur smiled into the night long after Eames's heavy not-quite-a-snore breathing had evened out, a honey warm glow spreading through his chest.

The next morning, Arthur woke to the smell of coffee and Eames pressing kisses down his naked spine. "Mmph," he grumbled. "'Kay, 'm up."

"Mmm. Don't bother, darling," Eames said, leveling himself over Arthur. "I've changed my mind. This is much better. Let's do this instead." He smoothed his hands over Arthur's back and followed them with his lips and tongue, reveling in every slope and ridge and freckle. His fingers dipped below the waistband of Arthur's underwear and Arthur made an interested noise, even from the nest of pillows his head was buried in. Eames chuckled and nibbled lightly at him. "You have to be awake for this bit, though, love. It's a requirement of mine." He nudged Arthur's hips, urging him to roll over. Then he hauled himself up Arthur's chest, kissing his collarbone, jaw, and cheek, before settling his lips firmly over Arthur's. "You..." he kissed him deeply. "Taste..." he kissed him again, thoroughly. "Terrible." He kissed Arthur one more time, swallowing his squawk. Arthur pushed at him, his cheeks stained delightfully pink.

"Jerk," Arthur grumbled. "How about you taste something other than my mouth then."

Eames grinned. "Yeah? That could be arranged."

Arthur's coffee got cold.

Arthur was the one who found the wall panel in the mud room, hidden by the electrical panel. Paul had been gone when they'd emerged from the bedroom, which wasn't surprising since their clothes had arrived and Arthur had taken one look at Eames in a suit and practically climbed him like a tree. All in all, it was a late start to the day, so the two of them wasted no time combing through the house when they realized Paul was gone. The wall panel was well hidden, and Arthur found it almost by accident.

"Eames! Come take a look at this!"

Eames sauntered over from where he'd been examining the foundations. He gave a low whistle. "Is that what I think it is?" Neither of them touched anything inside the panel but nestled among a slew of, no doubt, well-stocked duffel bags and backpacks was a slim silver case.

"Looks like."

"Where in the hell did he get that?" It was a rhetorical question, but Arthur answered it anyway.

"From me." Eames started in surprise and Arthur rolled his eyes. "I didn't give it to him, asshole. That's the one that was under my floor. I designed the damn case, I should recognize it."

"Huh." Eames looked begrudgingly impressed. "So he took two but only turned in one. Not a bad move, really. That would make a pretty spectacular annual bonus."

"Please stop saying nice things about him, it's making reality warp."

"Sorry, darling. I meant, what a fucking wanker I can't believe he stole that from you."

"Better." Arthur closed the panel gently, leaving everything untouched. It was enough they knew it was there.

Eames was the one who found the gun cache in the pool house. Arthur's find gave him the idea, if he was headed out the back door via the mud room, the pool house was the next logical stop.

"Holy. Shit," Arthur said in awe as the entire fucking wall sank into the floor and revealed a frighteningly well-funded collection of firearms.

"Some day I'm going to get you to look at me like that."

"You keep wearing suits like that, you've got a shot," Arthur replied, giving him an appreciative once over.

When they were satisfied that there weren't any other storage areas they'd missed, Eames announced that his stomach insisted they eat something before he fell over and Arthur agreed. They moved through the kitchen together, and Arthur tried to remind himself not to hold on too tightly to this. They had only been together for a few days, not years. He didn't own this, it wasn't his, and he had to remember that Eames deserved a chance to know if he wanted this too. Still, he couldn't stop the happy thrill his heart gave working next to Eames in the kitchen. He switched on the radio while Eames cooked, and he grinned at Arthur. It was comfortable, and Arthur was more than willing to lie to himself and pretend this was something he would be able to look forward to every day.

Then, the temperature seemed to drop 10 degrees as the opening guitar strains of a very familiar Metallica song filled the room, and Arthur felt apprehension claw its way up from his gut. His eyes immediately sought Eames, desperate to know that he wasn't imagining things. If the set of Eames's shoulders and jaw was any indication, he was feeling the same way. When he turned to meet his eyes, Arthur swore there was a flash of terror behind Eames's careful facade.

