Chapter Text
In Arthur's opinion, the Fischer job went surprisingly well. Given the circumstances, they were lucky to be alive at all, especially Cobb and himself. If Saito hadn't made it back, if Eames hadn't pushed Cobb into finishing the mission, Eames and Yusuf and maybe Ariadne could have escaped, but Cobb would be in an Interpol prison. And Arthur would have gotten dragged down with him.
All of which was why, reluctantly, Arthur had started to respect Eames. Not trust him, but respect him.
It was infuriating, Arthur thought, as he watched Eames gesture dramatically at the whiteboard with one beautifully overconfident, intentionally graceless, finger swish. It was infuriating for several reasons. One, Arthur hated being wrong, especially about people. Two, no one had any right to be that many kinds of genius. Eames was confident, smart, easily sexy, and experienced at just about everything.
Arthur couldn't decide if he disliked, enjoyed, or was simply jealous of Eames. Regardless, he was fucking distracting. And Arthur didn't have the luxury of distractions in his profession.
"...Let's start with Arthur, shall we?" Eames said, in his perfect rumpled button down with exactly three buttons undone. Just enough to show some skin, but leave the mystery of what was underneath to the viewer's imagination. "See any faults yet?"
"Not yet," Arthur said, because despite being distracted, he had been paying attention, and Eames' work was flawless, as usual.
Eames grinned at him and raised an eyebrow. "Really? Well, I'm flattered, darling. If you do come up with anything, don't hesitate to call me at once. Our work is all in the details, you know."
Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Yeah, I'll keep an eye out."
Eames practically glowed with pride. As if he needed more confidence. But it was, Arthur admitted reluctantly, a little nice to see. Eames’ enthusiasm was infectious.
"Anyone else? Not that you're likely to find something Arthur didn't…"
Arthur tuned the rest out. It was just meaningless small talk and questions Eames had already answered about two times over. Instead, Arthur worked on sketching a maze, until he noticed Eames walking to his desk across the aisle and opening a neat leather case and picking up a very nice pen to get back to his work.
Not just any pen, an orange Aurora fountain pen. One of the newer models, the Aurora Zeta, which easily would cost more than 10 pizzas. It had gold accents against the striking citrus orange. Arthur loved it, especially on Eames. He held it against the page with the striking poise of an expert forger, in more than one sense.
Normally, if it was anyone else, Arthur would have ignored it. Normally, he would avoid admitting anything he cared about. Normally, he would have avoided this.
“Eames,” Arthur said, and waved him over.
Eames, shockingly, came without further prompting. He looked surprised, and a little deflated, probably thinking that Arthur was about to poke holes in his plan. Which, to be fair, was Arthur’s actual job.
“Yes, darling?” Eames asked, and sat diagonally across a chair in front of Arthur’s desk, leaning against the arm like it was a backrest. He lowered his voice to a whisper and said, “Is there something I missed?”
“No. I -” Arthur grimaced, realizing he sounded like an idiot. “I liked your pen. An Aurora, right?”
Eames immediately looked like he was trying not to laugh. “Yes, it is. I had no idea you enjoyed the brand?”
Arthur smiled and shook his head. “It’s high quality, but I prefer the classic Schon aluminum ballpoint pen.”
“Ah, very practical,” Eames said, and gave him a tilted smirk. “Low friction and little mess.”
Arthur didn’t blush. He was far too controlled for that. But it was closer than he would have preferred.
“They are,” Arthur said, and reached into a drawer for something he didn’t need, in case his face was redder than he predicted. “I’m surprised you care about office supplies.”
“Well, you know what they say, Arthur,” Eames said, a little softer than Arthur would have expected. “Everything is about the details.”
Arthur nodded, and met Eames’ gaze with a calm one of his own. He was in control, here. He didn’t have room for distractions. Not when he was on the job. Especially now that he knew the job could kill them.
“Of course. Speaking of details, walk me through the last room. We need a plan for if the mark ignores the nurse,” Arthur said, and changed focus to the mission.
---
The job was easy and boring and went as planned, which Arthur mostly enjoyed. He didn’t get many chances to talk to Eames, and that was just as well. He didn’t get distracted, and the mission went well.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, until Arthur got back to his hotel room. As usual, he closed the door and locked it, he leaned back against the locked door, and took a deep, exhausted breath. He took off his jacket, he tossed off his tie, and he unbuttoned the top two buttons. He also rolled up his shirt cuffs.
Arthur decided to write down a few last notes before he changed clothes entirely. He would find his nice pair of jeans, the ones he actually liked, and -
There were two pens in his pocket.
Arthur frowned, wondering when he had done that. It was sloppy, and meant he was more tired than he had thought. He would have to reevaluate his plans.
Except, when Arthur pulled them both out, one of them wasn’t his spare pen. It was a gorgeous aluminum one. Arthur lifted it up close, into the light, with a fond smile breaking out as he confirmed his suspicions.
It was a Schon Classic.
Which meant, obviously, it was a gift from Eames. A backwards, ridiculous, power-game-esque sort of gift, but a pleasant gesture. Arthur twisted it, letting the metallic grey catch the light. His thoughts strayed to how to replicate that exact shine in the dream, for a moment, before Arthur remembered he was supposed to be working. But still…
It was a nice gift.