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Title: Direct Me To The Sun
Pairing(s): Eames/ Arthur. Ora e sempre
Summary: Arthur and Eames are married with a daughter, a dog and a practically perfect life, all of that stuff. They have very few secrets between then...or so Eames thinks, not knowing about the job that Arthur has
Genre(s): AU, romance, est-rel, family/ domesticity, fluff, MPreg, eventual angst and dark/ tragedy.
Warning(s): Mentions of MPreg, eventual MPreg, character death, violence saccharine-sweetness with a cynical edge, threat/ danger, angst self-beta’d, British spelling and slang.
Rating: Varies; NC-17 overall.
Word count: 20,615.
Disclaimer: Characters sprung from le mind of Christopher Nolan. Allie, however, is mine.
Direct Me To The Sun | Quite A Pointless Thing To Do | When You Leave The Room | Turn It Around Tonight | Wind in the Wheat | Since I Met You | Wrong Place, The Right Time | The Wheels Come Down | Double Nickels On Your Dime | All The Mess That We Made | Turn Back The Page | Your Sweet Disaster | Far Beyond Repair | Follow You To The Beginning | Let's Make A Promise | Epilogue: I'm Lost Without You |X| Keep My Colours Clean (follow-up) |
Title: Say It To You Out Loud
Pairing(s): Eames/ Arthur, d’accordo.
Summary: Arthur doesn’t expect Eames to be back – at all, let alone so soon. Meanwhile, Eames doesn’t expect what Arthur’s been whilst he’s been gone… [1st-person POV.]
Genre(s): AU, MPreg, angst, romance, est-rel, family/ domesticity and a descent into fluffy fluff.
Warning(s): MPreg, swearing, mentions of prison, lashings of angst, self-beta’d, British spelling and slang.
Rating: R
Word count: 1,369
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Christopher Nolan, of course.
Author’s Note: Just a slightly plotless drabble that’s been formulating in my head over the weekend and I am awful at containing these things xD Title comes from No Light, No Light by Florence + the Machine.

Title: Pledge, Turn, Prestige
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Pintooo.
Summary:  Chris is having another '09 Moment, and Zach is getting pretty damn fed up with it.
Genre(s): PWP, romance, tiny angst, kink
Length: One-shot
Wordcount: 2,014
Warning(s): Hate!sex --> D/s elements, biting, scratching, tiny smidge of Painto, a light bit of angst, self-beta'd, British spelling, British slang.
Disclaimer: The only concrete truths in this are: 1) My mind is very bloody dirty at times and 2) Zach's opinion of Shaun of the Dead accurately reflects mine. I know it shouldn't, but. Whatever.
Feedback: Is appreciated and I'll always respond.
Author's Note: Inspired by the combination of this and then [info]melooza's comment, which was the first one on there. And she dared me. So, if you get this...CHALLENGE COMPLETED! Title was slightly inspired by/ taken from the film The Prestige, which is also a very, very good film. Mind you, it's Chris Nolan. How can it NOT be good?! Haha!
Title: Why You Runnin'?
Rating: Overall NC-17, each chapter varies (increases in rating, though).
Pairing(s): Eventual Pinto, previous Chris/OC, initial Zach/OC, Karl Urban/ Eric Bana.
Summary: AU. One wants to run, but can't; the other's already running and won't stop. Sooner or later, there's going to be a collision...
Genre(s): AU, angst, hurt/comfort, romance, death!fic, humour, fluff, crack
Length: Multi-chapter, multi-parter
Word count: 21,013
Warning(s): Self-harm, other pairings, angst, character death, domestic violence, mentions of non-con (and consequences), car accident, drinking and rimming.
Disclaimer: All lies. Complete fiction.
Author's Notes: Idea came to me in church, actually (one of the two times a year I'm made to go, I'm not religious otherwise). I was recovering from an illness I had on 23/12, hence my reaction of "OMG FLORIST PINTO!" when the priest said "Thankyou to the flower arrangers..."
|| Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Territorial Expansion | End of Time | In Your Eyes | Other Side | Spectrum Part 1 | Spectrum Part 2 | Gaining Closure Part 1 | Gaining Closure Part 2 ||

Title: Oh, Christina!
NC-17/ 18
Pairing(s): Pinto with Pardy (Pine/Hardy) implication (or is it? :P)
Summary: Zach comes home one night to find a, hmm, 'treat' waiting for him.
Genre(s): word!PWP, crack
Length: One-shot/ 1,455wds
Warning(s): Crackyish, cross-dressing, gratuitous word-pr0n, implications of other pairing, British spelling, self-beta'd, plotless and strong language. Rated for description more than anything
Disclaimer: All lies. Complete fiction.
Author's Notes: The idea from this isn't honestly mine. I was reacting to a certain clip of Chris in "Surrender Dorothy" to my man and as we were saying goodnight, he teased: "Sleep well, don't dream of Pine in a dress. Much less Pine in a dress flirting with Quinto. And Hardy." So there you go.

Title: Clouding Over
PG-13/ 12
Pairing(s): Pinto
Summary: He’d had enough of the way people tiptoed around him as though he was a ticking time-bomb, those dark eyes of his on the verge of clouding over as a red mist descended upon him.
Genre(s): Angst, death!fic
Length: One-shot/ 2,130wds
Warning(s): Angst, implied character death, one single use of strong language, British spelling and dialect, self-beta'd, minimal plot.
Author’s Note: I'm meant to be concentrating on putting together a mock CV, but my Inner Fangirls and the plot bunny that inspired this were too hard to ignore. Also: first Pinto fic, please be nice :) Double also: Check = plaid.

Le Tags:


Title: Decisions
Author: MikaHaeli8
Pairing(s): You'll find out at the end, hence why I haven't put it on AO3.
Summary: “Where did you come from, hmm?” she asked it quietly, knowing she wouldn’t get an answer. Why are you here? Are you lost? Did you wander off?
Inspired by this Tumblr post.
Genre(s): Family/ domesticity, romance, future!fic.
Warning(s): Self-beta'd, British slang/ spelling. Not American-picked.
G/ U.
Word count: 1, 979
Disclaimer: I only really own half the characters in this. The other characters I obviously do not.


Today, Erin McCready decided at 10am on a warm summer morning. Today, I’ll do those bloody weeds.

She’d been putting it off for a while due to the weather being terrible. It had rained consistently over the past two weeks, thereby interfering with her summer plans. Right now, the weeds were on the cusp of staging a coup. She had to get rid of them and today was probably the last day this year that she would get to do them.

Opening the shed door, she found her gloves, a trowel and a bucket amidst the mess and headed back into the garden to start the arduous task ahead. I’ll get Dan to sort the shed out this weekend, she noted to herself, if he’s back.

At around midday, she stopped, surveying the garden with a ripple of pride. Having gotten rid of half the offending plants, the difference in the garden was already palpable. She decided to reward herself by taking a break for lunch. That was when she saw a shadow, suddenly cast over the expanse of grass and heading towards her.

