Archive of Our Own ^beta

Everything was going according to plan, until it wasn’t. Until Eames found himself running for his life in the streets of Morocco, chased by Saito’s goons. It was only Q’s strong, confident voice in his ear that saved him, directing him through back alleys and side streets. After all was said and done, Eames knew he owed Arthur an apology and dinner at the most expensive restaurant he could find. Not only as thanks for guiding him through Tangier, but as a sort of sheepish apology - if Eames had actually studied the maps and paperwork for this job before jumping in, he wouldn’t have gotten so easily lost without his darling. 

But that was several minutes ago. The voice in his ear had been cut off, leaving Eames on his own. Thankfully, he managed to get the drop on his pursuers. A few well-places bullets and he was safe. His gun jammed though, letting one of them get off a very lucky shot before Eames brought him down. Nothing serious. A light graze on his shoulder. Painful but he’d had worse. Besides, he was far more concerned about the deafening silence.

“Q? Everything okay over there?” Nothing. “Q, come in!”

Still nothing. Then a burst of static. Brief and sharp. Like a blow to the head.

They found him out, Eames thought, blood thinning to ice water in his veins. Another static burst. Part of him hoped it was because Arthur was being his usual defiant self, and not just as a method of torture. Between the two of them, Arthur could stand up the best to torture, but still. Just because he could doesn’t mean he should have to, and Eames would take a thousand blows to keep any of them from befalling his partner.

More static, but not a sound from Arthur. Keep it up, love, Eames thought. Whatever they’re doing to you, don’t let them think they’ve got the upper hand.

He raised his right arm up, and clicked the button on the side of his watch - a Q original, naturally. The digital time face disappeared, replaced by a mini radar screen. He tapped another button. There was a long moment of silence, Eames’ breath tightening to nearly nothing, until there was an answering chime. A rhythmic ping from the tracker in Arthur’s communication device. Distant and weak, but by god it was still there.

“I don’t know if you can hear me or not, Q, but I’m coming. If you can hold out for a little longer, I’m coming.”

With nary a thought to the wound in his arm, Eames set off. He hoped he wouldn’t be too late.

———

Whoever this guy was, Arthur was convinced he wasn’t hired for his strength. Every time he hit Arthur, the quartermaster had to hold back from laughing. The first one had him comparing it to a butterfly tap. Which of course made the big guy try harder. Emphasis on try.

“God I hope they aren’t paying you for this,” he deadpanned. Another smack. A sharp sting on his lip. Split, he thought, darting his tongue out to check. There was a familiar metallic tang.

“Hmm,” he looked at the guy, expression defiant, “at least there’s something to show for it now. Your touch is so gentle I’d almost be ashamed to show my face at the office tomorrow.”

Another smack.

“Thank you, Mr. Browning, that’s enough for now.” A familiar voice spoke from the shadowed doorway. The figure there was one with which Arthur was intimately familiar, in more ways than one.

“For how long were you planning to betray me?” Hiroki Saito’s tone was deceptively calm, but there was anger simmering just below. “From the start?”

Arthur stared back.

“Were you the honey trap? You were, weren’t you?” Saito stepped closer, right into Arthur’s space. He reached out and touched the bound man’s face, over reddened cheeks, before running his thumb across his bottom lip. Still, Arthur didn’t move, didn’t speak - just kept staring at him.

“Can’t say they could have chosen a better one. You were divine.” Saito smiled cruelly before applying sharp pressure to Arthur’s split lip with his thumb. That, at last, got a reaction; Arthur gasped and pulled away. He could feel the blood oozing and tried to wipe it away with his tongue.

“You won’t get a thing from him, gentlemen. Something tells me his… employers… don’t hire just anyone.”

Arthur smirked, but said nothing.

“So now what, boss? Want us to-“ The smaller guy drew a finger across his throat in an obvious pantomime. Saito seemed thoughtful.

“Nothing so crude, Tadashi. But I must admit to feeling a bit heartbroken over this whole affair.” He locked eyes with Arthur. “Maybe a trip out to the lake would do him good. What do you think?”

