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"Eames," said Arthur.
Eames groaned and pushed his head beneath the pillow.
"Eames," said Arthur again. "There's paisley in my closet."
Eames grunted agreeably.
"No," said Arthur. Eames didn't need to look to know he was running a hand through his hair. "Eames. Why is there paisley in my closet? I don't wear paisley."
"No," said Eames roughly. He turned his head, dislodging the pillow, and blinked at Arthur. "But I do."
"I know," said Arthur. He sounded none too happy about it. "Does it have to be in my closet?"
"Well," said Eames, "I could hang it out the window, if you'd rather. Or leave it strewn across the living room. The kitchen counter? Whichever you prefer, darling, it makes no difference to me."
Arthur sighed his extremely put-upon sigh. "I guess at least no one else has to be subjected to the eyesore that is your wardrobe, if it's in the closet," he said, and that was that.
"What they hell have you done to my kitchen?" demanded Arthur, stopping dead in his tracks. "And also, how did you get inside?"
"Picked the lock," said Eames cheerfully. "You really ought to give me a key, darling, I think the neighbours are starting to get suspicious."
"How many times have you broken into my apartment?" Arthur's eyes widened impossibly.
"Had you really not noticed?" Eames grinned gleefully.
"I." Arthur blinked. His face went slack, thoughtful. "Huh."
"Really, Arthur, you're not doing your reputation any favours here. Just give me the key and be done with it, yeah?"
Arthur folded his arms. "Never mind that," he said. "My kitchen, Eames."
"I'm surprised it caught your attention at all, considering our conversation thus far. And the fact that you only ever use it to make coffee when you're barely conscious."
"Of course it caught my attention. It looks like you've planted a vegetable patch in here. Also." He craned his neck, peering around a bag of potatoes. "Butchered several animals."
"I'm merely trying to promote the use of your wonderful but woefully neglected culinary facilities. Don't worry, darling, I'll do all the cooking."
Arthur stared. "You cook?" he said eventually.
"Rather excellently, I must say." Eames nodded.
"You went grocery shopping," said Arthur.
"So it would seem," said Eames, opening the fridge and beginning to pile things inside. He paused and looked over his shoulder. "Would you like the contents of the refrigerator alphabetised, or categorised in some specific manner, or-- "
"Shut up," said Arthur. His mouth twitched. "So. What's for dinner?"
"Fuck," said Arthur, jerking awake. "Eames, what the fuck, I had another hour down there."
"I'm afraid we don't have that kind of time up here," said Eames grimly.
Arthur registered the muffled sound of gunfire, fading like it was coming from downstairs. "Fuck," he said again, snapping to his feet and wrenching the PASIV from beneath Eames' hands. He clicked it shut. "I thought this was supposed to be a simple job," he said.
"What are you talking about, this is as run-of-the-mill as it gets," said Eames, baring his teeth in a grin.
Arthur acknowledged his point with a tilt of his head. "Cobb?" he said.
"Called him before he got here," said Eames. "Fine."
"Right," said Arthur, clicking the safety off his Glock and heading for the door. "Let's go."
"I do so love your serious face," said Eames, stepping up behind Arthur.
Arthur rolled his eyes and opened the door.
"I need a vacation," said Arthur, rolling onto his back and wiping the blood from his forehead.
Eames pulled himself to his knees beside him. "Don't say that, love," he said. "I'm not sure I can manage that commotion and the apocalypse all in one day."
"You'd survive," said Arthur dismissively.
"Presumptuous, considering the apocalypse is by definition the complete and final destruction of the world," said Eames.
"Actually, the Greek word refers to a more general revelation," said Arthur, coughing up what sounded like a lungful of dust.
"I meant in the Biblical sense," said Eames.
"When don't you," said Arthur dryly.
Eames grinned. "End of days aside," he said, standing with a mild-tempered wince, "Are you adequately broken bone-free to lift yourself off the ground? Otherwise, and don't say I didn't provide fair warning, I will carry you. Only I'm rather anxious to get home."
"Shut up," said Arthur, pushing himself to his feet. He brushed totally pointlessly at his sleeves and stopped mid-motion. "What did you say?" he said sharply, blinking at Eames.
"I said I will carry you whether you like it or not, because much as I enjoy the action while we're in it this was somewhat spectacularly unplanned and I have a rather painful gash on my leg, besides which you know I missed breakfast this morning, so if you'd be so kind as to-- "
"Eames," said Arthur.
"Yes?" said Eames placidly.
"Not that," said Arthur. "The…other thing."
"Are you sure you aren't concussed, darling?" said Eames. "That's a rather lot of blood you have there."
"What?" said Arthur, wiping distractedly at his forehead. "No, I'm fine."
"Well, excellent," said Eames. "Then do you think we might continue this discussion at home?"
"There!" said Arthur loudly, pointing. "You said it again."
Eames frowned. "Arthur," he said slowly, "What on earth are you-- " He stopped, brow furrowed, and stepped closer. "Oh," he said. The frown turned into the tiniest of smirks. "Really?"
Arthur folded his arms. "What really?" he said.
"I thought you knew," said Eames.
"Thought I knew what?" said Arthur, eyes narrowing dangerously.
Fortunately, that had stopped working on Eames approximately five minutes after he'd met Arthur (or, four and a half minutes after he was utterly, irrevocably charmed).
"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about," he said.
Arthur's mouth tightened. Then he said, straightening the already-perfect knot of his tie (how that damn thing stayed so snug to his throat between all the running and shooting and what have you Eames would never presume to understand), "You moved in with me and decided I wasn't someone who needed to be informed about it?"
Eames held up his hands. "There's paisley in your closet!" he said defensively.
"We agreed that was purely practical!" said Arthur. "And altruistic, if you take into account its lack of public display."
"I cooked for you," said Eames.
"That's not-- "
"You gave me a key to your apartment," said Eames.
"I." Arthur stopped, staring.
"If I've miscounted," said Eames after a silence, "And you're not actually out of bullets, please inform me as soon as is convenient. Or sooner would be preferable for me."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "I just," he said. "You want-- really?"
"Arthur," said Eames quietly. "Darling."
"Don't," said Arthur, just as quietly.
"Yes, I want," said Eames, nudging in to kiss Arthur, swiping the blood from his cheek with his thumb.
"Okay," said Arthur stiffly, pulling back. He bent to pick the PASIV and his gun from the ground. Eames watched him silently, smiling.
"I won't tell anyone," said Eames. "You know, about your truly momentous obliviousness. If that's what you're worried about."
"Shut up, Eames," said Arthur, turning and heading towards where they left the car. Eames followed slowly.
After a moment Arthur looked back over his shoulder and rolled his eyes. "Come on," he said. "Let's go home."