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ifeelbetterTitle: Sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your name (a.k.a., Eamestown)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ifeelbetter
Warning: I thought kitten!fic was crack. And then I wrote this. And now I know better.
Disclaimer: I own nothing of value besides one truly awesome ukulele.
Word Count: 3,034
Summary: There's a little town in New Jersey where everyone knows and loves Eames. The team ends up there accidentally after a botched job and hi-jinks ensue.
Notes: Prompt from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
inception_kink meme: rthur needs to get a taste of just how much he fails to appreciate his Mr. Eames. Cue FANGIRL ATTACK. IDK,, just make it so that Eames is something of a celebrity in whatever town they happen to be in--maybe they go back to his hometown? And Eames is a former rugby star or something (guh), and Eames is constantly swamped with starstruck girls (and of course guys) who think he's the greatest thing ever.
I DON'T KNOW. BUT I WROTE IT.
The job went off smoothly, for the most part. The problems started when the train crashed. It wasn't entirely unexpected given that the team was sharing a dream with the engineer at the time and that Yusuf, who had assured them that he knew how to make a train keep going straight thankyouverymuch, did not know how to make a train keep going straight.
It wasn't a bad crash, anyway. Not by their standards. No one else had been on the train, for one thing.
"Remember that time with the tram in San Francisco?" Eames said, bumping Arthur with his elbow.
Arthur made the noncommittal noise that Eames had affectionately titled Fuck Off #2: You're Annoying.
"What happened to the tram in San Francisco?" Ariadne asked because she couldn't resist the conversational traps Eames laid.
He grinned at her behind Arthur's back. "You don't want to know."
They were waiting for Cobb and Yusuf to collect the PASIV from the wreckage, the three of them sitting on the charred remains of their assigned seats. Ashes and charred bits of the upholstery fluttered to the ground around them.
"Fine," Ariadne said sullenly.
"He blew up the tram," Arthur explained. He'd turned his face to her, facing away from Eames, but he knew there was eye-rolling happening.
"I didn't!" he protested. Arthur turned back to him then, an eyebrow gracefully raised. "Alright, I make have had a bit to do with that."
"You set off the charges. That's more than 'a bit.'"
"It was a means to an end," Eames said huffily. "That blagger let you go, didn't he?"
"I would have--" Arthur began to protest but Ariadne cut in, having grown bored with their bickering.
"Where are we anyway?" she asked.
"Somewhere in New Jersey," said Arthur dismissively. He didn't like to leave off bickering with Eames. Not till he won.
"North or south?" Eames asked, suddenly entirely engaged.
Ariadne's brow furrowed and she pulled out her phone. A couple of deft clicks and she had an answer.
"Just outside Cranbury," she said. Eames groaned and dropped his head between his legs.
"We're not going to Cranbury, though?" he said. "Please tell me we're not going to Cranbury."
"It's the closest town," Ariadne said. "Logically, it would make sense--"
"What's wrong with Cranbury?" Arthur asked.
"I knew I shouldn't have agreed to a job on the East Coast," Eames said. "It was just too bloody much to ask, wasn't it?"
"What's. Wrong. With. Cranbury," Arthur repeated. He hated to repeat himself.
"I just have...a history there, alright?" said Eames, sitting back up. "Look, I'm going to ... I'm just going to see if I can't find some sunglasses in this wreck, alright? Maybe a big thick coat."
"Eames," Arthur said angrily but Eames was already trotting away, toeing through the wreckage and pulling out random hat-shaped pieces of debris.
"I wouldn't put it past him to find a false nose in this muck," said Ariadne cheerfully. "He's got that kind of luck."
"We have to walk to Cranbury," said Cobb, coming up from behind them. He was covered in white ash. It made his hair look dusty and unnatural.
"We should leave now," Yusuf added. He had his phone in his hands and was scrolling through police reports. "We're about to get uniformed company. The kind with sirens."
"Right," Arthur said and pretended the next sentence didn't give him the slightest twinge of schadenfreude, "Eames! We're walking to Cranbury! Now!"
There was a crash from beyond one of the heaps and Eames re-appeared. He had found a hat -- it was a standard black knit cap except for the fact that the fire had exploded the top into a plume of dangling threads. He also had found a pair of sunglasses but one of the lenses was missing. Overall, he looked like a lunatic.
