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"You never told me you were from Ohio," Eames says for at least the eighteenth time.
"I never said I was," says Arthur, hands on the wheel. No punching while driving, he reminds himself.
"And yet here we are," says Eames. "I never would have pegged you as so thoroughly Middle America as all this."
"I just said my family lives here," says Arthur. "I didn't say I was from here."
Eames puts up his hands defensively. "All right," he says. "Don't get your knickers in a twist over it."
"My knickers," Arthur grinds out, "are not in a twist."
"Suit yourself," says Eames.
*
He'd warned Eames, of course, that it was going to be uncomfortable and awkward and weird. He'd warned him, and Eames had laughed and promised he would mind his manners and try not to be shocked by the Americanness of it all, not that he could imagine Arthur's family being in any way crude.
"I'm not joking," Arthur had said, thinking of August and Alissa and all the other girls (and that guy) who had never been quite able to get past them. "I mean weird."
"Yes," Eames had agreed, like he had any idea. "They did produce you."
And Arthur had just sighed. "Just promise you'll try to get along with them?"
Eames' smile had been answer enough.
*
When they finally roll in, Arthur doesn't bother to call ahead, fearing public displays of awkwardness, and instead just parks down the street and digs out his spare key.
There's a loud crash from somewhere up above while they're on the stairs, and two people are yelling quite vociferously at one another. Arthur ignores it when Eames gives him that sly, sidelong glance, which could be either acknowledgement that he sees what Arthur means (although he can't possibly) or else a dare for Arthur to bring it on (which is mostly inevitable).
Arthur pauses on the landing before the final set of stairs, and squeezes Eames' hand briefly before dropping it. "Remember what I said," he says, and then leans up the stairwell and yells, "Guys! We're here."
Everything goes deathly quiet.
"It will be fine," says Eames, into the ensuing silence, but that's before.
Dick is standing right in the way when Arthur gets to the top of the stairs.
"Tommy," he says, by way of greeting.
"Dick," says Arthur wearily.
"Tommy?" Eames repeats from behind him.
"Shut up," Arthur tells him, and then asks, "Can we come in?"
"Yes, of course," Dick says expansively. "It's just, we didn't know what time you were coming –"
"It's fine," says Arthur. He raises his voice. "Sally, it's fine!"
Sally yells something indistinct from somewhere within.
Arthur, Eames, and Dick all wait.
Sally's voice comes more clearly this time. "Okay," she calls. "Let them in."
Arthur tries not to sigh in irritation as Dick lets them past.
The living room is cleaner than Arthur has ever seen it, and the smell of Mrs. Dubcek's cooking has been masked by some kind of overwhelmingly powerful air freshener. Arthur doesn't want to point out that it smells like the inside of a used car, but it kind of does. It's better than he'd been expecting.
Introductions go about as smoothly as he could have hoped, in that Harry has improved his handshake technique, Sally's hug is at least thirteen percent less inappropriate than usual, and Dick only kind of shouts in Eames' face, so Arthur's about to chalk it up as a win right up until –
"He reminds me of someone," Dick says, once they're all seated. "Doesn't he remind you of someone, Tommy?"
Eames is sunk into the squashed armchair across from Arthur, so Arthur gets the full effect of Eames' bemused look.
"No," says Arthur. "And stop calling me that."
"But it's your name," says Dick, scandalized.
"Is it?" Eames asks.
"We were over this," Arthur says through gritted teeth.
"He reminds me of someone too," says Sally. "Are you sure you don't see it?"
"Very sure," says Arthur.
"I'm told I have a very familiar face," says Eames.
"No, it's not that," Dick says, and makes an incomprehensible gesture. "It's more his... the way he talks."
"Like an Englishman?" Eames suggests.
"Nonono," says Harry. "He's just like –"
"No," says Arthur, seeing, all of a sudden, where this is headed.
"What was that guy's name?" Sally asks.
"Liam Neesam," Dick says darkly.
Eames looks back at Arthur and raises an eyebrow. "You mean like the actor?" he asks.
"No," Arthur says, and then when he sees Dick's expression change, he says, more vehemently, "No."
"They could be related," Sally says.
"Afraid not," says Eames.
"They are not related," Arthur says firmly.
"Maybe we could ask him," Harry says.
Arthur puts his head in his hands.
*
They escape onto the roof after the single most intolerable dinner Arthur's ever had to endure as a member of this household (which is saying something).
"Are you sure I shouldn't be helping with the washing up?" Eames asks, glancing nervously back inside.
"Yes," says Arthur. "They'll manage."
