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[neededforger]

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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For reasons Eames himself couldn't explain, he was still fond of the point man, and at the outset he'd been intent on keeping things professional, and he'd managed, for a while, it was too easy for him to slip back into old mannerisms and endearments, though at the nonexistent response from Arthur, he'd let them go again as best he could.

Then, as chance would have it, he realized that the man in the corner booth was, in fact, Arthur, and as far as he was concerned that was a sign. Sure, it might be one of the portents of the apocalypse, but it was still a sign. He debated, for a moment, going over to talk to him, but decided against it, at least for the time being. At least until the waitress came by again and he could tell her that Arthur's next drink was on him. That would give him a chance to gauge the other man's reaction to finding him there, anyway.

[littlspecificty]

Arthur was working his way through his recent drink when a waitress came up to him - not his - and set another glass down on the table in front of him. She informed him that a gentleman had paid for it. Arthur's eyebrows went up a little and he asked which "gentlemen". Following the slight gesture of her finger, he saw someone he had not been wanting to see again for a good long while. Eames.

They were in the same fucking restaurant. Cosmic irony must have hated him. He turned his face away from Eames, swearing under his breath and rubbing his eyes with his thumb and index finger, too tired to remain more "composed".

After letting out a tired breath, "Take it back. Please. I don't want it. I don't want anything from that man, please and thank you." He then took another swig of his first drink as she did as he asked. And just as he was feeling relaxed his stomach flops on him and starts to feel like it's going into knots.

Why the hell did this man have this affect on Arthur? It was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

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If it had been anyone else, Eames might have been offended, really, as it was, he was actually a little amused since it was rather what he'd expected. This just proved that Arthur was still as prickly as ever, and he was going to have to try a little harder.

Of course, there was always the question of why he'd want to, given as how things had ended before. But if he was being honest wit himself, that was exactly why he was going to try again, because how things had ended before was ... premature. It wasn't how they were supposed to have ended.

He smiled when Arthur noticed him, giving a nod and a mock-salute of greeting, two fingers brushing against his temple for a moment, but that was all, he stayed put for the time being, there would be plenty of time, he reasoned, to go talk to Arthur later. No sense making him bolt so soon.

[littlspecificty]

Eames probably knew his drink would be refused - at least he should have. Through all his flirting and old endearments, Arthur had shown no interest what so ever in response. That should be enough. But, if Arthur knew Eames (and he was pretty sure he did), the man was far too stubborn. Pigheaded, too, if Arthur was in the mood to be mean. As he took another swallow of his drink, he wasn't honestly willing to rule that out.

They had been together. Once. A long time ago, it seemed. Things had been pretty decent for a while, even pleasant, even hopeful that it would last. But, somewhere along the way, things had stalled and Arthur, sensing the end around the corner, decided to leave before Eames could. Arthur had had relationships before and they had ended badly more than not. Arthur had been left and he didn't want to be left again. So, he had left Eames. And Eames hadn't pursued him, like Arthur had asked in the note he left behind.

That didn't mean Arthur hadn't kept tabs on the other man (to make sure he didn't get into too much trouble). Despite popular belief, he did care. In his own way. Even though he wouldn't admit that to Eames; the man had a tendency of becoming far too smug far too easily.

When it came to how he felt on their ended relationship, he didn't like to dwell on it. It was over. That was it. They gave it a shot, it hadn't worked out. They went their separate ways. He honestly didn't like to be reminded of it - just like his past relationships before Eames.

Arthur would have preferred to keep it like that. So Eames being Eames and smiling at Arthur and acting like he did back before he and Arthur had gotten together the first time... it made Arthur frown into his glass. It also made him consider just leaving, going back to the hotel and ordering room service instead. But then that would mean Arthur would be running away. And Arthur didn't want to run from Eames - he refused to give him that kind of smug satisfaction in predicting his behavior. That's how it had happened the night they ended up taking their relationship further. Arthur had walked out of the pub he and Eames had been at and Eames had followed. They had bickered, yelled, talked, and walked for six blocks in London before finally agreeing to take things slowly.

Arthur growled under his breath, taking another drink. Damn Eames. Fucking bastard.

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Eames still had that note, actually, tucked away in a safety deposit box somewhere along with the postcards he'd sent Arthur when they were no separate jobs. Truth be told, Eames was something of a sentimentalist, and all those myriad scraps of paper from a life once lived were good at grounding him, sometimes better than his totem, really. Though partly that was because Eames had never been a strong believer in totems, though that was likely due to the fact that he knew what he looked like, and if he didn't look like he should, clearly he was dreaming. It was as simple as that as far as he was concerned.