"What are you--" Cobb started to ask, his jaw dropping a little.
"Look, can we just get this Cranbury business over and done with, alright?" Eames said grumpily. He pinched Ariadne's scarf and tried to wrap it around the bottom half of his face.
"Right. Whatever." Arthur wasn't willing to give Eames the attention he was so desperately playacting for so he simply turned and started to walk.
"This way, pet," Eames said.
Arthur gritted his teeth and turned around.
"This looks like something out of a catalog," said Ariadne.
"Keep your voice down," Eames hissed. He was trying, absurdly, to hide behind Arthur.
"You're being absurd," Arthur informed him because he felt that Eames ought to know. If no one told him, he'd never improve his behavior.
"And you're being loud," Eames hissed back.
"Eames. Stop being such a baby." Arthur stopped walking (which meant that Eames walked directly into his back) and turned around.
"Did you say Eames?" said a tiny old lady with a white poodle who had just been passing by them. She pushed Arthur aside and, catching sight of Eames, let out a shriek.
"Goodness gracious! If it isn't Mr. Eames!" she shrieked, clapping her hands.
"Mildred! Did I just hear you say--" said a man with an incredibly large beer belly and an apron, opening the door of the General Store they had stopped in front of. "Bless my soul!"
There were a couple more exclamations along similar lines ("Well, I never!" and "Oh my stars and garters!" and other antiquated absurdities) all down the road, the cries telegraphing nearly instantaneously.
"It's a bit of a small town," Eames said with an apologetic shrug, pulling off the hat and unwinding the scarf. "How d'you do, Mrs. Lintott?" The last bit was directed to the old lady with the poodle.
"Bless your soul, you remembered my name!" she said, blushing. Arthur was pretty sure old people weren't allowed to blush anymore. He remembered reading that somewhere. They definitely weren't allowed to giggle the way Mrs. Lintott was as Eames pressed her hand to his lips like a perfect gentleman.
"Wait till I tell my Harriet," she said, winking at Eames.
"I'm really just passing through, Mrs. Lintott," Eames said, trying to pull his hand back but finding it difficult to extricate himself from Mrs. Lintott's grip.
"I thought we agreed you would always call me Mildred," she said and did something with her eyes that might have been called coquettish.
The man from the store clapped Eames on the back with enough force to send him a step or two off balance. "You're a sight for sore eyes, you are!" the man barked happily.
"It's been a long while, Fred," said Eames carefully, rubbing at his shoulder.
"I've still got that Scotch," Fred said, elbowing Eames jovially in the ribs. "Fancy a drink?"
"I'm sort of--" Eames said, tilting his head towards to rest of the team, "--on the job, mate."
"Say no more!" Fred said and gave Cobb a clap on the back with even more force. "You fellows--sorry, love, didn't see you there--" he said, catching sight of Ariadne, "here to invade someone's dreams then?" Mildred and the small crowd of people who had gathered around them turned expectant faces to the group.
Arthur's frown, which had been deepening drastically, transformed into a full-on scowl.
"Eames, why does this entire town know--" Cobb started to ask in a low voice, trying to speak only out of the corner of his mouth.
"I did a spot of work for them, way back when," said Eames.
"Don't you try that modest rubbish here, young man!" said a mother with a stroller in the back of the small throng.
"That's right, we know better," said another voice.
"He did a great deal more than a 'spot of work' for us, did our Eames," said Mildred, putting an arm through his. "I think I see my Harriet coming our way." She waved to someone coming down the street and pointed obviously to Eames above his head. Her signals were clear enough to bring in an airplane, if needed.
Harriet turned out to be the most curvaceous, buxom, cheerful girl Arthur had ever seen. And she was wearing a swimsuit and a sarong and dangling a pair of espadrille heels from one hand. She practically bounced over to Eames.
"Gosh, Mr. Eames," she said in the same breathy tones that Marilyn Monroe had once said "Happy Birthday, Mr. President," "I never thought I'd see you again."
"Hullo, Harry," Eames said, having the decency to duck his head in embarrassment.
The crowd was inexorable: they had decided they would carry Eames away from his crew and so carried away he was.
