"I still remember this moment in the back of my mind,
The time we stood with our shaking hands;
The crowds in stands went wild.
We were the kings and the queens, and they read off our names,
The night you danced like you knew our lives would never be the same.
You held your head like a hero on a history book page.
It was the end of a decade, but the start of an age.
Long live the walls we crashed through,
While the kingdom lights shined just for me and you."
- Taylor Swift, "Long Live"

"So, did you marry him, Daddy?"

The question shakes Eames from his reverie.

"What? No, poppet."

"Why not? You loved each other," Eames's son replies. He twists in his bed and props an elbow beneath his head, wrapping the racecar sheets around his small frame in the process.

"I wish it were that simple, sweetie, but it isn't. Things don't always work out. It was too dangerous for us to be together then. Too big of a distraction."

"Then why not later?"

Eames sighs heavily. The end of the story has always been the hardest to tell.

A year had passed since Arthur and Eames threw their cards on the table in a conversation that hurt, but could not be avoided. A year of slightly lingering touches and glances, a year of sad acceptance of a relationship that wasn't possible. Too many risks if the men grew close, and not just emotional risks. Too much was at stake after all this time.

Still, once the team's job was complete, Eames wondered if there was a chance for them. The prospect kept him on edge as he drove the team to Fischer Hall, a banquet hall and auditorium about an hour's drive from the base.

"I still don't understand why we couldn't take my car," Arthur says from the passenger seat. Eames glances away from the road and towards Arthur for a split second.

"We would hardly all fit, what with half your wardrobe hanging in the back. Besides,what do you have against my baby?" Eames asks, fiddling with the radio so that he can hear Arthur over Mal and Dom chattering excitedly in the backseat.

"This isn't a baby, Eames. This is the… the steroid-enhanced teenaged linebacker of cars, okay?"

"No, no, no, darling. The Range Rover Evoque is much too classy for what you Yanks call football," Eames says, smiling. He ponders, "Maybe it's more like a Rugby player: rough, but still sophisticated."

"Okay, rugby. But it's still huge. What's the mileage for this thing, anyway?" Arthur asks as he fiddles with the vent, attempting to avert the air blowing in his face.

"Don't ask. Are you cold?" At Arthur's nod, Eames reaches over and closes off Arthur's vent.

"That bad, huh? You know, my Prius gets almost fifty miles per gallon."

"Yes, but, darling, it's a Prius," Eames replies as he signals and waits to make a left turn into the parking lot. He notices a small, silver car behind them, also waiting to turn, and thanks his lucky stars that they're not the only ones running a little late.

"Remind me why we're doing this again, Dom," Arthur says over his shoulder, rolling his eyes but otherwise ignoring Eames's last remark.

"Gates likes parties. We've just succeeded in bringing dream-sharing to the military masses…. I guess he sees that as a pretty good excuse for a get-together."

"But can't we have a party without getting up on stage?"

"Darling, you look fantastic, you don't even have to speak, and we'll likely be up there for five minutes, tops. You've nothing to worry about, I promise."

"Yeah, what Eames said," Dom seconds.

"And you, Mal? You're okay with this?" Arthur asks, once he realizes that he won't be getting anywhere with Dom or Eames.

"Arthur, come now. You've earned some recognition, don't you think so?" Her slender arm reaches around Arthur's headrest and her hand comes to rest on his shoulder. "You'll be fine," she says, squeezing Arthur's shoulder before unbuckling her seatbelt and climbing out of the car to stand in front of the steps where Eames has stopped.

"Park quickly, Eames. We'll wait for you backstage," Dom says as he follows Mal, closes the door behind them, and begins leading Mal up the faded marble steps.

Arthur, finally through grumbling, turns back to Eames as he unbuckles his seat belt.

"Do I really look fantastic?" he asks quietly.

"Yes, Lieutenant Sims. More so than usual, in fact. And that's really saying something."

Eames reaches over to straighten a button on Arthur's lapel and Arthur takes his hand without warning. Eames's heart jumps to his throat, but he manages what he hopes is a happy, if slightly indifferent, expression.

"Just don't let me fall on my ass in front of a thousand people, okay?"

"Not even in front of two people, Arthur. I promise."

He gives Arthur's hand a reassuring squeeze and places a kiss on the man's knuckles before either of them has even realized what Eames has done. Embarrassed, Eames drops Arthur's both hand and his gaze and coughs.

"You'd best be on your way, then. I'll be there as soon as I can find a space."

Arthur, a blush rising on his cheeks, pulls down the shade and flips open the small mirror, adjusting his beret in the reflection. Satisfied with what he sees, he closes the mirror and folds the shade back to the roof.

"Thank you, Sean," he says without meeting Eames's eyes. Then he hops out of the car and up the stairs into Fischer Hall.