She turned and was surprised to see a Retriever – quite an old one at that, given that his face was lined with silver, streaks of it glimmering in the sun. His deep brown eyes looked at her inquisitively. Facing the dog fully, Erin held out her hand, palm flat. The dog sniffed it and gave it a small lick, tasting the sweat and soil on her fingers. Crouching, closing the gap between her and the dog, Erin stroked it, eyes scanning for a collar, which she found. It was red and did indeed have a little metal plate on it.

“Where did you come from, hmm?” she asked it quietly, knowing she wouldn’t get an answer. Why are you here? Are you lost? Did you wander off?

The dog nuzzled at her arm, panting. Whatever you are, Erin thought, you’re tired.

“Tell you what,” she decided out loud, “you can stay with me for a little while. If someone asks for you, they can find you here, yeah?”
She got up and went back into the cool shade of the house, the dog following her. Whilst she stopped once she was in the kitchen, the Retriever continued into the even cooler stretch of the hall, loping down into a corner, where he curled up and immediately fell asleep, paws curled.

Erin stared at this dog in astonishment, ultimately deciding it was best to leave him where he was. He didn’t seem like he was going to cause any trouble and if his owner came looking for him, well, at least they wouldn’t have to worry about the dog’s safety.

An hour later, he left, completely of his own accord. The dog remained in Erin’s thoughts all day and throughout the night. She hoped he would be safe, wherever he was.

The next day was another scorcher and whilst the weeds were all cleared, there was now a large gap, which looked jarring next to the bright colours scattered around the rest of the garden. Erin found herself in the shed once again, this time looking to see if she had any seeds left over from last year. Sure enough, she had a few spare mixed seeds. Swiping them off the shelf, she was just about to step outside to plant them when she saw the dog from yesterday pad across the garden. He stopped at the shed door and faced her, wagging his tail.

“Hello,” Erin greeted, crouching down to fuss him. A measure of warmth spread through her chest as she buried her fingers in the dog’s fur, combined with an ache of loneliness that she thought she’d suppressed. “You remind me of Polly, my doggie from when I was a little girl. She’d follow Mum around in the house just like you did yesterday.”

Swallowing a lump in her throat, she opened the back door. Sure enough, the dog stepped in, padding down the kitchen and the hall to the same spot from yesterday.

Erin could only stare, mouth open, before resuming the task she set out to do.
The old Retriever’s appearance in the McCready back garden soon became a daily occurrence, no matter the weather. Erin, for one, welcomed the company, even if it was only passive. The thought of another presence in the house warmed her in a way she only previously knew with Dan, when he was here. That was a more infrequent occurrence than the dog, what with Dan being away so often due to his job. So he claimed.

Meanwhile, the curiosity about the dog grew. Nobody had claimed him and she never followed him after he left the house, some instinct assuring her that he knew what he was doing. From what she could tell, no harm ever came to him – something she was relieved about. He also came at the same time every day, slept for an hour or two and then left. The only sign he was ever there was a cluster of dog hairs in the corner.

After the third day, Erin had lain a blanket down in the spot he’d slept in.

Two weeks after he made his first appearance in her garden, Erin was struck with an idea. Tearing off a piece of paper and grabbing a pen, she sat down at the dining table and wrote:

I would like to know who the owner of this sweet, well-behaved dog is and ask just one question: Are you aware that he has come to my house every afternoon for the past two and a half weeks for a nap?

As the old Retriever was sleeping, Erin took the note, folded it and tucked it under his collar, where she knew it would be seen. Not long after she did so, the canine woke up, got elegantly to his feet and quietly padded out again, off to somewhere only he knew.

The next day, as expected, the dog was back. What was unexpected was the slip of paper tucked into his collar. Expecting to see her note, Erin felt disappointment weight her gut down as she removed and unfolded it.

She was pleasantly surprised at what she saw.

We are the owners of Frodo – this dog right here – and we three are part of a large family with twin babies. He was trying to find a quiet place to catch up on his sleep. Thanks for letting him use yours. Would you like to come back with him tomorrow? We’d love to meet you.

Erin felt a wave of curiosity and excitement overwhelm her, and she quickly wrote her answer on the back of the note.
By the time Frodo was ready to return to his home the next day, Erin was ready to follow him. She made sure she was presentable and she had everything with her, including a bottle of wine for the adults. She was nervous, dropping her keys when she went to lock the back door and the gate, running after Frodo in order to keep up with him.

She followed him to a large, gorgeous house with an equally large front garden. Swallowing, she went up to the front door and knocked on it, stepping back and waiting.

It was soon answered by a man with the most piercing blue eyes Erin had ever seen. He was in his forties, she guessed, dark brown hair and beard lined with silver.

“Hello,” she said.

“Hi, are you the one who’s been letting Frodo sleep in your house?”

“I am indeed. My name’s Erin,”

“Hi, Erin, I’m Chris. Come on in! We won’t bite,” he chuckled, lines appearing around his eyes.

Erin swallowed, her throat dry, stepping into the house before remembering the wine in her hand. “Oh yes! I brought this for you.”

“Very kind of you, thank you! We were beginning to run low. Weren’t we?” Chris called to his right.

“Running low on what?” a slightly older man answered, appearing. “Chris, who…”

“Zach, this is Erin, she’s been making sure Frodo got enough sleep over the past couple weeks,” Chris chuckled. “Erin, this is my husband, Zach,”

“Hi, Zach. Lovely home you guys have,”

“Thanks! We need the space with a family like ours…Come in, anyway, sit down. May I offer you a drink?”

“Yeah, course. Um, coffee is fine, thanks,”

“Sure, I’ll just get the pot on – Ruby, NO, the pond is NOT for drinking!” Chris ran off to deal with whatever crisis was sprouting in the back garden.

Zach chuckled and took over coffee-making duties. “So how far did you come to get here?”

“Oh, not that far, really. About a fifteen minute walk,”

“Just outside the town centre?” Zach nodded. “That makes sense, considering Frodo’s getting on for fourteen,”

Erin whistled, clearing her throat. “So how long have you two been married?”

“We celebrated our twentieth anniversary last week,”

“Nice,” Erin replied, a trace of admiration on her voice. She looked around the room, seeing toys scattered everywhere.

“Thanks,” Zach replied warmly. “We’ve got six children. Our eldest is fifteen and our youngest two are two,”

“Busy house,”

The older man chuckled.

“Worth every stained shirt, though,”

Erin smiled, letting a beat go by before her next question. “So, um, what do you two do? If you don’t mind me asking,”

“Not at all,” Zach answered, warmth in his voice. “We were both actors, although we also dabbled in producing and writing for a while. When our twins were born, we decided to retire. Or semi-retire, in my case,”

“You’re still acting?”

“Just producing now.” Zach poured the coffee just as Chris came back in, white shirt covered in mud and arms full of squealing, wriggling toddler.

“I’ve told you time and time again, no drinking from the pond! You’ll have a sick tummy. Do you want a sick tummy?”

“No, Daddy,” the dark-haired girl answered.

“There you go. Sean’s in the lounge, why don’t you go play with him?” Chris put the toddler down.

“‘Kay, Daddy,”

“Good girl. Go on.” Chris patted the little girl on her back and she took off towards the living room. The blue-eyed man straightened up, raising his eyebrows. “Kids, huh?”