A couple of teen-aged girls in the very back, dressed in the perkiest of cheerleader uniforms, were whispering to each other. As they turned to follow the crowd (which seemed to be heading to either the Town Hall or the river bed from what Arthur could tell), the blonder of the two hissed loudly at the other, "He's just so dreamy." The other giggled and squealed loudly.
Then the street was silent and empty.
"What the hell just happened?" Arthur asked.
* * * * * *
Arthur had to push his way into the only bar in town. He literally elbowed someone in the face to be able to get through the ye olde towne style saloon doors.
Eames was standing on the bar, someone's tie around his forehead and the smashed glasses perched on his hairline. He had a tankard of beer in each hand and seemed to be in the middle of a story. The entire bar was enthralled.
The cheerleaders had multiplied. The last time Arthur had checked, there had only been the two. Now there were eight. And they were being all perky just by the end of the bar, by the stool that had Eames's jacket draped on it.
"--and then the bloke says, he says," Eames was saying, "'Sorry, mate, the cow wasn't mine!'"
The bar exploded in laughter. Arthur got slapped heartily on the shoulder and back by three different people.
Harriet was perched on the bar, her legs propped gracefully on one of the stools. Safety hazard, Arthur thought. She was looking up at Eames like he was the greatest thing that ever lived, like he hung the stars just for her. She tugged on the cuff of his pants-leg and Eames looked down at her.
Arthur had sort of thought of that as one of Eames's private collection of expressions. Not that he cataloged Eames's expressions. It just seemed like one that was more appropriate for You just saved my life than Aren't you adorable in your bikini.
If he had been a cartoon, the storm clouds over Arthur's head would have started with the lightning at that point.
He turned and elbowed his way out of the bar, scowling at anyone who tried to clap him jovially on the back.
"Is Harriet in there?" said a young man with big ears, tugging on Arthur's sleeve. "Oh, sorry. Thought you were someone else."
"Yes, she's in there," Arthur grumbled. "With Eames."
The man's face lit up. "So it's true, then? Mr. Eames is back in town?" His absurdly large ears turned pink at the edges in his excitement.
"Oh, he's back all right," Arthur said. He was aware he was edging into whiny territory with his tone but couldn't be bothered to curb it.
"Thanks, man," the guy said, turning away. He turned back as if he'd forgotten something and tugged on Arthur's sleeve. "Look, sorry if I'm being rude--" Arthur wanted to interrupt and tell him that this whole town was being rude but couldn't be bothered to work out a phrasing that didn't sound peevish, "--but you wouldn't be Arthur, would you?"
Arthur blinked, scowling even harder. "How did you know my name?" he demanded.
"Oh, gosh, you are!" the guy said. "You're Arthur!"
"What'd you say, Colin?" said a guy at Arthur's elbow. Arthur had a sinking sense of deja vu as the same telescopic spread of news happened, just as it had in the street. Only this time, it wasn't Eames they were exploding with excitement over.
This time, it was Arthur's name that echoed around the tiny bar, followed by the stupidly antiquated "Oh my goodness" and "Bless my soul!"
"I've never met any of you," Arthur pointed out when three old ladies tried to pinch his cheeks in quick succession.
"What a nice young man," said Mildred, her hand darting between Arthur's attempts to block her and pinching his cheek with a vice-like grip.
"Isn't he, though?" said Eames, materializing beside Arthur. "Oh, hello, Colin."
"Hello, Mr. Eames," said Colin, his ears now bright red. "Did you see Harriet?"
"She's looking splendid, Colin. Married life suits her, it seems." Eames turned to Arthur, shoved impossibly close in the packed bar. "I gave Harriet away at her wedding, you know."
"It was such an honor, Mr. Eames, you have no idea," Colin gushed.
"When did you have time for all this?" Arthur asked, momentarily forgetting to be angry in the rush of relief that inexplicably flooded over him.
"About six years ago. Right after that tram thing in San Francisco," Eames explained.
"He told us all about you, afterwards," Colin explained. "Mrs. Lintott wanted to know why he looked so heartbroken all the time--"
"He never wanted my tea, that's how I knew," Mildred said, mostly to herself. She had a tankard in one of her hands but it looked more like whiskey than beer.
"--and then, after he left, Mildred started a pool--"
"Like a swimming pool?" Arthur asked, genuinely confused.