"A party? Just for you?"

"Yep, little man. Just for us," Eames replies.

"Was it fun?" the boy asks.

"Mostly."

"Did you really get to go on stage?"

"Yes, I did. In front of hundreds of people. All of them looking right at me," Eames says dramatically, widening his eyes and placing his face closer to the boy, who giggles and flops away, untucking the blanket at the foot of his bed.

"And then what happened?"

"Well…."

Eames parks the car in a spot that's nearly half a city block away and jogs back to the entrance, careful not to muss his hair or suit too badly. Luckily, both the ceremony and party are set to take place in the same building. He'll only have to worry about parking once tonight. As he passes the rows of cars, he notices the same silver car from earlier, the driver still sitting inside. Again, Eames is thankful to not be the only one running behind schedule.

Once finally inside, Eames asks the doorman for directions to the backstage area. He manages to end up in a dead-end hallway once, but quickly realizes his mistake and finally emerges backstage.

"About time," Mal playfully chides. "We thought maybe you'd ditched us and gone somewhere else."

"Oh, you know I could never find better company in this town than right here," Eames says, looking around the space they're in before adding, "Where's Arthur?"

"Restroom," Dom answers. "We've got about fifteen minutes, according to one of the stagehand people, if you want to see what's going on in that poor boy's head. I've never seen him so nervous."

Eames wonders briefly if Arthur is shaken by the same thing Eames is: potential. Once this is over, once their project is completely finished, there's nothing to keep them apart. Just the thought is enough to make Eames feel queasy, but in a mostly good way. Add a good dose of stage fright on top of that… no wonder Arthur isn't feeling on top of his game, Eames muses as he makes his way back to the dead-end hallway he wandered upon earlier. Here he saw restroom signs, and he hopes that he's found the one that Arthur is seeking refuge in.

Eames is pretty sure that he has indeed found the correct bathroom when he hears retching from one of the stalls and sees the soles of a familiar pair of size ten dress loafers peeking out from beneath the door.

"Arthur. It's Eames. Are you alright?"

His only answer is another retch and a splash in the toilet bowl, followed by a round of mild coughing.

"I'll take that as a no."

One of the shoes suddenly disappears, and the other slowly follows suit. A moment later, the door swings open, and Arthur steps out of the stall, knees dusty and eyes watering. He makes his way to the sink, still not speaking, and uses the paper towels Eames is offering to dry his face after he gargles, spits, and splashes himself with cold water.

"I'm scared, Eames," Arthur finally says. His hands are on either side of the sink and he's leaning forward, eyes on the marble.

"Arthur," Eames begins. He turns from where he's leaning against the counter so that he faces Arthur, who still won't meet his gaze. "We'll be right there beside you. It's going to be nothing. Absolutely noth-"

"Not about that," Arthur replies. He lifts his gaze to meet Eames's. "About you and me. About us."

They simply stare at each other for a moment before Eames breaks the silence.

"I'm scared, too," Eames says. He reaches out and places a hand over one of Arthur's.

"Don't say that just to make me feel better," Arthur says, subtly pulling his hand out from beneath Eames's as he turns to stare at the countertop.

"I'm not, Arthur," Eames replies, placing his hand atop Arthur's once more. "What if we ruin everything we've had these past three years? What if the real thing doesn't live up to our expectations?"

"And what if it was all for nothing?" Arthur turns away from the sink and towards Eames, mere inches between them now. Somehow, this distance is even more electrifying than touching hands.

"I've thought about it all, too. Many nights when everyone thought that I was fretting over the job…," Eames trails off. There's silence for a moment, and then, "But it won't be a failure, Arthur. It couldn't be. We won't let it."

Eames pulls Arthur closer so that their chests are touching, and when Arthur doesn't pull away, Eames breathes a sigh of relief. But as soon as he sighs, he isn't breathing at all, because Arthur is closing what little distance lies between their lips, and everything Eames has ever dreamed of is finally coming true. But just before their lips touch, just as Eames can feel Arthur's breath on his face, a knock at the door makes them both jump backward.

Dom sticks his head into the room to find Arthur adjusting his beret once more and Eames pacing slowly in the tiny space between the sinks and the stalls.

"Two minutes till show time, boys. Let's go," he nearly shouts, oblivious to the scene he's just interrupted.

"Always something," Eames sighs, attempting a smile as Dom leaves once more, nearly strutting down the hallway in his excitement. At least Dom didn't catch them in the act. Eames supposes that is a good thing, though his heart is still beating wildly as he holds the door open for Arthur and then follows the man back into the poorly-lit corridor and towards the stage.

"Always something," Eames can hear Arthur echo as the bathroom door shuts behind them.