AN: This fic ended absolutely nowhere near where I thought it would, but months after writing it I can't say it should have ended any differently. Some stories write themselves.

Disclaimer: I disclaim. ^.^

Arthur and Eames had known each other a lot longer than either cared to admit. To the amusement of Dom, one of the few people in the know of their long and slightly complex history, they had always acted the way they did now.

When the two had first met, it had been on a sunny August day in London. Their mothers had been best friends in college, and Arthur's mum had brought him along when she came to visit Eames' family in England. Eames was six and a half; Arthur was three. Arthur had been a quiet child; his clothes were spotless and unwrinkled; his hair fell in neatly ordered little brown curls. His eyes had been the most interesting thing about him: wide brown eyes, curious eyes that took in everything around the three year old with endless awe. They redeemed Arthur just enough in Eames' world to make him worth getting to know, so Eames promptly commenced his plans. He pushed Arthur into the mud, yanked on his hair, and taunted him into climbing a tree and refused to help him down—even when Arthur admitted to being afraid of heights.

It was the end of a long day of taunting (some would call it bullying, but they were far too young to know the term) and Eames had gotten no reaction from Arthur beyond a small shrug and a slightly downturned tilt to the corners of Arthur's mouth. The kid gave nothing away; what kind of three year old didn't cry when he was scared? Eames' mum had just bought them ice cream when someone jostled into them and Arthur's cone fell in the dirt. It was a pity, really; he'd only gotten couple licks off the thing. Neither of their mothers were paying attention, so little Arthur's plight went entirely unnoticed. No one saw his eyes widen into the sweetest, saddest kicked puppy look in the world; no one but Eames, who handed over his own ice cream without a word between them. It was chocolate, not vanilla, but the panicked six year old didn't know what else to do. Arthur blinked, surprised, and then gave him the biggest, brightest smile Eames had ever seen.

He spent the rest of his life chasing that smile.

Of course, he drove Arthur crazy, but he stopped being outright mean and settled for annoying with a twist of fun. Eames had discovered at an early age that people left. His father left when he was four, his friends were in a constant state of flux, and nothing in his life was constant—nothing but his mom…and Arthur. He loved his mum; she'd never leave him, but his friendship with Arthur was less certain. The one way Eames knew to keep people from leaving was to remain interesting. He was loud, flamboyant, and ever-changing because he hoped that maybe if he could keep Arthur from getting bored everything would be okay.

So he annoyed the crap out of Arthur, and somehow they remained best friends.

They were long distance pen pals, shared lengthening phone calls as they got older, and would probably have remained just long distance friends if a little twist of fate hadn't thrown them together in the worst possible way.

Eames was seventeen; Arthur was just fourteen. The death of Eames' mum was like a bucket of ice water dumped over his head, the foundations of his life smashed to bits in one go. His life was falling apart, collapsing around him, and he didn't know what to believe. His dad didn't want him, but as his godmother Arthur's mom had the option to lay claim to him. That didn't make Eames any less shocked when she did, nor was he any less surprised when she met his shock with the solemn declaration that she'd be damned if she was going to let anything happen to the son of her best friend.

That didn't make things easy. Moving to America was strange and different; he'd moved around a lot with Mum, but this was the bloody United States, across the sea from home. He spent most of his time in his new room that wasn't really his room, avoiding Arthur with stunning success, especially considering that their rooms were right next to each other. With an adjoining door. Luckily for Eames, the doors locked. Not that Arthur didn't have his own key, he just had those pesky morals that got in the way of Eames' fun on a daily basis. Right now he didn't really mind.

He didn't hate Arthur, but he was scared. Arthur was the last constant of his life and if he lost Arthur now it would ruin him. He didn't know how he could feel worse than this, more empty, but he knew that losing Arthur would surely be the end of his world and that just wasn't something Eames could face.

Arthur, however, minded. Eames was quiet, plain, bland, and completely broken. Arthur didn't know why all of this gave him a sick feeling in his stomach, nor why it caused that empty tugging feeling somewhere in his chest, but he knew that it had to stop. Eames like this was wrong. He didn't know what to do or how to fix it, all he knew was that he had to find a way.