“You were the one who wanted a large family,” Zach teased as his husband sat down next to him.

Chris tilted his head. “And I still don’t regret that decision,”

The darker-haired man gave the other man’s hand a brief squeeze of agreement before turning back to Erin, who managed to quash that trickle of loneliness beginning somewhere in her diaphragm and engage in conversation again.
Chris and Zach saw the young woman to the door at around seven in the evening, just as night was beginning to fall. They’d managed to convince her to stay for tea but no longer, and she at least knew their door was open to her any time.

“She seems lovely,” Zach concluded. “A little lonely, though. Did you pick up on that?”

Chris made a face. “Not really, I’ll be honest,”

“That’s not surprising.” The corner of Zach’s lips quirked up. “It took you a while to perceive my feelings for you, remember?”

“That was twenty-five years ago!” Chris protested. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“Never.” Zach pinched Chris’s bottom.

Chris jumped, uttering a little “Hey!”

Zach chuckled, looking at Frodo, who was curled up in his blanket, finally getting some peace – if only for a scant period of time. Still, the family knew the four-legged old man had Erin’s place to go to for the silent sanctuary he needed as well as the company she desired (or so he guessed). It was give-and-take for both, and both parties were happy with this silent arrangement.


Author’s Note: I haven't written in a while, so I apologise if this wasn't particularly good. Still, let me know either way!

FIC: Keep My Colours Clean [Eames/ Arthur]

Title: Keep My Colours Clean
Author: MikaHaeli8
Pairing(s): Eames/ Arthur
Summary: "Arthur, love?" "Mm?" "Our eldest is upset about something."
A continuation of Direct Me To The Sun, in which Allie's on the edge and Eames pulls her back from it.
Genre(s): Family/ domesticity, romance, angst, fluff, kid!fic, teen!fic.
Warning(s): Opens with mild anti-Semitism, references to self harm, bullying and past MPreg, muchly teen angst, birth story, language, middle-aged!Eames and Arthur (actually quite scary to think about), self-beta’d, British spelling and slang.
Rating: R, mainly for the above.
Word count: 1, 968
Disclaimer: Nolan is king and in the event of world domination I am willing servant #many.
Author’s Note: Continuation set approximately 12yrs after Direct Me To The Sun. Written upon special request from sweetebonyrose and also because I always wanted to write Allie as a teenager/ adult. Well, hee ya go. I also apologise if Allie sounds and acts a little older than she should; I haven't been an angsty teenager since around 2007, lol. Please read the warnings too, but more importantly, enjoy and comment! Cheers. ~Mika


“Fucking half-breed Jew bitch!”

The teenager stormed into the house, slamming the door behind her so hard it rattled. Not lifting her gaze from the floor, she stormed up the stairs to the bathroom, slamming that door and locking it behind her.

Downstairs, Eames lifted his eyebrow. “Arthur, love?”

“Mm?” Arthur didn’t look up from his laptop.

“Our eldest is upset about something,”

“You think?” The former point man – along with Eames, he’d completely retired from dreamsharing a few years after the twins were born, and a year before Lisa was born – closed the lid of the laptop and looked at his husband. “Did you hear what was just shouted out there?”

Sensing the question’s rhetorical nature, Eames knew better than to answer. He exhaled. “What time does the boys’ after-school club finish?”

Arthur checked his watch – four-twenty. “Ten minutes. Look, I’ll get them today. You go see what Allie’s upset about.”

“And Lisa’s homework!” Eames tilted his head to one side. “C’mon, you said you’d help her with her Maths.”

Arthur sighed. “Shit, I did,” he said quietly.

“Aw, c’mon.” Eames moved quietly behind Arthur’s chair, draping his arms around the American’s shoulders. “We’ve only got five more years with the boys and with Lisa, it’s too early to tell. She might have a knack for it as well.” Bending down, the former forger kissed his husband’s cheek, back twinging as he straightened up.

“We are also too old for this shi…p to sink,” Arthur quickly corrected as Lisa ran into the room, waving her paper.

“What ship, Daddy?” she queried, dark eyes narrowed in confusion.

“Nothing, little one.” Arthur smiled at his youngest. “Now, Mama told me you wanted help with your times tables…”


Eames padded to the bathroom door and knocked twice, softly.

“Go away!”

The Brit caught the hitch in his eldest daughter’s voice. “Allie, it’s me. What’s wrong?”

Hiccuping sobs came from the other side of the door, followed by a defensive “Why?”

Eames exhaled quietly through his nose, one hand on the door. “You’re upset, love. Dad and I are worried about you.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

A few more moments ticked by. Finally, the door unlocked, Allie’s hair-framed, red-eyed face peering out in the crack.

“Fine. Come in.”


Arthur parked the car outside the school gates in time to see Landon and Rhys running out, identical honey-blonde heads bobbing as they did. Wrenching open the car door, they practically dived into the back seat with audible thumps.

“Hi Daddy!” they chorused simultaneously.

Arthur chuckled. “Hi, boys. Remember the belts. How was practice?”

“It was fun!” Landon yelped, strapping himself in. “I scored five goals for my team!”

“Well done, Lan! Rhys? How was practice for you?”

“I got sent off,” Rhys said mournfully.

Arthur twisted round. “Why did you get sent off?”

The younger twin bowed his head, shame colouring his features. “I hit Joey,”

“Why did you hit him?” Arthur’s voice was gentle, but firm.

Rhys mumbled something.

“What was that?”

“Joey kicked him first,” Landon interpreted.

Arthur sighed, starting the car. “Rhys, what have Mum and I told you before? When someone hits you, you walk away,”

“Mum said to give him a whack back,”

The American rolled his eyes – of course Eames would say something like that. “Well, I’m telling you now. Walk away from anyone who hits you, okay? That goes for you too, Landon,”

“Yes, Daddy,” the twins replied simultaneously.

“Good,” Arthur muttered under his breath, starting the car.


“So.” Eames shifted on the bed, concern overriding the small amount of awkwardness he felt. “Want to tell me what that was about?”

Allie sipped her hot chocolate, grey-blue eyes never leaving her mother’s face. “Nothing,”

“Nothing?” Eames repeated, frowning. “Darling, you tore in the house and stormed upstairs like a hurricane. In my experience, that’s not ‘nothing’,”

“How would you know?” the sixteen-year old shot back defensively.

“Three sisters, remember?”

“Mm,” she shrugged, setting her mug down, hugging her knees to her chest and taking deep, shaky breaths for a while. Eventually, she uncurled, staring straight at the floor.

Something awoke in Eames’ gut, and he followed through on it. “It’s something that’s been going on a while, isn’t it.”

Allie’s shoulders stiffened. “How did you guess?”

Eames exhaled through his nose. “Allie, love, my old job required me to read people. Often quite thoroughly.” He reached out, running the tips of his fingers through her thick black hair.

“Why didn’t you say anything before?” Allie’s voice was hard, jaw locked in a manner akin to her father’s.

