A/N: The conclusion so far as I know. I just had the thought that I may actually be able to come up with another scene to write about for this but as it stands, this is it. If you want me to try and write another scene of their relationship, please drop a review with such a request. Thanks and I hope you all enjoy it!

Translating

It is said that the best time to learn a new language is childhood, because your brain is still forming and absorbing information. You haven't been grounded in your native language as much and can learn the new language much easier and more fluently. Funny how children can better understand a foreign language than adults.

When Eames opened the door to the U.S. base of operations, he didn't expect to find anyone there. Cobb was busy smothering his children. Yusef had booked an instant trip home, determined to devote the rest of his life to avoiding going into the field. Ariadne had felt she needed to return to Paris for a few days to turn in her final projects at school, but she promised she'd be back. Saito hadn't thought they were all worth much as friends after the job. He still talked to Cobb, though, and the rest of them sometimes wondered what exactly happened in limbo, but Saito was definitely different and definitely didn't want to interact with any of them anymore. Eames had been trolling around L.A. for awhile but he'd grown tired of it and decided to come back to the lab and relax. And Arthur… Arthur was supposedly visiting family further East, but Eames didn't have a whole lot of information on Arthur. They still weren't speaking well.

So when Eames locked the door behind him and meandered into the living space, he was much more than shocked to find Arthur sitting on the couch, leaning to his left and staring off into the distance. Or... he looked shocked when Arthur finally took notice of him. Arthur had his head leaning on his left palm, and when he noticed Eames, he only turned his eyes to check that it was really him.

Eames, dressed in his normal drab and carrying a shoulder bag probably full of clothes, looked quite confused to find someone else in the building. Arthur watched as that confusion morphed into unease and then into cool confidence. Unlike usual, Arthur had a pretty good idea of what was going on in Eames' head. They hadn't been alone together at all since before the job. This had to be awkward for them both.

"Hey," Arthur murmured out, mouth partially obstructed by his hand. He kept his eyes on Eames, but his head was still looking slightly to the man's left.

"Hey," Eames parroted. He cleared his throat. "And here I thought I'd have the whole place to myself… What happened to visiting your family?"

Arthur shrugged lazily. "I called. They said they were at the airport… going on vacation."

"Oh? Where's the lovely party off to?" Eames asked, smiling and taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch, dropping his bag to the floor. Arthur let out a soft snicker.

"Paris," he said. He turned his head and gave Eames a smile that screamed 'can you believe the irony?' Eames grinned wickedly back and then laughed out loud.

"I wonder what they thought when you told 'em you'd just come from there," Eames mused, leaning lazily back against the couch.

"They didn't think anything. I didn't tell them. As far as they knew, I was in Japan," Arthur said. Eames let out a scoffing laugh and the two lapsed into an easy silence.

It had been a long time, of course. It had been several months without more than one postcard letting them know where he was, and yet Eames had slid right back into their lives as though he'd merely gone on vacation. Arthur's face slipped back into its common, stoic expression, but he didn't stop looking at Eames. The Brit was watching him too.

It had been a long time since the fighting and the dreaming and the talks. It had been a very long time since the day Arthur had first seen Eames, walking in from the bright outdoors and into his life. Such a long time placed upon such small feelings. Arthur turned his head away, replacing his jaw back into his palm. He looked across at a blank wall as though trying to decide how to decorate it.

"It's was fun, you know?" Arthur asked, though he might as well have been directing it at the wall.

"What was? The job?" Eames asked, because it had been exciting and dangerous… but fun? But Arthur was shaking his head.

"London," he explained. Eames closed his mouth, obviously waiting for Arthur to continue. "It was just a little thing that got completely out of hand. Cobb told me to stick to the plan, to do my work, but he teased me too. I was so focused on the job that I didn't even notice… him… He was always there, sticking himself in my business and trying to help. He did that neck thing too, just like you… with his nose against it and everything."

Eames pressed his lips together and Arthur closed his eyes so he wouldn't be able to see the other's expression, not even out of the corner of his eye. He also closed them to help remember everything, to watch it on the back of his eyelids. He let out a long breath of air.