Arthur forced out a nervous chuckle. "Guess I'll never quite get used to that song again."

Eames gave him a shaky smile. "I think it's what Ari was using for the kick."

"Yeah," Arthur agreed quietly. He reached around Eames to turn off the radio and the silence was oppressive. They both looked at the counter, not talking, and Arthur felt like they should talk about this but he honestly didn't know what to say. Eames shuddered a bit and closed his eyes and Arthur's heart ached for him. Arthur didn't know exactly what was going on in Eames' head, but he didn't think he could go another second without touching Eames, he was sure his very sanity rested on knowing that the man next to him was really there. He shifted a little closer and they stood, shoulders touching, and breathed. Eames leaned into Arthur, accepting his support wordlessly and offering his own and Arthur didn't think it was possible, but he fell a bit more in love.

"Wait, just wait a second, goddamn it! I didn't mean it like that!" Arthur lunged after him, yelling.

Eames pulled on his underwear violently and spun, a ball of fury with his hands clenched at his sides. "No, of course you didn't mean it like that, because you can't love it when I do that, Arthur, because I've never done it before!"

Arthur winced at the use of his name. "I just meant that I liked it, that's all I was trying to tell you," Arthur said stiffly.

"Yeah, well, forgive me for not being okay with you confusing me in bed with someone else."

"Come on, Eames, it was you I was confusing you with. You cannot, seriously, be jealous of yourself."

Eames felt a tiny flare of rage lick behind his eyeballs. "You're right! I can't be. Because that wasn't me!"

Arthur stood there, hands on his hips, then threw his head back and squeezed his eyes shut. "Fuck." He drug a hand through his hair, making the ends curl up the way Eames always loved. "I know. Alright? I know that wasn't you." Arthur looked at him beseechingly. "Look, I'm...I'm sorry. It's just...you look the same, and Christ, you smell the same, and I promise I wasn't thinking of him, I was thinking of you, but I wasn't really doing much thinking just at that second, and...and this isn't easy."

Eames felt his anger ebb a bit at the sight of Arthur standing naked in front of him, struggling for words.

Arthur tried again. "I'm pretty sure we are the only two people in the entire universe with this particular relationship hurdle, and I'm trying. I really am. I want to dump all those memories, and feelings, and start over with you. But sometimes it sneaks up on me, and I know you know what I'm talking about. If you think I don't see you fighting with yourself and forcing thoughts away, then you must not understand how much I notice about you. How much I've always noticed. Which is why" he shook his head and half laughed at himself, "the you in my dream was so fucking real."

Arthur moved toward him, slowly, broadcasting his movements like he was calming a frightened animal. He put a hand on Eames's forearm, stroking softly with his thumb. "That was actually what made me realize it was a dream." When Eames didn't respond, but didn't pull his arm away, Arthur kept talking. "I didn't have my totem. It just...wasn't there. I think Dom had something to do with that, but I don't really know." He drew in a ragged breath. "Anyway, I started to notice little things about you that were just...off. Like, you didn't speak French, and you hummed, and when I realized you didn't remember dreamsharing-"

"Arthur." Eames's voice was dark and terrifying, and Arthur stopped talking immediately. He met Arthur's eyes, his mouth twisted cruelly. "If I ever have to tell you "that wasn't me" again, EVER, you won't have to say you're sorry."

Arthur removed his hand, slowly, leaving a cold, empty feeling in its wake. "Right," he said, his voice sounding strangled. "Right."

Eames saw the wounded look in Arthur's eyes and knew that he needed to stop. He didn't want to ruin this, Arthur was the only good thing in his life and he was pushing him away. He was just so angry. He had to get out of here until he got a hold of himself.

Eames pulled on the rest of his clothes forcefully and he couldn't bring himself to meet Arthur's eyes where he'd retreated to sit silently on the bed, watching him. He didn't know what he was doing. He'd been alone for so long, even before limbo, and...he just had to get out of here before he made it worse. Arthur was the one who was good at relationships, he'd just come back after he'd cooled off a bit and Arthur could show him how to fix this.

