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Eames could have gone back to Mombasa, he knew he could have, and he could have gone right back to what he'd been doing when Cobb came to find him. But he'd decided not to, after all, it had been a while since he'd been stateside, and he didn't have anyone breathing down his neck (yet) and it had also been a while since he'd gone to visit his mum, so he figured he'd stick around for a while, do some sightseeing.

The first thing to do, after debarking, and being careful not to pay attention to any of his compatriots, at least not actively, and never with more than the faint, gentle recognition of people who'd just spent more time in a plane together than most people spent together at work in a day. He paged through his phone, checking his funds, not at all surprised to find that Saito was a man of his word, and they'd already been paid.

The next thing he did, while waiting for his checked baggage to come around on the carousel, was to check mid-range hotels in the area, looking for one that had a week's vacancy at such short notice, since that was the minimum he was going to need to wait for the world to settle again and start looking for another job. Booking didn't take long either, which he was pleasantly surprised by.

That evening he found himself in the restaurant down the block from the hotel, enjoying a celebratory steak dinner, and collecting details. The way that woman folded her hands, the way that man held his knife and fork, the way the bartender smiled at one of the waitresses. Each of these, and others, were stored away for later perusal, practice, and eventual use. He didn't always have to forge someone in particular, sometimes he just had to be a person other than who he was, background, security and observation and those little details could make or break a character.

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Eames debated for a moment, telling Arthur where he was staying, but decided against it, since that was a sure-fire way to make sure the other man avoided the place like the plague.

What he said was: "Funny though, isn't it? That out of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, you go and walk into mine." He shook his head, "Some sort of cosmic joke, innit?" He actually had to stop himself from touching the other man, not entirely sure where the impulse had come from in the first place, wanting to clasp his shoulder or ruffle his hair, "Enjoy the rest of your evening, Arthur, and sleep well when you go."

Arthur didn't know where the other man was staying, but he could deduce that it was somewhere in the area. There was almost this dread that Eames was staying at the same -- but he stopped that thought before it could finish, not wanting to jinx it.

He ended up glaring at Eames, frowning deeply, resenting the other man for referring to the same movie he had just been thinking of not even a second ago. He did that, didn't he? There were times they had seemed to think the exact same thing at the same time and it had irritated Arthur then, and pissed him off now.

"Yeah, hilarious." He had flatly ground out and turned his glare away from the other man and ignoring his goodbye.

Eames' whole demeanor just made Arthur feel on edge and oppositional. He had been anticipating anger, resentment, and even being down-right ignored by Eames after three years of nothing; he had not anticipated... this. Not with the way things had ended between them. In short, it made Arthur very uncomfortable.

That was Eames all over though, he liked keeping people just a little off-balance, and especially with Arthur, he'd always excelled at nudging the other man right to the edges of his comfort zone and sometimes even just past, though the few times he'd managed that he'd always paid for it later.

He had to resist the urge, again, to touch Arthur, just shaking his head at the other man's glare, quietly amused by it more than anything.

He made his way back to the hotel, entertaining the thought of what might happen if he and Arthur were booked in the same place. He didn't suspect there would be any miraculous reconciliation, not so soon, anyway, maybe not ever a small, traitorous voice in the back of his mind reminded him, but he'd had a lot of practice at ignoring that voice, and he was going to do the same now. Mostly because even if they didn't work out in the end, they at least had to have a proper end to things, not just one of them vanishing into the night.

Arthur would often find himself severely put-out and frustrated that his glares never seemed to work on Eames. They did nothing but amuse the other man, which really only served to irritate Arthur even more. But then, again, he did that, didn't he? (He also drove Arthur to drink harder liquor that night before leaving.)

When he had decided to go back to the hotel it had been several hours after Eames had left, very late with the streets and hotel quite. Good thing most people were asleep or in their rooms, Arthur might have [literally] run into a few of them if they hadn't been. Arthur could hold his alcohol enough to find his way back to the hotel and room competently enough but as soon as he was in his room, it seemed like his equilibrium shot right out from under him.

