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[31 Jan 2013|08:21pm] |
"I don't think it's such a good idea," Eames says, rubbing his son's back to try and make him burp. He's six months old, now. Eames has him for another week, now that he's finished and posted Arthur's passport to him, which was his all consuming work for a while. He'd come home to London, had Ben for a week, been sent to Russia for three weeks, touched down in London long enough for one night in his bed, went to Turkey for a fortnight and then came home to work on Arthur's task for him. It's now two months since they saw each other. The wedding is penciled in for next month, roughly, and Eames isn't going to go. He's pretty sure he can swing having Ben that week as well, but Miles has him cornered.
Miles, Mal's dad. Old friend of the family. Small world. And wasn't that a conversation. Of course Miles knows about Eames going into the dreamshare and he seems to know a lot about Percy and Arthur, though that's also probably because Mal was with Percy for so long.
"You were invited," Miles says. "As the father of the bride I might take it personally if you don't turn up."
Eames gives him a look. "I know you won't."
"You're just avoiding Arthur."
"And?"
"And? That's not how life works," Miles says. "You can't just run constantly and hope for the best. Because what, you're scared?"
"Scared?" Eames repeats, holding Ben up to his shoulder where the baby burps and Eames coos some praise to him. "What is there to be scared of? Arthur and I couldn't possibly have a future. I'm a medically-certified-kind-of-fragile ex-soldier with a baby born out of wedlock with a woman who doesn't like me and he's...I don't know. He's complicated."
"Or you're both brilliant boys and you need someone to appreciate you. You both fight too much. Consider a ceasefire, Daniel. And stop using Ben as an excuse."
Eames wants to act affronted and say that he would never use his son like that, but he is. Evidently. So he grumbles and rubs Ben's back until he begins to whine.
"You're coming to the wedding with me. I'm an old man, Daniel. I don't fly well on my own. And if I don't fly then-"
"Then you drive."
"And you'd let an old man drive all that way on his own?"
Eames knows he's beaten. He sighs, pressing a kiss to Ben's soft, baby hair. He smells like talc and milk and the infant shampoo Ellen insists he uses. "Fine."
"Pack for sunshine!"
A month later Eames and Miles touch down in Monaco. There's another hour in a car (Eames drives because Miles is an old man) before they reach the resort in Menton where Mal and Dom are getting married. It's beautiful, of course, because Mal would insist on it. They're getting married on a pier that juts out into the sea. And it's hot. Not dangerously hot, because there is a sea breeze, but it's hot and Eames worries about Arthur. He'd like to say he hasn't thought about Arthur in the three months they've been apart, but that's a complete lie. They're all booked into the same chalet as well, because Miles wants to be with his daughter and Dom wants Percy with him, so Percy is there and Arthur has to stay too and Miles has told Eames he'd better not even think about disappearing to a different hotel.
"You know, I had a teenage daughter who had crushes on boys," Miles says as Eames carries his bags into the chalet, because Miles is an old man. "She was more sensible than you're being now."
"Well, thank your lucky stars you won't have a thirty year old son who crushes on boys-"
"It feels like I do," Miles retorts, taking his bag from Eames outside the door of the room he's going to be occupying, as per Mal's email. Eames is on the floor above.
He has a nice view from his balcony. And it's been a while since he's been able to just relax. Miles is going out with Mal tonight so Eames is going to really get into that relaxing thing.
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[29 Jan 2013|07:40pm] |
Eames was born on the 24th June at the Royal Berkshire Hospital, Reading, Berkshire. His full name is Daniel Eames. No middle name.
Eames attended Harrow boys school in north London from the ages of 11-18. He has eleven GCSEs and 4 A-levels (history, French, English, politics). He joined the RAF at sixteen as a cadet, had his pilots licence by 17. He spent six weeks at Oxford studying European History and International Relations.
Then he joined the RAF full time. Because university is for nerds.
From 18-21 he flew as a pilot, from 22-23 he joined the paramilitary and worked over, in, and around Siera Leone.
At 23 he had The Accident. Parachuting from a plane to deliver things, Eames was shot down. The bullet went through the canopy of his parachute and Eames fell, breaking both legs on landing. One is nearly completely reconstructed with metal plates and pins.
He spent the rest of the year and the following in hospital, learning to walk again.
Just before his 25th birthday, Eames joined MI6.
His relationship with his parents is distant though not hostile. They are from good money and Eames is their only heir, but the money he spends is only the money he earns.
His relationships have been few and far between. Most notable are a girl, Sara, that he met in the RAF cadets. They dated for a few years and shagged whenever they met out in the field. A man at the military hospital, Craig, who had to be removed to a different hospital due to a morphine addiction, and Ellen, a MI6 communications operative, on a break from her husband when she and Eames began sleeping together. She discovered she was pregnant, but left Eames after six months to go back to her husband with whom she gave birth to baby Ben. Eames sees him when he's in the country.
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[28 Nov 2012|09:51am] |
Most of the time, Eames really likes his job. And then sometimes, Eames loves his job. The day he is handed the file on a certain CIA agent he is being politely asked to follow for the sake of work and investigation is one of those days. Because it does make everything a little bit better to be told that you have to follow a rather attractive man around and somehow, at your own discretion, get him into an unconscious state in your presence.
For all the risks of working for MI6, the perks are brilliant.
That the CIA are really branching out into this kind of methodology for whatever nefarious purpose is genuinely concerning, and of course Eames understands that there are plenty of good reasons he's going to be rolling out this rather wobbly and new technology of slipping into dreams and wandering around (it's a little more technical that that, but the science is tedious and it's much easier to get on board with when it's all broken down). That and in the training (top secret training, selected personnel only) he scored almost perfectly on every test means that the reputation and the knowledge of the British government is entirely in his hands. No pressure.
Really, no pressure.
The thing is he's going to have to somehow drug the poor guy to hook them both up, because 'Arthur' is going to know exactly what is going on and, for all his charms, Eames doesn't suppose he's going to be able to just say 'hey, fancy hooking yourself up to a machine with me so I can have a look around that sexy brain of yours?' No, that isn't going to happen.
But one step at a time, he's good at playing by ear, even if it makes him a bit of a liability. And that is how he winds up sitting in a bar in Philadelphia, drinking a shockingly pink cocktail in a Martini glass and looking across the room at his target, the lovely Arthur, who is loitering with some friends or colleagues or some such. Eames watches him. He's debating, choosing his tactics, and he thinks he's going to go for the suarve approach first.
"Sir," he taps the bar and the barman comes over. "Would you be so kind as to take a drink over to the gentleman over there? The attractive one," Eames smiles, slips the man a tip and sits back to wait. Even if Arthur isn't batting for his team, he'll have his attention.
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[02 Jun 2011|06:23pm] |
screened.
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Dream a little bigger, darling