Eames had gone back to scanning the room, filing mannerisms and movements away again, though he was still keeping an eye on Arthur, he knew more than a few of the other man's tells, and he could see the momentary of whether or not to leave as plainly as if Arthur'd been carrying a sign that said he was having a debate with himself. He'd go over and say hello soon enough, but for now he could wait, at least until the other man had settled again, at least as much as Arthur ever settled.

[littlspecificty]

Arthur, if he were ever completely honest with himself, had kept all the postcards, notes, and small gifts Eames had given him. Arthur had shut them all away in a safety deposit box ("out of sight, out of mind" right?) but the fact that he still kept them at all... it disturbed Arthur deeply. He wasn't by nature a sentimental person. He should have been able to just throw them away. But he hadn't. But he couldn't stand looking at them, either, being reminded. So he put them away.

Arthur reached one hand in his vest pocket and felt his die; he was awake. Shaking his head again, leaning back in his seat with a heavy sigh, he kind of wished this was a dream. But, it being reality, he'd have to deal with it. Whether he wanted to our not.

He knew Eames could read him, even from across a room full of people. He rolled his eyes. Leave it to Arthur to have been with a man who made it his livelihood to study, read, and forge people. He could feel the other man's eyes and Arthur, feeling very crabby, took one hand and, with his middle finger, scratched the side of his face. 'Read that.' He knew it was immature. He didn't care. He knocked back the rest of his drink and knew immediately he'd need a refill.

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He very nearly snorted his drink laughing at that gesture, he'd only barely caught it, having been focusing instead on the young couple a few tables over, he wasn't entirely sure what they were discussing, but it was serious, they were quite clearly in love, though the discussion itself was somber.

He let Arthur be for the time being, at least until they'd both eaten, food was something else that was almost a totem, because in dreams there was rarely any flavor and he never really considered himself out of the woods until he'd eaten, but, that done and his check covered, he wove his way easily through the crowd, just leaning against the side of Arthur's booth, "You know, Arthur." His tone was conversational, "We can't just ignore each other for the rest of our lives."

[littlspecificty]

Arthur had ordered some pasta after a while, his stomach demanding he do something but knowing it was all it would be able to handle. Eames being around him off the job made him antsy in ways he normally wasn't. It was irritating. Very irritating.

By the time he had finished, he could see Eames making his way over out of the corner of his eye. Heaving another heavy sigh, he took another long pull of his drink, knowing the inevitable was approaching. He'd prefer to meet it not entirely sober if at all possible.

At Eames' words, not looking at him, but not missing a beat, "Doesn't mean we can't try."

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He shrugged at that, utterly nonchalant, just the same as he usually was, thumbs hooked into his pockets and looking oddly at ease, even in the face of Arthur's apparent hostility, "Well we could, but really, what's the point? As long as we're both in the same business we're going to keep running into each other, and, horror of horrors, probably working together again. So we might as well make the most of it, yeah?"

Even he wasn't entirely sure what he was asking just at present, maybe trying to pick up the previously scattered pieces of their life together, maybe starting fresh, maybe something else entirely.

[littlspecificty]

Rubbing his eyes, Arthur could tell what Eames was doing. He had done it plenty of times before when they were together. But if Arthur didn't want to fall back into that kind of thing with Eames, he was going to have to ignore it. Pretend that is wasn't him asking more than what he was really saying. And ignore the uneasy weight in his chest.

"I was, until you showed up. And there are plenty of jobs out there where we won't come into contact at all. Worked for three years; pretty sure it can work again."

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Eames generally meant more than he was asking on the surface, it was just in his nature, really, and for the moment he was actually glad that Arthur had taken it at face value, because he wasn't sure how he would have replied if Arthur had asked further questions.

"Alright." He said with a shrug, pushing himself upright then, You know how to find me if you change your mind." It wasn't really over that easily, it was just that Eames had learned better than to keep pushing or he'd send Arthur skidding away like they were opposing magnets.

[littlspecificty]

Arthur knew that Eames wasn't giving up; please, the man had been more persistent in getting Arthur to watch 'Casablanca' with him. Eames never just "gave up". At least not for very long.

Arthur didn't respond, just leaned back and signaled to his waitress he wanted another refill. He knew this wasn't over. As long as he and Eames were even in the same five mile radius, the other man would not leave Arthur completely alone.

Oh yes, Arthur was definitely going to be ordering a third drink. Maybe even a fourth before he decided to leave and head back to the hotel.

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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."

[littlspecificty]

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.

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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.

[littlspecificty]

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").

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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.

[littlspecificty]

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.

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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.

[littlspecificty]

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.

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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.

[littlspecificty]

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?"

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"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.

[littlspecificty]

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.

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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