backdated so hard/for eames

[specifiercity]

It doesn't take Arthur terribly long to get bored of the vampire party. He doesn't manage to establish more connections than he already has within Islington, and those being as weak as they are don't turn up much on Raymond Harris. Nothing he can use or should be brought back to Hillingdon immediately, in any case.

So he texts Eames asking if he's still around, hoping to at least end this night on a positive note. There's a few texts back and forth until Arthur is outside, spotting Eames through the open back window of an Uber waiting to leave. He slips into the car on the other side, noticing nothing wrong at first, and asks, "back to mine?"

Comments

[falsify]

He's gonna pay for it, it's his blood and he has the money so he feels vaguely like he should.

They don't need to talk about it though, Eames has other things to deal with, like devouring everything in this kitchen. He makes a quiet noise to indicate he agrees it is good and turns around to inspect a cupboard.

"Do you have anything sugary?"

[specifiercity]

"Cupboard above the fridge," Arthur says as he drags himself up to get some coffee. There's a slightly obscured box of assorted biscuits up there that he indulges in from time to time, and he keeps them out of sight for a reason. He supposes he can let Eames in on this one little secret given his traumatic experience.

[falsify]

That gets a noise like it's the best thing he's ever heard, and Eames goes to get the box down, cradling it in an arm while he takes the lid off and observes this holy grail of delicious goods.

"I'm... Going to eat all of these. I hope that's okay."

He probably will not eat all of them, but right now he really feels like he could.

[specifiercity]

With a sigh, Arthur makes a mental note to add it to the list, and he gestures vaguely for Eames to go ahead when he sits back down with a full mug of coffee. He decides is high time to change the subject from Eames being ravenous this morning to something far more interesting.

"What's going on with your hair?"

[falsify]

"What?" He gives Arthur a plainly confused look and drags a hand through his hair as if he's gonna be able to tell what's going on by feel alone. His hair feels fine though, if a little in need of washing.

"What's wrong with it?"

[specifiercity]

"It's greyer than last night," Arthur says all nonchalant. "Is it because you're injured?"

That doesn't make much sense. He's seen Eames injured before. Maybe never this bad but he would have noticed if Eames just sprouted grey hairs whenever he bled.

[falsify]

Oh fuck. What a blissful hour where he'd completely forgotten about this curse. Eames swears under his breath and immediately puts the box down to go to the bathroom and look at his reflection.

He's there for a while, inspecting every wrinkle and combing his fingers through his hair like that's gonna make it go back to its normal colour. It doesn't look bad, not yet, but fucking hell he needs to find a solution to this before it progresses much more. He smacks a palm on the rim of the sink, angry at whoever the hell did this to him, but angrier still at himself because everything he's done over the last 24 hours has been fucking stupid and now he has to deal with Arthur and his fucking bloodhound nose when it comes to information he doesn't already have. He swears again, composing himself before he leaves the bathroom so he can face this situation with some dignity.

"It's not because I'm injured," Eames says casually when he comes back, hoping Arthur will just let it go even though he knows it's pointless to think he will.

[specifiercity]

Arthur has meanwhile poured himself some cereal and is now crunching away at it while he waits for Eames to come back. He doesn't have much stock into why Eames' hair is grey or whatever, but now he can tell it's something that has him upset, and regardless he presses on.

"So what is it, then?" he asks. "Last night you made it sound like it was intentional."

[falsify]

"Nothing you need to worry about," Eames answers dismissively, pouring himself a new coffee and regretting sticking around to thank Arthur.

He glances at Arthur's bowl of cereal instead of thinking about how annoying this curse is, jutting his chin a little in its direction. "I was thinking I could whip up some lunch, put together a little show of gratitude," he continues on easily, something about the way he lingers on the word 'gratitude' that should make it clear that food isn't the only offer on the table.

[specifiercity]

Arthur picks up on the tone and raises his eyebrows a little, though he isn't definitely sure that's what Eames means.

"Well, only if you're up to it," he says, and he means both the food preparation and whatever else is implied. "You were pretty out of it last night."

[falsify]

Objectively speaking, Eames absolutely shouldn't be having sex when he's probably going to need at least a week to recover from last night. That kind of blood loss isn't really a 'nap and have a meal and feel better' kind of situation.

Is that going to stop Eames? Not at all. He just shrugs a shoulder and reopens the discarded box of biscuits, picking one out before he puts the box back where it was, "food first is probably a good idea."

[specifiercity]

"Alright," Arthur says before he takes another bite of cereal. And that's all Eames is going to get from him because he's still thinking over the sex bit. He's wondering what he's going to do if Eames has to stop and/or passes out while they're doing it. But he's trying to be optimistic about Eames' magic recovery times.

[falsify]

Eames is already rooting through Arthur's fridge and cupboards, this time for things that he could cobble together into a quick meal. A frittata sounds good. With ham and a ludicrous amount of cheese? Eames could high five himself he's a genius.