“I thought it would be a short-term problem. Something you could resolve by yourself. Or if not…” Eames struggled to find the words. “If you wanted, you could have come to me or Dad. We’re just worried about you, little one,”

Allie licked her lips and took a deep breath, eyes fluttering closed. “I’m...having some trouble at school,”

Eames nodded. “What kind of trouble?”

The dark-haired teenager looked down, long hair falling like a curtain. “I…” She sighed. “I’m being…” Bullied. Harassed. “There are some girls at school, and they’re…giving me trouble. That’s all. It’s nothing, Mum,”

“It’s not if you’re coming home upset, darling. Come here. Look at me.”

Allie lifted her head and looked directly at Eames. It was only then that he noticed the dark slash on her lip. Something cold settled in his stomach, and he cupped her jaw gently.

“Alanna, did this happen today?” he asked quietly.

She flinched away, hair covering her face again. As she lifted her arm, the material of her school shirt and blazer was pulled down, exposing the soft, pale underside of her forearm, which was covered in red lines.

Eames caught this before Allie realised what had happened, and she half-turned away from him. The words were out before he could stop himself.

“Allie, what have you done?”

Sobs bubbled out of her, her shoulders the only giveaway. “‘m sorry, Mum,”

Eames forced down the lump in his throat. “Oh, sweetheart…”

“Y-you’re angry. I knew you would be,” the teenager sniffed.

“I’m not angry, love. I just…I want to know why. What’s happened to make you…” Hurt yourself. “…do this to yourself,”

“I hate school, okay?” Allie suddenly yelled, wheeling around on the spot to face Eames, eyes red and body language angry. “I hate it, Mum. I’m the only Jewish girl there, the only half-American, the only biological daughter of two men. I should just paint a target on my forehead or walk around with a neon sign!”

Keeping his breathing even as he let Allie calm down, Eames heard the sounds of car doors slamming and the chattering voices of children. Arthur and the boys were home, and just in time, from the sounds of things.

“Have you told the teachers about it?”

“Several times, but they never do anything. Or they do something, but it doesn’t work. I ju…I didn’t know what else to do, Mama,”

Eames exhaled, opening his arms. Without another word, almost as if she didn’t want to, Allie crawled into them, curling herself against her mum.

Like she used to when she was small, the former forger thought, a little pang in his gut as he remembered those times. His baby mouse. His and Arthur’s baby mouse, in the good, the bad and the black times; the ones he never wanted to go back to.

“D’you want to hear a story?”

Allie huffed. “How’s that gonna help?”

“Maybe if you listened, you could work it out. You’re a smart girl, after all.” Unconsciously, Eames brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

“You see…you were mine and your Dad’s first child, as you know. And pregnancy in men, natural pregnancy – it’s risky. You were one of five cases at the time, and the only one to be born absolutely healthy. But it was nearly a very different story. A month before you were due…”

Eames inhaled, suppressing the old emotions that stirred whenever he told this story.

“Before you were due, something happened.”

“What happened?”

Eames shook his head, throat dry. “I can’t remember. Your Dad thinks I may have blocked it out. Nobody knows how it happened, or why. Your father was away at the time with Co…with Uncle Dom on a job. Luckily, your Aunt Ari was there at the time, and we got to the hospital. You were delivered, and your father was on the first plane back. But…there was something wrong with you. Your heart, it…” Eames licked his lips. “It wasn’t quite working as it should be. You spent a couple of weeks in intensive care and had to be monitored for the first few years of your life, and eventually, you were fine, but…we nearly lost you once.”

Allie was quiet, eyes low.

“What I’m saying, little one. This?” Eames picked up the marked arm, running his thumb lightly over the fresh cuts. “It’s not worth it, darling. Whatever hell those girls are giving you…it’s never worth this.”

He gently lowered her arm and wrapped both of his around her, holding her tightly.

“Yes, you’re the only American-English Jewish daughter of two men in the whole school. But do you know what you also are?”

Allie shook her head.

“You’re beautiful, intelligent, headstrong and one of the best things to ever happen to me and your dad.”

The teenager managed a weak smile.

“You’ve also got the makings of an excellent forger,”

“Like you?” she sniffed.

“Exactly.” Eames smiled, brushing her cheek. “Look, I have to let school know about the cuts, but Dad and I will go and see the headmistress about the bullying. Okay?”

“Okay,” Allie sniffed.

“In the meantime…” Eames loosened his grip. “The next time you feel this low, do you promise you’ll come and tell me or Dad?”

“I promise.”

“Look at me.”

Two sets of blue-grey eyes met.

“I promise, okay?”

Eames kissed the top of her head and got up to leave. “That’s my girl. You alright with macaroni cheese for tea?”

The sixteen-year old nodded enthusiastically, looking notably brighter than she did.

The former forger chuckled as he left. “I’m going to bandage your arm first, okay? Just so it heals properly.”

“I guess.” Allie dipped her head again.

Exhaling through his nose, Eames wandered towards the bathroom, heart heavy in his chest.



“So we’ve got a trip to the principal’s office tomorrow,” Arthur stated, sipping his wine.

“Yes, we do,” Eames exhaled in response, tapping his own glass. “Shit, Arthur. How did we not…?”

Arthur rested his free hand on his husband’s back, rubbing small, soothing circles into the wall of tensed muscle. “Tom, she’s not an easy girl to read. She’s also very good at concealing secrets,”

“Like her father, then,”

A smile flashed across Arthur’s face. “I guess so. Though you’re not so easy to read yourself.”

“You know what they say. You can take the men out of dreamshare…”

“But you can’t take dreamshare out of the men,” Arthur finished, sitting up straight, hand sliding around Eames’ waist and shifting himself forward. “And apparently, you can pass it on to your kids, too,”

“Mm.” Eames relaxed into Arthur’s embrace, absent-mindedly reaching up and lightly stroking the grey hairs by the American’s temples.

“I’m sorry today wasn’t as special as it should have been,” the latter said quietly.

“Hey, no.” Eames kissed the side of his husband’s head. “We’re together. ‘S all I want.” All I’ve ever wanted.

Arthur smiled, the dimples showing. “Happy anniversary, Mr. Eames,”

“Happy anniversary, Mr. Solomon,”

“Twenty years, huh?”

“Tell me about it.”

“Don’t need to.” Arthur gently turned Eames’ head to face him. “I think the years speak for themselves,”

Title: Conviction Will Get Us Through The Night
Author: MikaHaeli8
Pairing(s): Eames/ Arthur
Summary: "But christening the new sheeeets!"
Genre(s): Romance, fluff, humour.
Warning(s): 99% dialogue, language, self-beta’d, British spelling and slang.
Rating: PG-13 for language and sexeh talk.
Word count: 296.
Disclaimer: Dear Mr Nolan; I will yoink your characters until you make a Bond film. And then I'll yoink 'em s'more
Author’s Note: Inspired by a blog post discussion on rurounihime's LJ. She kindly gave me permission to write it. Ergo, this is my "thankyou for Totem" response, apart from the actual one I gave her. :D ~Mika



“I said, no.”

“You’re kidding. Why?”