She patted him affectionately on the hand, the same way Arthur's grandmother once did when he had said something particularly dense. "No, darling, a betting pool."
"How are my odds, Milly?" Eames asked.
"I knew you'd get him in the end, didn't I say, Cols?"
"You always know best, Mrs. Lintott."
"Betting on what?" Arthur asked, frustrated in the mess of information.
"You, pet," Eames said. "They were betting on how long it would take me to run you to ground."
"Well, you can tell them there's been no running to ground here," said Arthur haughtily.
"It's true, I'm afraid," Eames said to the crowd who had gone quiet like the audience in a movie theater. "Arthur's a good deal too good for the likes of me."
There was a heartfelt protest.
"I didn't say that," Arthur protested. "I didn't say I was too good for you."
There was an appreciative hum from the crowd. Arthur sort of didn't care, though, not with the way Eames was looking at him. Looking only at him, with his full attention. Arthur had sort of missed it, the way Eames looked at him with all of his attention.
He'd been a bit jealous of a town, hadn't he?
"Didn't you?" Eames asked.
"Kiss him!" shouted someone at the back of the crowd. Mildred threw an expertly aimed wadded-up napkin at the heckler.
"I'm not better than you," Arthur said. He liked to be accurate, though, so he added, "Better dressed, though. I am better dressed."
"That's true," said Mildred as if she were the arbiter in a court case. "He is a sharp dresser, my dear."
Arthur couldn't tell if she was awarding him points or docking them from Eames.
"Look, can't we talk outside, Eames?" he said, throwing his hands up in frustration.
Eames's eyebrows rose.
"Kiss him!" shouted the same heckler.
"Don't make me take off my shoe," Mildred warned.
"Yeah, let's have a nice little chat outside," Eames agreed.
The crowd parted so that they didn't have to elbow their way out the way Arthur had had to on his way in. People who hadn't been able to fit in the tiny bar were scattered down the street. Arthur grabbed Eames's hand and pulled him towards the river down the main street.
He didn't let his hand go, not even when they got to the bridge.
"...Arthur?" Eames asked, his voice hesitant, like he was afraid of breaking the fragile contact with a breath.
Arthur turned to him suddenly. He had options. He could see them rolling out in his head. I demand you look at me more often and at this stupid town less seemed a tad unreasonable. You are to make it clear to all the towns who revere you as a folk legend that you are off the market but that doesn't mean you get to assume anything about me, alright seemed a bit convoluted. Warn me explicitly before we enter towns with betting pools about either of our sex lives only covered a small portion of his overall objection to the day in Cranbury.
Arthur decided that the script could be overlooked in this situation. Instead, he tugged Eames closer to him by his atrocious jean's belt loops.
"Arthu--" Eames started to say but Arthur had already decided against a script. It only made sense, then, to stop Eames from talking. And his own mouth fit the requirements nicely.
But the kiss wasn't what Arthur had been expecting. He hadn't thought much beyond the immediate--nothing beyond Eames not talking and not being distracted by this stupid town. The kiss wasn't supposed to shut off Arthur's synapses, like the lights going out in the warehouse one by one.
Eames pulled back first.
"I hope you don't object to having sex under this bridge," Arthur informed him.
"But people might see--" Eames started to object but him speaking only drew Arthur's attention back to his mouth.
"I can't tell you how very much I don't care," Arthur said, matter-of-factly.
Arthur manhandled Eames down the riverbank. As their lips met again, a shower of light lit them from the sky. The town had set off fireworks.
At the park, about a mile down the river, the mayor (who had been called out of bed) was trying to find the commemorative keys to the city in his jacket pocket. Mildred told him, in his ear, that Mr. Eames was otherwise occupied at the moment.
Author:
ifeelbetterWarning: I thought kitten!fic was crack. And then I wrote this. And now I know better.
Disclaimer: I own nothing of value besides one truly awesome ukulele.
Word Count: 3,034
Summary: There's a little town in New Jersey where everyone knows and loves Eames. The team ends up there accidentally after a botched job and hi-jinks ensue.