He closed the front door quietly, but firmly. And then he walked. He'd briefly wished for a punching bag, but pushed the idea out of his mind. He was determined to break from the things he'd used as coping mechanisms before because he was determined not to need them. Until then, though, he'd find something else.

The heat was oppressive in the late afternoon sun, and he meandered aimlessly, trying to stay in the shade when he could. He knew he should be figuring out what to say to Arthur, or maybe even just finishing up being mad at him, but all he could think about what the shit job in Kiev they'd taken with the Cobbs, the one where Arthur had been knifed. The job was supposed to have been easy. It was a family secrets job, no corporate espionage, no militarization, no mafia connections, just simply brothers hating each other like God intended. The mark's older brother had hired the Cobbs, and Dom had called him because he could use a thief but had a hunch they'd need a forge. He'd been preparing to forge the mark's younger brother, had been following him for days and had finally, finally, gotten the forge up to Arthur's standards, when the younger brother had walked into the office building they'd been squatting in.

Eames had told the story a thousand times over pints, swearing up and down that it was true, because it was, and anyway it was a good story.

"So the guy walks in with a knife as long as my dick and starts screaming about he was going to kill whoever was fucking his wife. Which is hilarious, because he's talking to a room that contains the world's most married couple, fucking Arthur, and me. So it's gotta be me, right?" This always got a laugh, with a couple of elbow jabs or whistles thrown in. "But it wasn't me, I swear, I hadn't slept with a woman the whole damn trip." This part was true, although he didn't know if people believed it. In fact, he hadn't slept with anyone, because he'd decided that this was going to be the job where he finally landed Arthur. He'd been an itch in Eames's pants for longer than most people were allowed to remain, and he was determined to finally get Arthur into his bed on that job.

"So Arthur, who's the closest to the loony bugger, turns around to look at me, and this guy goes fucking nuts. He starts screaming and goes straight for Arthur, fucking slashing and stabbing whatever he can reach." Eames does not, at this point, explain that the sight of blood drenching Arthur's grey suit froze him in his tracks and he was physically incapable of doing anything more than hyperventilating at that moment. "He gets Arthur in the back and there's blood fucking everywhere. I thought Arthur was a dead man. But you know what he does?" He pauses for the audience's benefit. "He stands up, calm as fuck, punches him in the nose and then breaks both the bastard's arms. Then he takes two steps towards me and says, "The closest hospital is 12 miles south of here," and then passes the fuck out."

That's usually the end of the story, and everyone laughs, both at Arthur's point-man practicality in the face of his own mortality, and at the number of times Eames had said the word "fuck". But in truth, that night was one of the longest of his life. Eames had launched himself at Arthur to catch him before he hit the floor, screaming at Mal to grab towels, rags, and anything else she could get her hands on to try and slow the blood that wouldn't quit pouring out of Arthur's body. Dom had driven the screaming younger brother to the hospital, and Eames and Mal had worked to keep Arthur alive. Mal was swearing in French and Eames had never been more scared in his life. Luckily, Arthur was Arthur, and there was a full first aid kit under his desk. Eames ripped the ruined suit off Arthur's back and realized with a gust of relief that it wasn't as bad as he'd assumed. Eames had calmed then, cleaned the wound, and stitched him up once the bleeding had slowed. Then he had sat next to Arthur's prone form and pressed his fingertips into his thighs to get them to stop shaking. He had watched Arthur's beautiful face, slack in his sleep, while Mal cleaned up the site and arranged for them to get the hell out of the country once Dom got back and Eames realized he didn't want to get into Arthur's pants. Well, he did, of course he did. But this wasn't an itch, and it wasn't going to be solved by scratching it. The rolling feeling in his chest that he didn't understand, which happened every time Arthur was around, was not about sex. And he had no idea what to do about it. He'd helped load Arthur into the car, then had taken off in the other direction. He hadn't seen Arthur for over a year after that.

What the fuck was he doing? He had Arthur. He'd had him in his arms, in his bed, and here he was, walking around like an arsehole. Even fighting with Arthur was better than what he had before. Eames turned around abruptly, which is how he took the taser to the chest rather than the back. His body locked up and as he fell, thrashing and straining, four men rushed him, threw a bag over his head, and dragged him to a waiting van.