"I didn't even realize what was going on until it was too late. He ensnared me… got my attention and my trust. I thought he was the new sun in our team, you know… the one who keeps everyone happy even when horrible things happen in the dreams. Not to mention I sort of revolved around him. But then we were in the dream, doing our work… and he and I were in the same car."

Arthur heard Eames take a deep breath and continued before he could think too much on the idea and get to the wrong conclusions.

"We were important to the job. We had to distract and create pressure on the mark. Instead, he distracted and put pressure on me. Before I knew what was going on, he'd stolen my gun, shot me in the leg, and handcuffed me to passenger car door. Then…," Arthur pressed his own lips together, remembering all that had happened… He remembered the door opening and being dragged down the highway. He remembered being cut up by busted cars and asphalt and screaming, trying to convince him to stop… and Cobb's car driving behind theirs, off the mission and trying to catch up. Everything being loud and totally off the mark and not driven by points or facts except that they had been betrayed… Arthur had been betrayed.

Arthur took a deep breath and opened his eyes, still looking at the wall. The room seemed oddly silent now without his deep thoughts and memories.

"Then?" Eames pressed, trying to understand. Arthur blinked slowly.

"Then we failed the mission and the projections tore us to pieces," Arthur answered swiftly, sitting up straight. "When we woke up, I was shaking pretty bad so Cobb handcuffed him and that was the last I saw of him. I vowed never to let myself be distracted by fancy words and actions… by anything ever again."

"And that's what happened in London," Eames asked, but it was a rhetorical question.

"And that's what happened in London," Arthur agreed. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and fixed his clothing as though leaning over had mussed it all up too much. "I hope that's what you were expecting. You only had to wait most of a year to hear about it. The only other person alive who knows about that is Cobb."

"I'd say that's a bit more than I wanted, but I thank you," Eames said.

"For what?" Arthur looked over at the scruffy man. Eames smiled politely.

"For being honest with me. Even before the accident, you weren't able to do me that much respect," he said. Usually Arthur would find that insulting, but right now he didn't really care.

"A lot changes in a year," Arthur murmured. He appraised Eames with his eyes. As far as he could tell, the other had changed very little… but he did look older, as though he hadn't had a good night's sleep in quite a while. His clothes were newer than their last meeting, and yet they somehow still looked ragged. There was a new scar on Eames' wrist that Arthur could see when the man shifted and his sleeves lifted up just enough… which is probably how he got a scar in that spot to begin with.

"Yes. But a lot stays the same too," Eames added. "For instance… I hear your imagination is still slim. I mean, we've been in that same hotel almost every time. You need some new material." Arthur went to complain but then Eames cut him off. "And your hair is still stuck with mousse and still soft. Your bone structure is the same, so I assume you haven't gotten into a real fight lately… You still watch the clock like you're waiting for something to happen. You still lose yourself in your work like it's all you care about in the world… and your hands."

"My hands?" Arthur managed to ask despite feeling like something was off inside of him, like he was watching Eames transform into something unrecognizable and yet he liked it. It was a twisting, burning feeling deep in his chest and gut.

"Yes." Eames nodded. "They're the same. You know I've always loved the way your fingers look holding a gun. They're just so nimble. I think it's from always holding so damn tight to your pencils."

"Thanks," Arthur said sarcastically. "And you still look like you just out of a bar fight and left your razor in your last hotel."

"Hey now. Be nice," Eames teased, nudging Arthur with the toe of his shoe. Arthur let out a chuckle despite himself and tried to hide it. "Now now. Nothing wrong with a bit of a laugh. Put your hand down and just enjoy it."

Arthur shook his head and, when he stopped laughing, let out a sigh. He regarded Eames happily, as though remembering something fond. Then he shook he head again.

"You know, I still can't understand you, Eames. I've been angry at you, annoyed with you, upset at your actions and baffled by your words. I've tried so hard to learn to live with you and get used to you, but … I just can't do it," Arthur admitted, sighing and looking at the floor. He put his head in his hands, partially messing up his hair.

Eames didn't speak for what felt like forever. Arthur was remembering, remembering all the times he'd tried to act normal, to maneuver around what Eames was doing. He remembered all the mishaps and messed up facts because of Eames, all the broken pencils and lost papers. He remembered the arguing and the bonding and then more arguing… and yelling when he knew he shouldn't. He remembered all the emotions from day one and how hard it was to figure out what Eames was going to do or what he really wanted. What did he really want?