He knows his way around Arthur's kitchen by now, so he just gets underway with making the food. The heat from the stove is actually... Not great right now, but he'll power through it. Pure strength of will keeping him from getting dizzy up there.

[specifiercity]

Arthur just watches with mild curiosity as Eames goes about making them some food. He's still a little preoccupied with Eames' hair, but he'll drop it for now, since Eames clearly doesn't want to share that information with him.

"You need any help?" he asks after a while, realizing he could be doing more than sitting back and drinking coffee.

[falsify]

"I could always do with another coffee," Eames says, glancing over his shoulder while he busies himself peeling a potato. There's probably a lot of stuff Arthur could help with, but none of that comes to mind.

[specifiercity]

Well Arthur did offer, so he pulls himself up and grabs Eames' coffee mug, taking it with him to the coffee maker so he can refill it. Once that's done he goes back to his own coffee and his cereal to continue on with his sad pre-breakfast breakfast.

[falsify]

Oh sweet coffee never leave him. Eames gives an aside thanks to Arthur and gets on with what he's doing. He's usually a relatively upbeat cook, but there's none of that energy today, for entirely understandable reasons really.

Twenty minutes or so later though, there's two plates of delicious ham and potato frittata being brought over for them to eat and enjoy.

[specifiercity]

Arthur's a little more alert, now that the coffee's hit his bloodstream, so he gives Eames a thanks and sits up ready to eat. He's relatively quiet even for him, but he's too busy wondering about all the questions that Eames has already dodged, so he doesn't have much to say this morning.

[falsify]

Normally Eames doesn't mind silence, as much as he enjoys the sound of his own voice, he'd take a comfortable silence over talking for the sake of it any day. Right now he's looking at his plate but he's frustrated too because he knows Arthur's still going over every answer he doesn't have. It's a great quality when it's directed at literally anyone else, but Eames hates sharing and even moreso with someone like Arthur who could make his life a nightmare with the right information.

But right now Eames just doesn't have the energy to ignore it like he usually would.

"Which question is the most pressing?" Eames asks, looking up at Arthur and gesturing at him with his fork, "I can tell you're still thinking about it."

[specifiercity]

Arthur narrows his eyes at Eames. At his hair, the bandages, and he rethinks all the things Eames said last night. He doesn't know which is most pressing; in general he just wants a better picture of how Eames came to be what he is in this moment in time. Fighting his instincts to go with the most personally curious route, he decides to ask about something which could be politically useful.

"I wanna know how it actually went with Harris last night," he says, keeping his eyes trained on Eames.

[falsify]

Of course that's the thing he'd ask about. Eames sighs heavily, he really doesn't want to talk about it, but he owes Arthur something for last night, and him knowing the situation could well be usefull.

He puts his cutlery down and leans back in his seat — he knows he needs the food, but talking about Harris makes his stomach churn in a mix of anger and disgust and he's honestly not sure he can handle eating at the same time.

"He wanted an alliance, suggested a cheery little massacre of Daybreak and the Council. I told him he was wasting his time, because the Queen would never stand for an alliance with Islington." Eames frowns, expression tight and jaw clenched. As much as he's been keeping a lid on it, Eames is still deeply pissed off, and even thinking about it now makes the air around him almost dark with magic until Eames sighs and takes a breath. Pulling that all back in. "Seems he didn't appreciate my answer, judging by the animals who escorted me out and had a snack while they were at it."

[specifiercity]

Arthur watches him speak with a blank expression, taking in every flicker of emotion he can find. He's trying to discern whether Eames is leaving details out, and he suspects he is, but he leaves it be for now. That's the basic framework of the story and it's enough information for him.

He's silent for a little while, having put down his knife and fork and folded his hands in front of him. When he speaks his tone is a bit quieter, genuine, though he's not milking the empathy angle.

"I'm sorry," he says, and after a pause continues, "that that happened to you."

[falsify]

The sympathy comes as such a surprise to Eames, he stares at Arthur for a long moment as if trying to figure out if it's false or even mocking somehow. It sounds genuine but it's so alien to his experience with Arthur that Eames doesn't entirely know how to respond.

"Thanks," he settles on, not quite able to help the suspicious look he's giving Arthur right now, "it's fine, I'll live."

[specifiercity]

Arthur doesn't so much as bat an eyelash at the look he's getting. He just picks his fork back up and starts picking at the frittata again with a sigh.

"Will you tell the court?"

[falsify]

"It'd just end up back in my hands," Eames says with a shrug. It's a bit of an understatement of how things would go over, but suffice it to say he has no intention of telling them. Or anyone, for that matter. If he could go back in time and prevent Arthur from knowing anything about this, he would.

His main feeling on how to proceed right now is how good it's going to feel to stake that little worm in the heart. Beyond that, everything else at this moment is immaterial.