“Because they’re new, Eames, and I would like one night of having something new, crisp and clean without your…besmirching,”

“But darling, you love my besmirching,”

“…The answer’s still ‘no’,”

“And the bed has been scientifically proven to be the most comfortable spot for sex,”

“Scientifically proven by?”


“Thanks for the image!”

“Well, what? He’s a chemist, after all. Chemists are scientists. QED. Arthur, the more you scowl at me, the more I want to defile the new – ”


“But christening the new sheeeeeeets!”

“Not these ones. Aidan, do you know how much these things cost?”

“More than my so-called ‘charity shop suits’?”

“A thousand times more,”

“So basically, fuck-all then, since I nicked the individual pieces for my suits and you know it. Two up to me?”

“…Fuck you,”

“Yes please, and preferably in this bed, ON THESE NEW SHEETS. Arthur, do you realise how long it’s been?”

“I know…”

“And I swear I’ll go out right now, right this second, and I’ll come back with so many identical sheets – yes, I do mean ‘the same price and make’ – and will change them as many times as you wish?”

“That’s incredibly OCD of you,”

“Currently, my dear, that’s the attitude you’re exuding,”

A long pause.

“How about a deal?”

“A deal?”



“…in the bathtub.”

“Arthur – ”

“It’s that or nothing, Eames. Plus, it’s much easier to clean,”

“Always subverting to your tendencies, hmm?”

“You know it.”

“Why the bathtub, pray tell?”

“Easier to clean.”

“…Fine. Go on then.”

“What about – ”

“Everything’s in there, remember? You made sure. Now shed your day-skin, aka get your clothes off. I want my tongue all over you now,”

“You’re so romantic,”

“Just how you like me, love,”

Title: I'm Lost Without You
Author: MikaHaeli8
Pairing(s): Eames/ Arthur
Summary: Arthur and Eames are married with a daughter, a dog and a practically perfect life, all of that stuff. They have very few secrets between then...or so Eames thinks, not knowing about the job that Arthur has. And then some.
Genre(s): AU, romance, est-rel, family/ domesticity, fluff, MPreg, eventual dark/ tragedy.
Warning(s): MPreg, language, self-beta’d, British spelling and slang.
Rating: PG (it's so fluffy I'm gonna dieeee)
Word count: 746
Disclaimer: Characters sprung from le mind of Christopher Nolan. Allie, however, is mine.
Author's Note: Landon is a name meaning "long hill" (and I presume, a cousin-name of "London"). Rhys (reese) is Welsh. I kinda like those names, though I wouldn't name my son Landon. ~Mika

Previous chapter


Four months later

A thin, static-underlined cry sounded over the baby alarm. Eames groaned, rolling onto his back, a sigh escaping his lips.

“I’ll get him,” Arthur soothed.

“‘somnia again?” the forger mumbled drowsily.

“Yeah. Also, it’s my turn.” The point man smiled, slipping athletically out of bed and to the twins’ room. Two weeks after that horrific ordeal, the twins – two healthy, squalling boys, subsequently named Landon and Rhys, with tufts of light brown hair and red faces – were born, without any physical problems whatsoever. It was something both Eames and Arthur could be thankful for, despite the difficulties Eames had encountered whilst pregnant. Allie was fascinated by them, although the first time she woke one up (accidentally, of course), it gave her a shock and she started crying. Soon, Eames had three howling children on his hands, but with Arthur’s help, was able to soothe them all.

“Hey, you,” Arthur whispered, scooping Rhys up and sniffing his nappy. “You hungry? C’mon then, let’s go feed you. Mama’s tired tonight.”

The ‘Mama’ thing had led to a stream of gentle teasing from Arthur and the others. The stream had soon dissipated, but the nickname stuck. Eames didn’t mind. In fact, since the twins were born, he’d calmed back down into his usual, even-tempered self, which Arthur was thankful for. The last two weeks of pregnancy had been a maelstrom of emotions and preparation, with Allie once again staying at Dom’s for a few days after the twins were born.

Arthur padded downstairs, jiggling Rhys in his arms and whispering nonsense to him. As he leaned against the kitchen counter, watching the ten-week old feed, Eames appeared through the door with Landon.

Arthur smiled despite his sleepiness, the dimples making an appearance. “I thought it was my turn?”

“Yeah well, Lan woke up too,” Eames replied, voice heavy with sleep. “Also…we need to talk about what happened a couple of months ago.”

Arthur frowned. “What about it?”

Eames exhaled through his nose as he took his place next to Arthur. “Allie keeps having nightmares about it and wanting to know why. I just…” He shrugged. “I have to admit, I’m worried about what this will do to her. If it…if it’ll affect her when she’s older, in some way.”

“True, a kid can’t go through something like this without being affected in some way,” Arthur agreed, swinging Rhys over his shoulder and lightly patting his back. “But we’ll keep a close eye on her as she gets older.”

“Also, she can’t know about what we do for a living,”


“No, not ever. But…maybe when she’s sixteen or eighteen, we come clean to her,”

“Eames, that’s ten to twelve years from now. Phillipa and James know what Dom does – ”

“Because he retired after the Fischer job. That way, he could come clean.”

Arthur exhaled through his nose. “Okay. We don’t tell her.”

Eames nodded. “I mean – this could have been related to Cobol. She could have found out through the men who were after us.”

“Good boy!” Arthur swayed from side to side, soothing the twin he had back to sleep. He tuned himself into his son’s breathing, his mind turning. “Eames…how did you know you were pregnant?”

“Which time?”

Arthur shrugged. “First time.”

Eames exhaled softly. “I dreamed naturally for the first time in nearly twenty years.”

“D’you remember the dream?”

“Funnily enough, yes.” The forger gently detached Landon, holding him to his shoulder. “It was of a little girl, with your hair and my eyes. Six and a half years on…”

A shiver went up Arthur’s spine. “That’s pretty weird,”

“Yeah, it is. Apparently, it’s a fairly common thing, although it doesn’t necessarily come true for every pregnant woman,”

“Or man,” Arthur added.

Eames chuckled, smiling softly. “Right. This one’s gone off to snoozeland, and so should I. I’ll see you in a bit,”

“See you in a minute,” Arthur replied equally softly, watching his husband and one of his sons as they left. Rhys chose that moment to follow his brother, dropping off to sleep with his head on his father’s shoulder. Smiling, the point man made his way back upstairs, putting Rhys in his cot and himself in his own bed.

Eames, already in there and already asleep, rolled over, taking Arthur’s hand and lacing the latter’s fingers with his own.

Arthur smiled. Some things would never change.

He never wanted them to either; not with his expanding family.