"Arthur," Eames' voice was much closer, and then the rougher hands wrapped around Arthur's wrists. "Arthur, look at me."

Arthur raised his eyes and saw Eames kneeling in front of him, looking serious and yet strangely kind. It wasn't so much that he looked kind, more that Arthur got that feeling from him. Eames leaned forward toward Arthur and only mildly surprised the point man when he connected their lips. Arthur closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and turned his head away.

"What are you doing?" he asked, defensive but keeping a level tone and volume.

"Helping you translate my language into something you can understand," Eames said. "I want you to understand me."

"What if I don't want to understand, Eames? What if it's too much for me? What if I don't want it?" Arthur asked, fixing a very pointed and intense look on his friend… yes, friend. He felt like he was being too harsh with his tone, but it was necessary. That's what he told himself.

"Well then I suppose I'll be on the next flight out of L.A., headed for Mombasa," Eames said, quoting Arthur from so long ago. It felt like much longer than it was while also seeming relevant and recent.

"Are you serious?" Arthur asked, a bit disbelieving. Eames sighed and dropped Arthur's wrists. He stood up and shook his head as he paced slightly.

"No, of course I'm not! Goodness, Arthur, do you really have such little faith in me after all this time?" the older man asked, stopping in his pacing to look down at Arthur.

"You've been hiding it," Arthur mumbled, casting his eyes downward. "You never told me what happened."

"Happened where?"

Arthur glanced up at Eames. "When you and I shared that last dream together… and I couldn't remember what happened, but you did. I waited for you to tell me what I was missing. Even after you left, I was expecting a letter or something to show up."

"What am I, a mind reader? How was I supposed to know you wanted me to tell you what happened? You blocked it out yourself. Remember it yourself," Eames said. Arthur shook his head.

"I can't!" Arthur exclaimed. He pressed his lips together and his cheeks heated up. He hadn't meant to yell. "I mean, I've tried. I've tried everything. I can't remember. Hell, I can only remember the kiss because you talked about it last time. But that could be just me putting images to your words. And it's all so heavy in my mind."

"Because you're afraid about what intimacy I was talking about? You're so afraid of what may have happened between us that you can't remember," Eames said, voice and expression slightly stunned. It explained so much of this conversation and Arthur's actions during that final week before Eames had taken off. Arthur was worried about what he couldn't remember. He didn't know what they did or what they talked about, how personal they became.

"Well I suppose you could put it that way," Arthur conceded. He shrugged a bit.

Eames bent down again and put his hand out, a gesture to ask for Arthur's. The point man allowed it and put his hand in Eames'. He felt a rough finger caressing his hand, but he was fixated on Eames' eyes, which were level with his and had initiated an intense staring contest with his own.

"Don't let it bother you, Arthur. Nothing happened between us. I kissed you and I held you, but nothing happened. Understand, smart man? Nothing happened. You have my word of honor," Eames assured him.

"Funny. I wasn't aware you had any honor," Arthur said blandly. Eames smirked.

"Shut up," he said and gently bopped Arthur in the head with his free hand. "But seriously, it was just a bit of kissing. I could tell you weren't ready for anything more committal, and you were hiding some pretty messed up insecurity under all your brainiac crap."

"I resent that," Arthur said. "I like my brains."

"Aw, I know you do, darling. I love your bullshit too sometimes," Eames teased.

"Shut up. You're such an asshole," Arthur grumbled, lowering his chin but not his eyes. Eames was still tracing circles on the back of his hand with his thumb.

"Mmm, yes, but that's all part of my charm, now isn't it?" Eames cooed. He smiled and leaned in closer to Arthur. "Now, would it be intimately inappropriate of me to ask for a kiss?"

"That almost sounded too smart to be you," Arthur said, raising a surprised eyebrow. Then he smiled and, before Eames could protest the statement, kissed the Forger.

It was one kiss, a soft peck of the lips. Arthur pulled back but he didn't get far. Eames' free hand came up to the side of his head, the fingers curling around the back, and kept him still as the Brit kissed him again and again. Eames gave sweet pecks until Arthur's lips parted to object or breathe or whatever he'd been about to do. Arthur didn't get the chance to do anything, because Eames stuck his tongue in Arthur's mouth, successfully stunning the point man for a moment.