Notes: Prompt from
inception_kink meme: rthur needs to get a taste of just how much he fails to appreciate his Mr. Eames. Cue FANGIRL ATTACK. IDK,, just make it so that Eames is something of a celebrity in whatever town they happen to be in--maybe they go back to his hometown? And Eames is a former rugby star or something (guh), and Eames is constantly swamped with starstruck girls (and of course guys) who think he's the greatest thing ever. I DON'T KNOW. BUT I WROTE IT.
The job went off smoothly, for the most part. The problems started when the train crashed. It wasn't entirely unexpected given that the team was sharing a dream with the engineer at the time and that Yusuf, who had assured them that he knew how to make a train keep going straight thankyouverymuch, did not know how to make a train keep going straight.
It wasn't a bad crash, anyway. Not by their standards. No one else had been on the train, for one thing.
"Remember that time with the tram in San Francisco?" Eames said, bumping Arthur with his elbow.
Arthur made the noncommittal noise that Eames had affectionately titled Fuck Off #2: You're Annoying.
"What happened to the tram in San Francisco?" Ariadne asked because she couldn't resist the conversational traps Eames laid.
He grinned at her behind Arthur's back. "You don't want to know."
They were waiting for Cobb and Yusuf to collect the PASIV from the wreckage, the three of them sitting on the charred remains of their assigned seats. Ashes and charred bits of the upholstery fluttered to the ground around them.
"Fine," Ariadne said sullenly.
"He blew up the tram," Arthur explained. He'd turned his face to her, facing away from Eames, but he knew there was eye-rolling happening.
"I didn't!" he protested. Arthur turned back to him then, an eyebrow gracefully raised. "Alright, I make have had a bit to do with that."
"You set off the charges. That's more than 'a bit.'"
"It was a means to an end," Eames said huffily. "That blagger let you go, didn't he?"
"I would have--" Arthur began to protest but Ariadne cut in, having grown bored with their bickering.
"Where are we anyway?" she asked.
"Somewhere in New Jersey," said Arthur dismissively. He didn't like to leave off bickering with Eames. Not till he won.
"North or south?" Eames asked, suddenly entirely engaged.
Ariadne's brow furrowed and she pulled out her phone. A couple of deft clicks and she had an answer.
"Just outside Cranbury," she said. Eames groaned and dropped his head between his legs.
"We're not going to Cranbury, though?" he said. "Please tell me we're not going to Cranbury."
"It's the closest town," Ariadne said. "Logically, it would make sense--"
"What's wrong with Cranbury?" Arthur asked.
"I knew I shouldn't have agreed to a job on the East Coast," Eames said. "It was just too bloody much to ask, wasn't it?"
"What's. Wrong. With. Cranbury," Arthur repeated. He hated to repeat himself.
"I just have...a history there, alright?" said Eames, sitting back up. "Look, I'm going to ... I'm just going to see if I can't find some sunglasses in this wreck, alright? Maybe a big thick coat."
"Eames," Arthur said angrily but Eames was already trotting away, toeing through the wreckage and pulling out random hat-shaped pieces of debris.
"I wouldn't put it past him to find a false nose in this muck," said Ariadne cheerfully. "He's got that kind of luck."
"We have to walk to Cranbury," said Cobb, coming up from behind them. He was covered in white ash. It made his hair look dusty and unnatural.
"We should leave now," Yusuf added. He had his phone in his hands and was scrolling through police reports. "We're about to get uniformed company. The kind with sirens."
"Right," Arthur said and pretended the next sentence didn't give him the slightest twinge of schadenfreude, "Eames! We're walking to Cranbury! Now!"
There was a crash from beyond one of the heaps and Eames re-appeared. He had found a hat -- it was a standard black knit cap except for the fact that the fire had exploded the top into a plume of dangling threads. He also had found a pair of sunglasses but one of the lenses was missing. Overall, he looked like a lunatic.
"What are you--" Cobb started to ask, his jaw dropping a little.
"Look, can we just get this Cranbury business over and done with, alright?" Eames said grumpily. He pinched Ariadne's scarf and tried to wrap it around the bottom half of his face.
"Right. Whatever." Arthur wasn't willing to give Eames the attention he was so desperately playacting for so he simply turned and started to walk.
"This way, pet," Eames said.
Arthur gritted his teeth and turned around.
"This looks like something out of a catalog," said Ariadne.
"Keep your voice down," Eames hissed. He was trying, absurdly, to hide behind Arthur.