Browning laughed. “Sounds great to me, Boss! A little dip, eh?”

Saito didn’t laugh. He turned back to Arthur and cupped his chin in his hand, ignoring the blood he smeared. With a smile that did not reach his eyes, he bent and kissed him. Arthur didn’t kiss back.

“Farewell, my dear. I did enjoy some of our time together. May the memory of it sustain you in your final hours.” A condescending pat on Arthur’s cheek. He winced, the flesh there a bit tender from repeated blows.

To his henchmen Saito said, “Come find me when the deed is done, we can discuss what to do about our other… problem.” Eames, Arthur thought. The last communication they’d had was Eames’ plea for him to hold on, that he was on his way to him. And Arthur trusted his partner completely. But he still couldn’t help a brief panicked tremor in his heart. For both of them.

His thoughts about Eames meant that he missed Saito’s exit from the dark room. The big guy, Browning, came back over to him then. Leaned in close.

“Know how to swim, beautiful?”

———

The car, it turned out, was entirely too easy to follow.

Eames discovered the warehouse where Arthur was being held fairly quick. God bless you and your tracking technology, Q, he thought. And as he was planning how to storm the place and mount a daring rescue, the door burst open. Two men came swaggering out, the larger of the two dragging a third man by what Eames assumed were handcuffs. Arthur, he thought, seeing his love’s face look a bit worse for wear from his distant vantage point. Which one was it? The big guy? I’ll make him pay dearly for laying even a single finger on you. Despite his concern, Eames smiled. Unless you manage to get to him first, that is.

Arthur was thrown into the backseat of the nondescript car out front, the big guy getting in after him. The smaller henchmen moved to get into the front seat, mouth moving excitedly. Eames was too far away to make out what he was saying, not that he cared. After another few moments (and one last burst of static that had him clenching his fist so tight it hurt), the car pulled out and away from the warehouse, driving south. Eames gave them a few minutes head start before starting up the motorcycle he’d managed to procure and taking off after them. He stayed far enough back that the sound of the engine should be negligible to the ones in the car. The tracking system was still working, after all. No need to get too close. He did wonder where exactly they were headed however. Of course, you’d have a better idea of what lies ahead if you’d actually studied, the Q in his head said, with the sort of good-natured snark that suited his darling so well.

But where’s the fun in that, his inner voice answered. And, in the situation he now found himself, he accepted that Q had been right.

After several minutes of driving, maybe even an hour, the tracker chimed. Stopped. He drove on until he found a good vantage point, one where he could see but not be seen.

A lake. It was a decently sized one. And just like that, he knew what was coming next. He felt the panic rising in his chest, and he started taking deeper, centering breaths. If what he thought was going to happen happened, he would need to be calm. Arthur would need him to be calm.

———

His arms bound in front of him, Arthur was led/dragged out of the car. Up until this point, he’d been calm. And snarky. But mostly cooperative. Now, however, with his death seemingly impending, he decided not to go quietly. He squirmed, moving this way and that, away from the henchmen’s grabbing hands. He kicked out at them. He swung his handcuffed wrists and hands. He even tried to slip out of his cuffs via thumb dislocation, but before he could manage it, the little guy deliberately tripped him. With a startled cry he tumbled backwards, into a motorboat he hadn’t seen.

“Real feisty, ain’t he? No wonder the boss was into him,” Browning let out a big, joyful laugh.

“Not my business, man. Just get in the boat.” Tadashi gestured at him. Browning flipped him off with a smile.

“Yeah yeah, give me a sec.” He went to the shed by the dock, disappearing inside. While he was gone, the other man started shoving the boat off the shore into the water. And Arthur, lacking leverage to lift himself in his position, could do nothing except go along for the ride.

Browning came back out again, coils of thick rope looped over his shoulder. Something clunked along on the ground behind him. Arthur couldn’t see it but it sounded heavy.