"All right," says Eames. He slides his hand against Arthur's, knuckles brushing, and then eases their fingers together. After a moment he says, "They are a bit strange."
"I told you," says Arthur.
"They really don't like us illegal aliens, do they?" Eames asks.
Arthur grins a little in spite of himself. "I think they liked you just fine in the end," he says.
"That's good," Eames says. His thumb is gentle where it rubs over Arthur's hand, and Arthur is thinking about kissing him right before Harry climbs out from behind them and ruins it.
"So are you going to show him the Home Planet?" Harry asks, oblivious.
Arthur scoots over, and presses his knee against Eames' instead. "Maybe later," he says.
*
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
Dick doesn't look as chastened as he should, for someone who's shown up at the so-called top secret warehouse with the entire goddamn family in tow.
"You never call, you never write," he explains.
"We were worried," says Sally.
"What do you mean, you were worried," asks Arthur. He puts up a hand and pinches the bridge of his nose. "You know what, never mind. You aren't even supposed to know where I am."
"That's not possible," Dick says. It doesn't seem to occur to him that bland middle-class families aren't supposed to follow their criminal relations around the Earth and show up at their questionable places of employment. "We have to know where you are."
That may be true, Arthur reflects, but stalking him is not in the mission statement.
"Well," he says instead. "Now that you've found me, can you please leave?"
*
But of course it wasn't going to be as easy as that.
"Yes, we're Tommy's family," Dick tells Cobb and Ariadne.
"Who is Tommy?" Ariadne asks, and Cobb is looking at Arthur in that way that suggests he can't quite decide which question to ask first. He opens and closes his mouth several times, and then points at Arthur like he's not quite sure he's addressing the right person.
"You have a family?" is what he finally decides on.
"I'm a complicated man," says Arthur.
"Your name is Tommy?" asks Ariadne.
"No," says Arthur. "My name is Arthur."
Dick sighs dramatically. "How much longer are you going to keep up this charade?"
"How much longer are you going to keep it up?" Arthur asks, pointedly.
Dick wisely chooses not to reply and turns back to Cobb and Ariadne and their blueprints. "He was always a handful growing up," he tells them confidentially.
"Dick," Arthur says. "I can still hear you."
"And what are you working on?" Dick asks loudly.
"Uh," says Ariadne. She looks at Arthur and Cobb and Dick and gives up halfway through whatever she was considering and says, "We're designing a dream."
"How wonderful," Dick says. "What does that mean?"
Arthur walks away.
*
"This is way too much," he says, when he gets home and finds Dick and Harry in his living room. "Do you not remember the part where I asked you to stop following me around?"
"I am the High Commander," Dick says. "You don't get to tell me what to do."
"Is that seriously what you call yourself?" Eames yells, from somewhere else in the house.
"Jesus Christ," says Arthur.
"And we missed you," says Harry, who looks like he's considering a hug.
"Leave me alone," says Arthur.
Eames is at the kitchen table drinking a beer in his pyjamas. It's six o'clock in the evening and he doesn't even look like he's showered. Sally is sitting across from him on Arthur's nice clean kitchen counter, showing off about ten feet of leg.
"Your friend Yusuf is a really great guy," she's saying.
"Yes, he is," says Eames.
"Don't even think about it, Sally," says Arthur.
"He designs explosives," she says anyway. Arthur recognizes that tone in her voice. It's never led anywhere good.
"Among other things," says Eames.
"I love a man who's dangerous," she says.
Arthur rolls his eyes. "He's too good for you," he says.
"Be nice," says Eames.
"Do you think he'd go for it?" Sally asks. "I think I really like him."
"No," says Arthur. "I think he has better taste than that." He turns to Eames. "And where were you today?"
"I decided to work from home," says Eames.
"How do you even," Arthur starts, then changes his mind.
"All right," says Eames. "I just didn't feel like getting out of bed. It's almost the same thing." He takes another drink of his beer. "Besides, someone had to be here to let them in."
Arthur goggles. "Were you in on this?" he asks.
"Don't look so surprised," says Eames. "Your father is a perfectly lovely man."
"He is not," says Arthur.
"Guys," Sally says. "We need to focus."
"I do not want to focus on whether Yusuf will sleep with you," Arthur says.
"He's very open to suggestion," says Eames. "And peer pressure. I'm sure I could put in a good word for you."
"Why are you doing this?" Arthur asks plaintively.
"Don't you think Yusuf deserves to get laid?" says Eames.
"Not with her!"
Sally's smile is almost shy and happy, though, when she says, "Thanks, Eames."