"You're being absurd," Arthur informed him because he felt that Eames ought to know. If no one told him, he'd never improve his behavior.
"And you're being loud," Eames hissed back.
"Eames. Stop being such a baby." Arthur stopped walking (which meant that Eames walked directly into his back) and turned around.
"Did you say Eames?" said a tiny old lady with a white poodle who had just been passing by them. She pushed Arthur aside and, catching sight of Eames, let out a shriek.
"Goodness gracious! If it isn't Mr. Eames!" she shrieked, clapping her hands.
"Mildred! Did I just hear you say--" said a man with an incredibly large beer belly and an apron, opening the door of the General Store they had stopped in front of. "Bless my soul!"
There were a couple more exclamations along similar lines ("Well, I never!" and "Oh my stars and garters!" and other antiquated absurdities) all down the road, the cries telegraphing nearly instantaneously.
"It's a bit of a small town," Eames said with an apologetic shrug, pulling off the hat and unwinding the scarf. "How d'you do, Mrs. Lintott?" The last bit was directed to the old lady with the poodle.
"Bless your soul, you remembered my name!" she said, blushing. Arthur was pretty sure old people weren't allowed to blush anymore. He remembered reading that somewhere. They definitely weren't allowed to giggle the way Mrs. Lintott was as Eames pressed her hand to his lips like a perfect gentleman.
"Wait till I tell my Harriet," she said, winking at Eames.
"I'm really just passing through, Mrs. Lintott," Eames said, trying to pull his hand back but finding it difficult to extricate himself from Mrs. Lintott's grip.
"I thought we agreed you would always call me Mildred," she said and did something with her eyes that might have been called coquettish.
The man from the store clapped Eames on the back with enough force to send him a step or two off balance. "You're a sight for sore eyes, you are!" the man barked happily.
"It's been a long while, Fred," said Eames carefully, rubbing at his shoulder.
"I've still got that Scotch," Fred said, elbowing Eames jovially in the ribs. "Fancy a drink?"
"I'm sort of--" Eames said, tilting his head towards to rest of the team, "--on the job, mate."
"Say no more!" Fred said and gave Cobb a clap on the back with even more force. "You fellows--sorry, love, didn't see you there--" he said, catching sight of Ariadne, "here to invade someone's dreams then?" Mildred and the small crowd of people who had gathered around them turned expectant faces to the group.
Arthur's frown, which had been deepening drastically, transformed into a full-on scowl.
"Eames, why does this entire town know--" Cobb started to ask in a low voice, trying to speak only out of the corner of his mouth.
"I did a spot of work for them, way back when," said Eames.
"Don't you try that modest rubbish here, young man!" said a mother with a stroller in the back of the small throng.
"That's right, we know better," said another voice.
"He did a great deal more than a 'spot of work' for us, did our Eames," said Mildred, putting an arm through his. "I think I see my Harriet coming our way." She waved to someone coming down the street and pointed obviously to Eames above his head. Her signals were clear enough to bring in an airplane, if needed.
Harriet turned out to be the most curvaceous, buxom, cheerful girl Arthur had ever seen. And she was wearing a swimsuit and a sarong and dangling a pair of espadrille heels from one hand. She practically bounced over to Eames.
"Gosh, Mr. Eames," she said in the same breathy tones that Marilyn Monroe had once said "Happy Birthday, Mr. President," "I never thought I'd see you again."
"Hullo, Harry," Eames said, having the decency to duck his head in embarrassment.
The crowd was inexorable: they had decided they would carry Eames away from his crew and so carried away he was.
A couple of teen-aged girls in the very back, dressed in the perkiest of cheerleader uniforms, were whispering to each other. As they turned to follow the crowd (which seemed to be heading to either the Town Hall or the river bed from what Arthur could tell), the blonder of the two hissed loudly at the other, "He's just so dreamy." The other giggled and squealed loudly.
Then the street was silent and empty.
"What the hell just happened?" Arthur asked.
Arthur had to push his way into the only bar in town. He literally elbowed someone in the face to be able to get through the ye olde towne style saloon doors.
Eames was standing on the bar, someone's tie around his forehead and the smashed glasses perched on his hairline. He had a tankard of beer in each hand and seemed to be in the middle of a story. The entire bar was enthralled.