He passed out on the couch, had a few hours of dreamless sleep (thank God), and then briefly woke up long enough to get undressed and burrow into his bed, abhorring the sunlight that had been starting to enter the room (and grumbling how Eames was a "smarmy, smug bastard").

Eames himself slept late, it was a luxury he didn't often afford himself, mostly because he couldn't often actually afford it, usually on the run from someone or other and having to keep moving. It was strange to him, just a little, to be able to not just sleep in, but enjoy his morning once he'd actually woken. He opted for breakfast at the hotel's small cafe, getting in just as they were swapping the breakfast menu out for lunch, and while he didn't hold the highest hopes for the quality of the coffee, he was pleasantly surprised to find that it was, at least, better than what he'd gotten used to in Mombasa, though not quite what he'd gotten used to while they were in Paris.

He was making a list while he nibbled his toast, not a schedule as such, just a list of things that he needed to do before he decided to move on, 'call mum' was near the top, and somewhere near the middle was 'Arthur?' The question mark, he decided, was because he wasn't sure what he needed to do about Arthur, he just knew that he'd have to make sure and see the other man before he vanished into the ether again.

Arthur slept later - at least he thought he had. When he finally managed to [literally] roll out of bed, take a shower, and make his way down to the cafe in the hotel (not able to stand being in the room for too long - walking off his hangover usually worked for him), he was hungover, wanting coffee, and dressed down in jeans and a t-shirt, hair slightly unkempt.

He also probably looked as shitty as he felt but, job over and at a hotel where no one knew him, he didn't really care. if anything, it would help his "cover" and remain unnoticeable to those around him. At least, that was what he kept telling himself as he sat there, chin propped on one hand, temples pounding, as he waited for his coffee to be brought to him. Most likely not as good as it was in Paris but he didn't care. Caffeine was needed and virtually any kind would do.

Well that was unexpected. Eames had been thinking that he'd actually have to track the other man down, and he wasn't entirely sure what to do about the fact that he didn't. Arthur, he thought, looked terrible, and Eames knew from experience that he probably felt worse.

He debated going over to say good morning, but it was only a momentary, fleeting thought, because he knew if he did he'd get a fist to the face at the very least, and he'd be lucky if he didn't get knifed, really. He huffed a laugh then, realizing that he'd fallen still, staring, that was a good way to be inconspicous wasn't it? He smiled crookedly, shaking his head and sipping at his own coffee as he finished making his list, keeping watch on Arthur out of the corner of his eye.

Arthur ended up closing his eyes as he waited for his coffee. He could feel someone's eyes but if they, whoever they were, followed him as he left, he'd know that that person had other intentions. Otherwise, he'd just toss it up to someone staring but meaning nothing by it.

Either way, his head hurt too much to really care right now. Unless they had a major grudge against him, they wouldn't act on it in public, etc. His thoughts, though, were broken by the coffee that was placed in front of him. He opened his eyes and gave a grateful look to the waitress, small smile included, even saying a quite, rough "Thank you."

Arthur pretty much coveted his coffee, both hands around it protectively, from that point until it was gone. By that time he had felt more awake and like he could bear going out for a walk. The fresh air usually did him good after a night of bad drinking mistakes. Running a hand through his hair, he left the waitress a tip and walked out of the cafe towards the elevators. He figured he'd need a jacket at the very least if he was going out.

Eames couldn't help but smile, just a little, still watching Arthur out of the corner of his eye, the bottom half of the slip of paper he was using as a list becoming a sketch of the other man huddled over his coffee as if it were some sort of precious treasure. It was something he'd gotten into the habit of when they'd been together, sketching Arthur, after all, he'd started out with forging actual objects, and sometimes he still did just to keep himself in practice, and Arthur was a good subject, really, mostly because his rare candid moments, those few instances in time that proved he was human were something that Eames felt should be preserved for the future.

He shook his head, rattling his thoughts back into place when he realized Arthur was on the move, he decided to follow him, just on a whim, one of those little instincts that he'd learned not to ignore, he wasn't entirely sure that being stuck in an elevator with a probably still surly Arthur was the best idea he'd ever come up with, but it would have to do. He slipped in right as the doors were closing, whistling cheerfully, intent on not 'noticing' Arthur for the time being.