“Put that in and give me a hand,” Tadashi was huffing and puffing. Once again, imminent death aside, Arthur felt a particularly indignant anger that these two, of all guys, were the ones to get the drop on him. He would’ve blamed Eames, as it was helping him evade capture that distracted Arthur enough to get grabbed, but the way things were now, that was hardly fair.

Browning tossed the rope into the boat. The thing attached to it, a very large weight, clunked into the metal boat mere inches from Arthur’s face.

“Jesus Christ!” He exclaimed, jerking back. The larger man chuckled, moving beside his associate and pushing. With the two of them, it was but the work of a moment to push the boat into the water.

“Get him ready,” Tadashi said, sitting in the back, near the motor. Arthur found himself hoisted up and set down on a seat. Browning was there, grinning at him.

“Gonna play nice while I tie you up?”

Arthur spat in his face. Not exactly his proudest moment, but he’d been done playing nice a long time ago.

Browning’s response was to backhand him. Like the other hits, it did sting, but he’d never let it show.

“Guess not.” A shrug of muscled shoulders. “No matter.”

He tipped Arthur’s body backwards, leaving his feet up, ignoring his captive’s indignant cry. And, despite Arthur doing his best to kick and squirm, he found himself lifted back into a sitting position, only now there was a weight attached to him by a large, tightly coiled rope. The reality of his own death was crawling closer and closer. He tried not to panic. He tried to keep his breathing even, and deep. Eames, he thought. Eames, don’t make me wait too long.

———

Eames watched them drive the boat out into the lake. Out into what he assumed was a particularly deep section. Watched them come to a stop. For a moment, nothing seemed to be happening. Talking? He thought. But then, the bigger guy lifted a sack over the side and tossed it in. Little guy gave Arthur a condescending wave, mouthing something that might have been “Bye bye!” Or “Nighty night!” But all Eames could focus on was the big guy grabbing Arthur and tossing him over the side as well. His partner stayed afloat briefly, probably kicking for all he was worth, before abruptly disappearing below the water.

Eames stayed hidden. His heart screamed at him to fucking move, but the two guys were still there. Just go, his brain urged him. Stealth and bullet wound be damned. But he’d seen the flash of metal on their hips. He knew that, while he would probably get the advantage on one of them, the other could easily whip out his gun in the ensuing chaos. Which would help neither him nor Arthur. He thought of his gun, still jammed and useless in its holster, and gritted his teeth.

Not bothering to stay there and make sure their plan worked to fruition, the henchmen drove the boat back to the dock. Still Eames waited. He waited until they got into their car. Waited until they drove off. When he was sure they were far enough away, he ran. He ran to the boat, faster than he’d ever moved in his life. Drove it back into the center of the lake, roughly where it had been.

“On my way, darling,” he breathed, shrugging off his jacket and shoes. “Just hang on. Hang on, my love.”

He dove in.

The water was murky green, tinged with algae. And cold. So cold. Eames ignored everything as best he could as he swam down. Hoping he hadn’t misjudged the distance. Trying his best to keep the panic at bay. At least until he found- Arthur!

The other man still struggled to free himself from the rope. The water churned around him. Wasting energy, Eames thought, and swam to him. He touched his arm, moving around to the front of him. Arthur’s eyes widened. Eames gently cupped his face in his hands.

Are you alright? He tried to wordlessly convey.

Arthur pulled back, kicking at him with his bound legs. Get me out of this first.

Eames reached into his back pocket and pulled out his switchblade. A personal favorite of his, having been an anniversary present from his darling a few years earlier. He showed it to Arthur, gave him a thumbs up, and sank lower, beginning to cut the rope. He worked as swiftly as he could, feeling his lungs starting to burn from lack of oxygen, and knowing that Arthur had been under longer than him.

The rope was thick. Thick and heavy. But Eames’ blade was sharp. A few moments and Arthur was free. His hands were still cuffed, but he tried to kick hard. Tried. His movements were sluggish. Eames grabbed him around the waist and swam for the surface. Moving hard for the both of them. A meter or so from the top, he felt the other man go completely limp in his arms.

No no no!