The cheerleaders had multiplied. The last time Arthur had checked, there had only been the two. Now there were eight. And they were being all perky just by the end of the bar, by the stool that had Eames's jacket draped on it.
"--and then the bloke says, he says," Eames was saying, "'Sorry, mate, the cow wasn't mine!'"
The bar exploded in laughter. Arthur got slapped heartily on the shoulder and back by three different people.
Harriet was perched on the bar, her legs propped gracefully on one of the stools. Safety hazard, Arthur thought. She was looking up at Eames like he was the greatest thing that ever lived, like he hung the stars just for her. She tugged on the cuff of his pants-leg and Eames looked down at her.
Arthur had sort of thought of that as one of Eames's private collection of expressions. Not that he cataloged Eames's expressions. It just seemed like one that was more appropriate for You just saved my life than Aren't you adorable in your bikini.
If he had been a cartoon, the storm clouds over Arthur's head would have started with the lightning at that point.
He turned and elbowed his way out of the bar, scowling at anyone who tried to clap him jovially on the back.
"Is Harriet in there?" said a young man with big ears, tugging on Arthur's sleeve. "Oh, sorry. Thought you were someone else."
"Yes, she's in there," Arthur grumbled. "With Eames."
The man's face lit up. "So it's true, then? Mr. Eames is back in town?" His absurdly large ears turned pink at the edges in his excitement.
"Oh, he's back all right," Arthur said. He was aware he was edging into whiny territory with his tone but couldn't be bothered to curb it.
"Thanks, man," the guy said, turning away. He turned back as if he'd forgotten something and tugged on Arthur's sleeve. "Look, sorry if I'm being rude--" Arthur wanted to interrupt and tell him that this whole town was being rude but couldn't be bothered to work out a phrasing that didn't sound peevish, "--but you wouldn't be Arthur, would you?"
Arthur blinked, scowling even harder. "How did you know my name?" he demanded.
"Oh, gosh, you are!" the guy said. "You're Arthur!"
"What'd you say, Colin?" said a guy at Arthur's elbow. Arthur had a sinking sense of deja vu as the same telescopic spread of news happened, just as it had in the street. Only this time, it wasn't Eames they were exploding with excitement over.
This time, it was Arthur's name that echoed around the tiny bar, followed by the stupidly antiquated "Oh my goodness" and "Bless my soul!"
"I've never met any of you," Arthur pointed out when three old ladies tried to pinch his cheeks in quick succession.
"What a nice young man," said Mildred, her hand darting between Arthur's attempts to block her and pinching his cheek with a vice-like grip.
"Isn't he, though?" said Eames, materializing beside Arthur. "Oh, hello, Colin."
"Hello, Mr. Eames," said Colin, his ears now bright red. "Did you see Harriet?"
"She's looking splendid, Colin. Married life suits her, it seems." Eames turned to Arthur, shoved impossibly close in the packed bar. "I gave Harriet away at her wedding, you know."
"It was such an honor, Mr. Eames, you have no idea," Colin gushed.
"When did you have time for all this?" Arthur asked, momentarily forgetting to be angry in the rush of relief that inexplicably flooded over him.
"About six years ago. Right after that tram thing in San Francisco," Eames explained.
"He told us all about you, afterwards," Colin explained. "Mrs. Lintott wanted to know why he looked so heartbroken all the time--"
"He never wanted my tea, that's how I knew," Mildred said, mostly to herself. She had a tankard in one of her hands but it looked more like whiskey than beer.
"--and then, after he left, Mildred started a pool--"
"Like a swimming pool?" Arthur asked, genuinely confused.
She patted him affectionately on the hand, the same way Arthur's grandmother once did when he had said something particularly dense. "No, darling, a betting pool."
"How are my odds, Milly?" Eames asked.
"I knew you'd get him in the end, didn't I say, Cols?"
"You always know best, Mrs. Lintott."
"Betting on what?" Arthur asked, frustrated in the mess of information.
"You, pet," Eames said. "They were betting on how long it would take me to run you to ground."
"Well, you can tell them there's been no running to ground here," said Arthur haughtily.
"It's true, I'm afraid," Eames said to the crowd who had gone quiet like the audience in a movie theater. "Arthur's a good deal too good for the likes of me."