It took him a few days to come up with a fail-proof plan, but when he did it was perfect. He didn't even feel guilty about using his key to get into Eames' room when the boy refused to answer. Eames was sitting against the headboard of his bed, staring at a blank gray wall (Arthur made mental note that they needed to paint this room something bright with color; something horribly flashy and annoying and Eames) as if it held the secrets to life. He met Arthur's eyes as the door clicked shut and the emptiness there scared the freshman to his core. Silently, as panicked as Eames had been those eleven years previously, he held out a chocolate ice cream cone and gave a tiny but sincere and hopeful smile.

Eames took the ice cream and shifted over to give Arthur room. They sat side by side for hours, neither speaking and neither needing to. They were cemented in that moment, the constant of each other's lives.

Eames grew back into the annoying person Arthur loved and hated in equal parts and he began to rue the day he'd missed this, but it was all okay. It was the way they were meant to be. Eames drove him insane but forced fun into his dull world; Arthur was perfect and bloody untouchable but he sometimes gave Eames those smiles that lit up his world and made everything worth it.

Living with Eames was entirely different than talking to Eames, sharing secrets with Eames. He went to Arthur's school, now, and it was strangely comforting to know that Eames was always there, though they rarely saw each other. In high school personality was the greatest divider of cliques and their groups were far to different to merge.

They didn't spend much time together, between school and homework and the vast quantities of sleep that teenagers need to function, and they didn't make time for each other like they used to, but somehow they scavenged hours here and there to do all the crazy, random things only Eames would think of when bored. Between home videos hidden away on Arthur's laptop, makeshift weapons, and mousetrap cars, the evidence of their long-lasting friendship was there for those that knew how to look.

The day Eames left for college was one of the loneliest of Arthur's life. The gap between Chicago and San Francisco was huge, sure, but it wasn't as far as Chicago to England, so Arthur struggled to figure out why it felt different now. It was the biggest relief of his life when he could follow Eames two and a half later, the majority of his high school life spent focused on graduating early and following his best friend. He'd never hated the age difference more than in those two and a half long years, years that seemed to stretch out forever.

He entered college as a sophomore and was halfway through his junior year when Eames graduated. He met Eames for coffee the day after graduation and knew something was off when Eames just fidgeted; there was clearly something on his mind and he never told Arthur, just gave him a brotherly half-hug when he left that day.

Arthur didn't hear from him again, at all, for the next four years.

Four years later Arthur had a BA and a masters degree, an apartment, and a new job with a pretty high income considering that he was just out of college. His life was good, if empty of people and anything meaningful at all. His parents worried, he knew, but none of his few friends knew him well enough to know that there was something off about his smiles, distant in his eyes. They saw what they wanted to see: mutually beneficial relationships that in the end provided nothing at all.

His phone rang at two am one morning and Arthur stared at the number, sleep muddled mind trying to catch up with itself. An eleven digit number: out of the country? He didn't know anyone out of the country; it had been years since he got calls from… calls from England.

He answered it hesitantly. "Hello?" The tone wasn't succinct or clipped as it normally would have been; part of him knew who it would be and allowed that vulnerability to show through.

"Arthur." It was a marvel that his voice hadn't changed at all, nor had the way he said Arthur's name with that British accent that made so many girls swoon.

"Eames." There was a moment of silence that said everything either needed to hear without the words. They'd never really needed words. "Where are you?"

"Denmark. I have… I have a job here and we could use your help." There was a hesitance in Eames tone, likely because he knew he had no right to ask for anything.

It didn't matter. "I'll be there tomorrow." Hanging up Arthur scheduled the first flight he could and left everything behind expect his passport and bank cards.

Five years later both were well-known in both the illegal and legal sides of the dream world, and they still rarely ever saw each other. Arthur's parents hadn't heard from either of them in years, because Arthur didn't want them to be hurt by the decisions of the children they'd raised.

They avoiding working jobs together, because when they were in the same room that bond was obvious, the love and hate and history completely on show for the world to see.

They still met once a year in London and had ice cream. Eames still annoyed Arthur incessantly, clinging to the hold he had on Arthur's life, to his one anchor to sanity. Arthur still gave Eames those smiles, the tiny ones that seemed to light up the world, and that was all they needed. As long as they had each other, just one speed-dial number away, they were happy.

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