Arthur not only did a double-take, but also blinked for several moments, making sure he was seeing correctly. When it became clear that he wasn't seeing things he groaned, hand coming up to his face, any and all formality thrown out the window (because Arthur was hungover, dammit).

"UGH. It is way too early in the day to deal with you. And what are you doing? Following me?"

"Ah, Arthur, hardly recognized you." He quipped jovially. He shrugged at the question, "No, I wasn't following you." He arched a brow then, "Should I? Are you likely to get in some sort of trouble? You certainly look ready for it."

Eames knew that he was asking for trouble, but he also knew that whatever he suffered for this would be worth it. Arthur surly was ... well it was oddly adorable.

Arthur frowned, somewhat despising the other man's good mood, and slowly putting together the fact that if Eames was here but not following him, it meant two things: Eames was lying or he was booked at the same -- "Oh God, you're staying here, too? And no, you don't even need to be in the same parameter I am let alone following me anywhere! And it is none of your business what I do!"

Oh yes, Arthur's mood was flat-out sour today.

He did back off, just a little, enough to give Arthur his personal space bubble back, "I am, as a matter of fact, just until I'm sure things have gotten settled again and no one's going to try killing me outright if I look for another job."

The elevator door chimed then and Eames nodded once, "Well this is me, enjoy yourself," He said, slipping from the elevator and giving Arthur a wave, "And don't do anything I wouldn't do without backup." It was what he'd always told the other man when they ended up taking separate jobs, and it was just reflex to say it now

Cosmic irony, indeed. Of course: he and Eames end up on the same job, at the same restaurant, and now at the same hotel. Someone up there must have it in for Arthur...

He ended up walking out when Eames did, it being his floor also. He rolled his eyes at what Eames said, but his ears felt hot as he found out that they were staying on the same floor together, as well. "Why do you keep saying that. Not on a job." Arthur mumbled the last part. He did remember Eames telling him that and while he rolled his eyes then, he often followed the advice. But he didn't want to think about that too much, ended up bringing up other memories that Arthur would prefer not to remember (especially not in front of Eames).

Eames' brow quirked just slightly at the realization that they were on the same floor. He wasn't entirely sure what to make of it, he'd taken them being in the same restaurant the night before as a sign, possibly of impending doom, but now it was turning into a long enough string of coincidences that he was tempted to check his totem, and likely he would when he got back to his room, no sense being paranoid about it, "Well that's true, I suppose, but you've certainly got your 'someone's about to get punched' look."

"You are not worth the exertion it would take to punch." He continued to glare at Eames.

He actually laughed then, "Who said it would be me?" He shrugged, "I mean, I certainly wouldn't argue if it were, I probably deserve it for something."

Arthur's face become more blank than hostile, making the mistake of reading into Eames' words, "What good would it do?"

"Might make you feel better." He said with another shrug, scratching at his ear. He'd already gotten his door open then, just leaning against the doorframe, "Look, are you going to come in or not? Wouldn't want to disturb the neighbors carrying on a conversation like this in the hall."

Arthur's eyebrows furrowed, his frown returning, just looking hard at Eames for a moment before saying, "Hitting you wouldn't make me feel better."

He then continued walking down the hall, toward his room and coming to it, found out he was only a few doors down from Eames' room. With one more look he went into his room and shut the door hard behind him.

That was actually something of a relief, sure, he'd taken more than a few hits to the face in his time, but it really wasn't his favorite pastime. His brow arched, just slightly, at Arthur's exit. Two rooms between them, that couldn't just be a coincidence, but he had to believe it was, really, because otherwise he'd make himself more paranoid than usual.

He hesitated a moment, but then smiled, carefully tearing the sketch of Arthur off the bottom of his list and padding over to the other man's door, thankful for the thick carpeting that would muffle his footsteps. He folded the bottom edge of the sketch, tucking it into the keycard slot where it wouldn't fall out. That done he returned to his own room, closing the door quietly and setting about putting his list in some kind of order.

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