There was a heartfelt protest.
"I didn't say that," Arthur protested. "I didn't say I was too good for you."
There was an appreciative hum from the crowd. Arthur sort of didn't care, though, not with the way Eames was looking at him. Looking only at him, with his full attention. Arthur had sort of missed it, the way Eames looked at him with all of his attention.
He'd been a bit jealous of a town, hadn't he?
"Didn't you?" Eames asked.
"Kiss him!" shouted someone at the back of the crowd. Mildred threw an expertly aimed wadded-up napkin at the heckler.
"I'm not better than you," Arthur said. He liked to be accurate, though, so he added, "Better dressed, though. I am better dressed."
"That's true," said Mildred as if she were the arbiter in a court case. "He is a sharp dresser, my dear."
Arthur couldn't tell if she was awarding him points or docking them from Eames.
"Look, can't we talk outside, Eames?" he said, throwing his hands up in frustration.
Eames's eyebrows rose.
"Kiss him!" shouted the same heckler.
"Don't make me take off my shoe," Mildred warned.
"Yeah, let's have a nice little chat outside," Eames agreed.
The crowd parted so that they didn't have to elbow their way out the way Arthur had had to on his way in. People who hadn't been able to fit in the tiny bar were scattered down the street. Arthur grabbed Eames's hand and pulled him towards the river down the main street.
He didn't let his hand go, not even when they got to the bridge.
"...Arthur?" Eames asked, his voice hesitant, like he was afraid of breaking the fragile contact with a breath.
Arthur turned to him suddenly. He had options. He could see them rolling out in his head. I demand you look at me more often and at this stupid town less seemed a tad unreasonable. You are to make it clear to all the towns who revere you as a folk legend that you are off the market but that doesn't mean you get to assume anything about me, alright seemed a bit convoluted. Warn me explicitly before we enter towns with betting pools about either of our sex lives only covered a small portion of his overall objection to the day in Cranbury.
Arthur decided that the script could be overlooked in this situation. Instead, he tugged Eames closer to him by his atrocious jean's belt loops.
"Arthu--" Eames started to say but Arthur had already decided against a script. It only made sense, then, to stop Eames from talking. And his own mouth fit the requirements nicely.
But the kiss wasn't what Arthur had been expecting. He hadn't thought much beyond the immediate--nothing beyond Eames not talking and not being distracted by this stupid town. The kiss wasn't supposed to shut off Arthur's synapses, like the lights going out in the warehouse one by one.
Eames pulled back first.
"I hope you don't object to having sex under this bridge," Arthur informed him.
"But people might see--" Eames started to object but him speaking only drew Arthur's attention back to his mouth.
"I can't tell you how very much I don't care," Arthur said, matter-of-factly.
Arthur manhandled Eames down the riverbank. As their lips met again, a shower of light lit them from the sky. The town had set off fireworks.
At the park, about a mile down the river, the mayor (who had been called out of bed) was trying to find the commemorative keys to the city in his jacket pocket. Mildred told him, in his ear, that Mr. Eames was otherwise occupied at the moment.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-09-17 12:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-13 05:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-17 12:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-13 04:59 pm (UTC)OH GOSH, I think I love Eames as much as these people and how EMBARRASSING and PERFECT.
"You set off the charges. That's more than 'a bit.'"
ahaha, OH EAMES. You cad.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-17 12:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-17 11:05 am (UTC)What pharmaceuticals/chemicals you ingested/drank/snorted when writing this? I approve you take more of them.
Hee!
no subject
Date: 2010-09-17 03:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-24 11:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-27 05:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-24 07:06 pm (UTC)(Although I bet that Eames doing the town a good turn wasn't at all accidental, no, sir.)
no subject
Date: 2010-09-27 05:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-04 04:20 pm (UTC)JAAAAYYYNEEAAAAAAAAAMES - The Man They Call EEAAAAAAAAAAAAAMES ;Plol this was FAB, loved it!!!!!!!!!!
no subject
Date: 2010-10-19 01:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-29 01:35 pm (UTC)Are you, by any chance, a fan of Wilder's Theophilus North? :D Because it sure sounds like it!
♥
no subject
Date: 2010-12-18 08:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-23 09:13 am (UTC)