He broke the surface with a roaring, gasping breath. It was more painful than he might’ve thought, if he had been thinking of anything other than Arthur. He clambered into the idly floating boat, pulling his partner in with him. Arthur flopped inside like a rag doll then was still.

“Arthur! Arthur, darling!” Eames leaned over him. Not breathing. He began doing chest compressions - one, two, three, four, five - and tipped Arthur’s head back, opening his mouth. He breathed into him, breathed for him. Again, and again.

“Damn it, Arthur, fucking breathe!”

Still nothing. One, two, three, four, five, breathe.

Nothing.

As a last resort, Eames balled his hand into a fist. “Hope you forgive me for this, love,” he whispered before punching Arthur in the abdomen, as hard as he could.

The other man’s eyes shot open as he jerked to life. Water spilled out of his mouth as he choked and vomited, gasping. Eames tipped him over on his side as best he could.

“That’s it, let it out. Bit rude to take all that water out of the lake, don’t you think?” He tried joking, but there were tears streaming down his face. Ones of both fear and relief.

After a few seconds, the flow of water stopped, leaving Arthur curled up on his side, taking in wheezing gasps of air. Eames stayed beside him, rubbing his back.

“What took… you so… long?” Arthur coughed out. And Eames knew in that instant that everything would be okay.

“Don’t strain yourself.” He said, gently easing Arthur onto his back, then up into a sitting position. Arthur was still wheezing out shallow breaths, trying his best to draw deeper. It hurt Eames’ heart to hear, but it was better, so much better, than the silence of before.

“Can you…?” Arthur raised his handcuffed arms, jangling the chain. Eames smirked.

“Just need a moment, okay?”

It took him less than that to pick the lock on the cuffs, finally freeing Arthur completely. Once he could do so, Arthur threw his arms around Eames’ neck. Eames pulled him close, letting out what seemed like an entire year’s worth of breath in his relieved sigh. Relief, to finally hold the man he loved in his arms again.

“I was-“ Arthur started to speak, voice uncharacteristically small. “I was… scared.”

Eames squeezed him tighter, knowing how much Arthur hated seeming so vulnerable. For his brave, snarky darling to admit as such to him… it must have been terrifying.

“I know, my love, I know. I was too.”

They sat there together for a while, holding each other, until their cold, clammy clothes became too much to ignore.

“Can we get out of here, Charlie? I’m losing feeling in my fingers.” Arthur pulled back, looking into Eames’ eyes. Eames was sure both of them had seen better days, looks wise. His own eyes burned with cold and tears, and Arthur’s face had started to swell from the hits he’d taken. His teeth chattered behind blue-tinged lips.

Not wanting to break contact quite yet, Eames moved both of them back by the boat’s motor, where he could start it up with one hand while still touching Arthur.

“You can let go, Eames - I’m not going anywhere.” Arthur’s eyes said he didn’t want to be apart from Eames either, but his normal emotional walls were going back up.

“Let go? You’ll be lucky if I let you out of my sight for a month.”

Arthur laughed. Were it not for the cold, he might even have blushed. “M would love that, wouldn’t he? You’re such a sentimental fool.”

“In all seriousness, to hell with M.” Eames’ gaze was fierce. “And to hell with Her Majesty. I almost lost you, Arthur. I’d burn down MI6 myself if it meant keeping you safe.”

Taken aback, Arthur could only whisper, “Charlie…”

When they left the lake far behind them, when they were back in their safe house, when they were both showered, redressed, and curled around each other in the double bed - only then did either man relax. Eames pressed kiss after kiss to Arthur’s nape, feeling the soft hair there tickle his face. His love sighed, pressing back into him. It was all soft reassurances. Both were too exhausted for anything more heated, especially with the panic and adrenaline long worn off.

“Knew you wouldn’t let me go,” Arthur said, words slurring. Sleep was coming upon him fast. Eames was right behind him.

“Never.” He felt his eyes drifting closed. “Not ever. I swear it.”

M and MI6 could wait. Saito could wait. The only thing that mattered to Eames was sleeping there in his arms.