Title: Let's Make A Promise
Author: MikaHaeli8
Pairing(s): Eames/ Arthur
Summary: Arthur and Eames are married with a daughter, a dog and a practically perfect life, all of that stuff. They have very few secrets between then...or so Eames thinks, not knowing about the job that Arthur has. And then some.
Genre(s): AU, romance, est-rel, family/ domesticity, fluff, MPreg, eventual dark/ tragedy.
Warning(s): CHARACTER DEATH MPreg, violence, language, self-beta’d, British spelling and slang.
Rating: NC-17 (CHARACTER DEATH, sustained threat, graphic description of someone getting shot in the head)
Word count: 1, 689
Disclaimer: Characters sprung from le mind of Christopher Nolan. Allie, however, is mine.
Author’s Note: OH MY GAWD YEZ GOIZ THE FINAL CHAPTER. Holy shit, it's done. Wow. I hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Please let me know your thoughts after the epilogue, which will be linked at the bottom, so please don't forget that XD. Thankyou for reading and clucksy, thankyou for all your comments <3 ~Mika

Previous chapter

The stranger was flanked by two or three other men, one of whom leaned forward and muttered something to him in Finnish. Arms still suspended in the air, Eames wiggled his fingers and clenched his fists to maintain the blood flow to his extremities, nonchalantly eavesdropping whilst he did so. He had a very basic knowledge of Finnish, but he picked up the words “car” and “voice” (or “voices” – he could never remember the rules for pluralising in the Baltic Finnic languages, if there were any).

Another chill reached his bones, tongue heavy in his mouth as he realised what this might have meant – Arthur and Allie coming home. No. Not my family. Please.

The leader turned back to Eames, an unsettling smirk on his face. “My men tell me they heard a car driving past before two figures were seen near the house.”

Not them, not them, not them… “Not an uncommon occurrence. This neighbourhood is quite well populated.”


Once they were in the house, Arthur dusted Allie down, removing his shoes and telling Allie to remove hers (in hushed tones, naturally).

“Why, Daddy?” she stage-whispered back in the way small children did, doing as she was asked whilst she inquired.

“So the bad men don’t hear us,” Arthur replied, placing their shoes under the seats and feeling a poignant jolt as he realised the size differences. “Right, we’re gonna sneak out. I need you to go upstairs to our room and hide under the bed.”

“Which bed?”

The American swallowed a lump in his throat. “Mine and Mama’s bed. You can’t hide under your bed, can you?”

“But you said I’m not allowed in your bedroom…” Allie seemed to shrink into herself, looking very uncertain and vulnerable. At that moment, Arthur wanted to gather her up, wrap her in what she called her ‘blanky’ and take her far, far away; far from fear, from men with guns and the indirect risks of the dream-share business.

He gave her a shaky smile. “Just for today, my love, okay? Have you got Teddy with you?”

Allie nodded. “Teddy and Blanky are in my bag.”

“Take your bag and come with me, okay?”


The dark-haired pair made their way out of the porch and across the dimly-lit hallway, stopping at the door that led to the staircase. Finger to his lips, Arthur cocked his head, hearing a strangely-accented voice speak, and Eames’ reply.

“…he will look for you, he will find you, and he will kill the living fuck out of you.”

Grinning in the knowledge that Eames was talking about him, Arthur slowly pushed the ajar door open wide enough for Allie to squeeze in, ushering her in. “You know what to do. Go.”

His daughter turned to him. “Daddy…”

Arthur placed his hands on both sides of her little face. “Go hide under the bed, like I asked. Quietly, so the bad men don’t hear you. When it’s over, Mama or I will come get you, okay?” He kissed her forehead, breathing in her scent. “See you later, Allie-gator,”

“In a while, croccydile,” she whispered back before cautiously starting up the stairs. Arthur quietly closed the door properly, flattened himself against the wall, and moved continuously towards the sounds of the voices, mind formulating plans and back-up plans.


“Yes, but when the said figures are a tall, middle-aged man and a very young girl, both with dark hair, maybe father and daughter, and sneaking round this particular house…well. It does raise certain questions, am I right?”

“Like has the father lost his key and is trying to get in round the back?” Eames replied. His back and legs were beginning to ache and he longed to sit down, or for Arthur to dramatically burst in, take the strangers out and then give him a back massage.

“Impossible.” The stranger pressed down on the handle of the back door.

If Eames could have slapped his hand to his face in response to the sheer stupidity of the man, he would have. “So you have two weeks to wait. Oh dear. How are you going to fill your time until then?”

He was answered, not by the heavily-accented voice of the stranger, but by the sound of loud, successive gunshots, and the sound of three nameless goons hitting the floor, blood pooling from their heads. Immediately, the stranger grabbed Eames in a headlock, gun pointed at the sole tall, thin figure, who was pointing a gun straight back at him.

Like a Leone western, Eames thought out of nowhere, cancelling that train of thought before it left the station and stopped at places such as Cowboy Arthur.

“Ah, Arthur! How good of you to join us,”

“What. Are you doing. With my husband?” Arthur’s voice was dangerously even, clipped and inflection-free.

“We were just having a little chat, weren’t we? About genetics. How fascinating it was that you were one of the rare cases of male pregnancy,”

“One of five, right?” Arthur shot back.

“Or something.” The man cleared his throat, betraying his lack of knowledge in that area.

“Why my family?” The dark-haired man’s finger was tight on the trigger, body coiled, wired and ready.

“Why, Arthur. You didn’t know?”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “There’s plenty I don’t know,”

“Disappointing for a point man of your stature,”

Eames saw Arthur tense further, if that was possible, and clenched his fist, empathising with the American. Don’t let him get to you, darling.

“Anyway,” the man continued, “out of the cases of male pregnancy we studied, yours was the only one whose baby wasn’t stillborn or had…problems, of some nature. Granted, that might have been related to the individual genes of the parents. But since Alanna – that is her name, am I right? – has survived past her fifth birthday without any apparent problems, we would like to…well, dig a little deeper, so to speak,”

“You’d use our daughter as a guinea pig?”

“And then kill her – all of us – if the results are disappointing,” Eames blurted out.

Arthur flicked the safety off, but the man ‘tch’ed him in response.

“You do realise whom I have in my right arm, and what I have in my left hand, no? And what happens if we put the two together – ”

“But you need him,” Arthur cut in. “You wouldn’t just waste him like that, right?” Also, I love him and he’s carrying my babies. Please don’t blow his brains out. Please.

“Well, as he just kindly informed me, we only have two weeks left before the twins are due.” The stranger flicked the safety off, pressing the barrel to Eames’ temple. “They would be viable at this stage. It would not matter if – ”

“You’re lying,” Arthur blurted.

Eames looked at him, then, as if to say what in the name of arse are you doing? One of the twins kicked, and instinctively, he rubbed his belly soothingly. The stranger, guard temporarily dropped, looked the point man dead in the eyes, frowning in confusion – and Arthur took that moment to fire.

The bullet left the gun, sinking straight into the skull of the Finn. Eames watched in fascination as, like a heavily pressurised container, the back of the stranger’s skull burst at the back, sending brains and blood splattering the back door. Instinctively, the heavily pregnant forger curled up as best as he could, anticipating the posthumous firing of the gun previously pointed at his head. Whether it happened or not, he couldn’t say, as there was a roaring in his ears which prevented him hearing much.

Once the forger had uncurled, he met Arthur’s eyes. The point man was perfectly composed as ever, with only his shaky breathing indicating the toll the last half-hour had taken on him.

“I’ll go up to Allie, then,” the forger decided aloud, after a short silence.