Eames pressed himself closer to Arthur, deepening the kisses with tongues. Eames' thumb was rubbing up against Arthur's earlobe in a forceful but not painful way. It felt unusual, but that in itself made it interesting. Arthur was making sounds, he knew it. He was grunting and trying to convince himself to tell Eames to back off, but he wasn't really speaking. He let Eames dominate and control the moment, a flurry of desire filled kissing that Eames had been holding back on for a year.

What Arthur didn't entirely notice was that Eames had dropped his hand awhile ago. Eames' free hand found Arthur's side, closer to his waist, but not that low. He was holding Arthur, his large, harsh hands trying their best not to ruin the practiced perfection of Arthur while still trying to force their way into his impenetrable personal security. This was a whole new fight for extraction.

Arthur's hands twitched and then held on to Eames' head, one on the back and the other on his neck. Arthur didn't know if he was pulling or pushing Eames, but he felt the buildup of pressure in his arms, in his fingers, that told him he needed to feel the friction of pressing against Eames in some way. It was odd, something Arthur hadn't even felt in London. This felt more intense, like a dam breaking under pressure. Had this been building since day one? Had this been the inevitable outcome despite all of Arthur's struggle?

With a grunt, Arthur ripped his head back from Eames and lowered it till his eyes looked straight down at his own knees. Eames was smiling, he could tell from the way his breathing became staccato with soundless laughs.

"S-shut up," Arthur breathed out, his voice barely above a whisper. Eames's fingers gently pet behind his ear.

"It's alright, Arthur. I always knew you didn't really swing for Ariadne," Eames said. "But may I say… that was a bloody good kiss."

"That wasn't a kiss," Arthur said, voice dark and unbelieving. He raised his gaze to Eames' and seemed to want to glare at him. "That was forceful conversion."

"Ha! Well I hope that's one step closer to translating my thoughts to yours," Eames laughed. He kissed Arthur on the nose and then winked. He let his fingers brush Arthur's cheeks as he pulled away and stood up. It left a tingle on Arthur's skin, the same tingle anyone's fingers would leave if they did that, but it seemed to mean more simply because they were Eames' fingers.

"Are you going somewhere?" Arthur asked, sitting up straighter, alert and like the normal Arthur everyone knew. His hair was all messed up on the sides, however, so it dampened the look. Eames smiled playfully.

"I'm off to unpack myself into one of the rooms, I think. Then I thought I might pop into the kitchen for a beer… unless they don't have one, then I may pop into a dream. It's all the same in the end, isn't it?" Eames asked, musing aloud in one of those ways where you couldn't quite tell how serious he was being.

Eames gave a little wave and turned away. He grabbed his bags and walked down the hall toward the stay rooms. Arthur looked after him, a slightly shocked look on his face. It wasn't that he was surprised by Eames, his face just happened to fall that way while watching Eames leave the room. Instead of doing what he'd normally do, which was let his mind wonder over anything and everything negative Eames could've meant with his actions, Arthur stood from the couch and followed his Forger down the hall.

Arthur had once sworn to never fall prey to petty words and actions, nor pretty shows of affection or pompous shows of skill. He had promised himself not to let himself get in too deep with his emotions ever again. The pain of London was still fresh in his mind, both emotionally and physically, whenever he thought of it. He wouldn't call what he was doing right now 'getting in too deep'. He'd call it… letting himself feel. It had been a long road of training himself not to care. He'd become even more perfect at his job after London… maybe he should thank that job.

Points, facts, and figures were Arthur's specialty. He could translate information about a mark into usable data for everyone to use, for anyone to understand, for himself to make a plan. Eames had always been a language even Arthur's points and graphs couldn't translate. Arthur was much too developed, too old, to change who he was and how he worked. It had taken a lifetime of work to become the man he was, to learn to think the way he did. Learning to translate a language like Eames was going to be hard work, and sometimes Arthur would give up hope… but maybe he'd see enough under the shield of Eames to get him through his loss of will, to keep him trying and working.

As Arthur walked down the halls to the rooms, he wondered how old was too old to learn a new language fluently and how much Eames understood the language of Arthur. Maybe, just maybe, Eames was trying to translate just as much as Arthur.