Arthur nodded. “Yeah. You…you can’t and shouldn’t be lifting corpses in your condition. I’ll clean up here, and come up when I’m done,”

Eames nodded, pushing himself to his feet. As he made his way up, he was stopped by Arthur, who turned and placed his hands on either side of the Englishman’s face. They kissed hungrily, desperately, Arthur’s previous fear and grace to whatever deity was in the sky that his family were still here and alive evident in the way he held and kissed his husband. They stopped after a while, foreheads pressed together.

“You alright?” Arthur murmured.

“Yeah,” Eames shakily replied back. “You?”

The American nodded, releasing the forger, who continued his way upstairs and to a curled-up Allie, who was shaking like a leaf under the bed, clutching her teddy and blanket. Eames felt his heart break for his daughter. She would be having nightmares about this for a long time.

“Allie? Hey. It’s okay. You can come out now.”

Slowly, the five-year old uncurled and crawled out from under the bed. She pressed herself against Eames as much as she could, who in turn encircled his arms around her to the best of his ability, rocking her back and forth.

“Where’s D-Daddy?” Her voice shook as much as her body had just done.

“Daddy’s just sorting some stuff out, darling. He’ll be up in a minute.” Soon as he’s shifted all the bodies, blood and brains from the kitchen.

“What kind of stuff?”

“He’s just…tidying up the house a bit,”

“I thought you liked doing that, Mama,” Allie replied softly. Eames could only chuckle in response.

Soon, Arthur did come up and join them, amazingly both blood-free and accompanied by Nelly, who was wagging her tail as if nothing had ever happened. He knelt behind Eames and Allie, one arm around each, head bent in the small space between them. Allie let go and turned to Arthur, burying her face in his side.

They stayed like that for a long time, the three (or four, since Nelly was there, whining and nosing everyone and everywhere) of them. They were all alive; unharmed; in their little house somewhere in south England.

Occasionally, just occasionally, they had to take a moment to appreciate that.


Title: Follow You To The Beginning
Author: MikaHaeli8
Pairing(s): Eames/ Arthur
Summary: Arthur and Eames are married with a daughter, a dog and a practically perfect life, all of that stuff. They have very few secrets between then...or so Eames thinks, not knowing about the job that Arthur has. And then some.
Genre(s): AU, romance, est-rel, family/ domesticity, fluff, MPreg, eventual dark/ tragedy.
Warning(s): MPreg, violence, language, self-beta’d, British spelling and slang.
Rating: R (threat)
Word count: 1, 682
Disclaimer: Characters sprung from le mind of Christopher Nolan. Allie, however, is mine.
Author’s Note: You could say this is 14a, but I don't wanna two-part split chapters, so the next part of this will be Chapter 15. And then an epilogue. Because I feel like I ought to wrap things up like that.

NOTE: FSR the house that the Eames-Solomon family live in is my old house, so THIS is the kind of veranda/ porch I was thinking of. Imagine it without the big window and with the little windows a bit lower down. Apologies to Americans if "veranda" is actually totally different. I just wanted to make Arthur's vocab genuinely American and I am not, so... XD. Enjoy, anyway. Chapter 15 will be posted tomorrow. ~Mika

Previous chapter

The man stepped a little closer until there was an inch of air between his gun and the middle of Eames’ eyes. “Want to try that again?”

Eames felt an invisible chill soak him to the core as he held his hands up slowly, instinct making him back away from the man. “Look. I’ve never meant you any harm; not knowingly, at least.” Though I’m on the Most Wanted list in ten different countries, under assumed names, Finland being one of them.

“Oh, I know. But you, your daughter and your twins…You’re all so special in so many ways. We just want to…study you all. Observe you, privately, in the security of our native country. It’s where all our resources are, you see.”

Fighting the urge to wrap his arms protectively around his bump, Eames narrowed his eyes. “And if your findings do not match your expectations?”

The Finn shrugged. “We did not get that far, I would admit. But I presume the only course of action is to make you all…disappear. Allie and your twins would be a tragedy, of course. She’s only, what, five? Six in October?”

No. Not my baby mouse. Please, not her.

“But you,” the stranger continued, oblivious to Eames’ well-masked distress, “I cannot think of many who would miss you. Maybe Arthur. But for many others, your alleged disappearance would be in their favour,”


A prickling sensation made its way up Arthur’s spine the second he saw the black van parked parallel to their house when he entered the street. It was one he’d experienced many times before, and he never liked it; it usually meant something was wrong, normally along the lines of fatalities and a stack of paperwork. He’d gotten it on previous jobs, but never outside them. It unnerved him, to say the least.

Backing up to a space on the right, he parked the car, unplugged his seatbelt and turned to his daughter. “Allie, honey?”

“Yes, Daddy?”

“Listen carefully: we’re going to drive past our house, rather than to our house. When I say, I want you to look out the window and see if you can see Daddy E, okay?”

“Why are we driving past our house?”

Arthur paused. “Remember the bad men?”

Allie instinctively curled up, nodding, pupils enlarging with fear. “Are they back? Have they got Mama?”

Mama; I must remember that Eames is ‘Mama’ to Allie. Arthur swallowed the panic forming in his own throat. “I can see their van, honey. I don’t know if they’ve got Dad- Mama, but if they have…” He licked his lips. “We can’t let them see us, alright?”

“Why not?”

They’ll kill him and kill you as well, if not scar you for life. Oh, Allie, I never wanted you to be drawn into this. Arthur exhaled through his nose. “Just trust me on this, okay? Remember. When I say.”


Starting the car up, Arthur kept the speed steady in order to allow his daughter time to look. He pulled into the street, fighting the urge to park and burst into the house, spraying it with lead in the process.

“Okay, Allie, now!”


Eames wasn’t surprised by the words of the Finn. He was confident that many wanted him dead, whether directly or indirectly and for many reasons. One did not progress in this industry without collecting death threats along the way.

The Finn frowned. “You are not surprised by this?”

At least he’s not using my birth name, Eames thought with some semblance of relief. “When you’ve been doing this for as long as I have, darling, surprise becomes more and more of a luxury.” He regretted the use of the endearment, immediately feeling dirty for it, but it had just slipped out.

“Indeed. That, I can understand.” The stranger gestured towards Eames’ rotund stomach with a nod. “When are you due?”

“The fuck do you want to know?” Eames snapped back, regretting that too, before suddenly realising he’d regretted twice in the space of ten minutes. Regretting even once was not a common habit of the Englishman (or rather, the Anglo-Nordic man), so to regret twice in a short space of time was practically an excuse to check for a blue moon in the sky.

“Because, if I recall rightly, after the six-month point, travelling becomes…not recommended by the doctor. We have to wait for you to, ah…give birth…before we can move you. That is unless we induce here and now.”


“I can’t see anything, Daddy!” Allie said, her voice high with panic

“Nothing at all?” Arthur frowned. “Not even in the living room?”

“No. The car’s not gone. I can’t see Nelly either. Do you think Nelly’s okay?”

“I don’t know, darling,” Arthur soothed absentmindedly as he drove past the house, picking up speed, panic infusing his insides.

“Why are we driving past the house?”

“Allie, calm down.” The point man paused long enough to hear his daughter regulate her breathing again. “I think the bad men are in there with Mama and Nelly.”

“He might have gone to bed for a little sleep! He does that now, Daddy. He could have also taken Nelly out for walkies,”

“I know.” Good Lord, she’s like a mini-me. Covers all the bases. “But I’ve got a bad feeling, sweetie. The only way I can be sure is if I go in the house and see for myself,”

“What about me?” she asked plaintively.

“You can come with me, but I’m gonna sneak you upstairs somehow. Your mama would not be happy if I let you get hurt,”

“But I wanna rescue Mama too!”

“Darling, it’s too risky.” Arthur parked the car. “You’re my baby girl. What kind of daddy would I be if I let you get hurt?”

Allie glared at him, folding her arms. “I’m almost six. I’m not a baby.”

“No, that much is true,” her father replied, humouring her. “I’ll tell you what you are as well,”


“As stubborn as your mother. Come on, let’s go save him.”

“And Nelly!”

“And Nelly.”


“So what’s stopping you?”

“The usual. Lack of equipment. Complications. You wouldn’t want your husband and daughter to come home and see you giving birth at gunpoint, am I right? Also, we would prefer it if you and the twins survived labour.”

“Right, so you’re going to wait until I pop these two out before whisking me and my kids off to a strange country to stick needles and all sorts of crap in us. And if nothing happens, you’re gonna slit our throats and dump our bodies like some common – ”

“Please, Mr. Eames. We would at least have the decency to put you all in line with the trash for the incinerator.”

“Ah, I see. Much cleaner that way.” Eames sighed. “Well, regardless. You’ve got another couple of weeks before these two pop out, and do you really think Arthur wouldn’t notice the disappearance of, hmm, his whole bloody family? And okay, upon initial impression, the man’s built like a leaf skeleton and looks like he weighs hardly more than that, but as many dead-slash-permanently injured people could tell you, that is precisely where you’d be wrong. He’s a point man by profession and has an astounding capacity for revenge and violence, so no matter where in the world you go, in the words of a great man – albeit slightly modified – he will look for you, he will find you, and he will kill the living fuck out of you.”

Unless Eames was mistaken, the other man suddenly looked a little pale, withdrawing his gun arm, eyes flickering around nervously.

He smiled, feeling the cards turn to a straight flush for the first time in the last twenty minutes.


“Okay, Allie, listen to me. You see that window leading into the veranda?”

“The veranda?”

Arthur sighed, mind working to remember the British name for it. “The porch. You see it? See the window?”

Allie nodded.

“I’m gonna need you to squeeze through the window, okay? I’ll give you a boost up, and there are some chairs on the other side you can land on,”

“But you always tell me not to – ”

“Sweetie.” Arthur had to fight to control his voice. “We need to save Mama, your baby siblings and Nelly. Chair covers can be cleaned, okay?”


The man exhaled. “Now, we need to be very, very quiet – ”

“Like little baby mouses?”

“Like little baby mice,” her father confirmed, taking his daughter’s hand and running as silently as possible to the front entrance, crouched. Flattening himself and Allie against the wall, Arthur manoeuvred the pair of them to the window – which was thankfully open; he knew the heat wave would get to Eames. He didn’t have a backup plan if the window wasn’t open, other than forcing it to that point.

He dropped both to his knees and the volume of his voice, looking his daughter in the eyes. “Allie, I’m gonna lift you up, okay? I need you to push yourself through and let yourself fall onto the seats behind you. You know where they are, right?”

Allie nodded, grey-blue eyes wide with fear. “I’m scared, Daddy,”

“Don’t be, little one.” He pushed her hair back behind her ears. “I’ll be right here, right outside. I know it’s a lot to ask, but…” He took a deep breath. “I need you to take a leap of faith for me, okay?”

Her little brow creased. “What’s a leap of faith, Daddy?”

“It’s just something your Uncle Dom said many years ago. Something we all have to do at some point in our lives.”

Allie nodded, though she didn’t look as if she was particularly clear on it. “What happens if the bad men hear me go through the window?”

Don’t put that in my head… Arthur licked his lips. “Hide under the seats, okay? Tuck yourself right under. You promise me you’ll do that?”

“I promise, Daddy,” she said in a small voice.

Her father kissed her on the forehead. “Good girl. C’mon, let’s go.”

Next chapter

Title: Far Beyond Repair
Author: MikaHaeli8
Pairing(s): Eames/ Arthur
Summary: Arthur and Eames are married with a daughter, a dog and a practically perfect life, all of that stuff. They have very few secrets between then...or so Eames thinks, not knowing about the job that Arthur has. And then some.
Genre(s): AU, romance, est-rel, family/ domesticity, fluff, MPreg, eventual dark/ tragedy.
Warning(s): MPreg, violence, language, self-beta’d, British spelling and slang.
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Word count: 1, 121
Disclaimer: Characters sprung from le mind of Christopher Nolan. Allie, however, is mine.
Author’s Note:  I'm a terrible person and need to watch Clash of the Titans (2010) over and over again until I learn to update properly. Actually, the only thing I learned from that film was that Sam Worthington is a really shit actor and Liam Neeson will do anything for money. Anyway, read and please enjoy and argh I don't know. This chapter was brought to you by Oestrogen, Progesterone and Testosterone. All my own. HEY THAT RHYMED! ~Mika

Previous chapter

Two months later

“Well? Any sign?”

Arthur peeled back a corner of the curtain, squinting as he surveyed the street outside. “Not that I can see.” He sighed, dropping the corner and turning to face the heavily pregnant Englishman. “Eames…We really should have moved if this guy – ”

“And uproot Allie again?” was what Eames retorted with. He sighed, shifting on the sofa. “‘Sides, there’s only two weeks until these two arrive. It’d take longer than that for us to even find a place, let alone to move in and settle…”

“Alright. Alright.” Holding up his hands in surrender, Arthur wandered back over to the sofa, gracefully plonking himself down. Eames felt a surge of irrational irritation at his husband; at the lithe grace he permanently possessed, when Eames had been waddling most ungracefully since his fifteenth week, for God’s sake. This was nearly four months ago.

“Hey! No fighting in there!” he snapped, as a hive of activity suddenly exploded in his stomach. As usual, the twins ignored him in favour of thumping his spine, his kidneys, his bladder or (he could only guess at this) each other.

“Bloody thugs.”

“Taking after their Daddy E, then,”

Eames rolled his eyes.

“I think it’s kind of endearing,” Arthur said lightly, running his fingers over Eames’ distended stomach.

“You’re not the one carrying these two, though,” Eames grumbled. “They must be boys; they’ve caused me so much trouble.”

“Hmmm,” was all Arthur said to that, reaching over and nuzzling his husband’s belly.

Eames threaded his fingers through the American’s hair. “You really love doing that, don’t you? You daft tosser,”

Arthur chuckled. “Yeah, but I’m your daft tosser.”

“I suppose so. Also, ‘daft tosser’ sounds funny in your accent. In the most endearing way possible, of course,”

Arthur raised his head to blow a raspberry before pushing himself off the sofa and on his feet in a series of fluid movements.

“Right. ‘m just gonna go get Allie back from Dom, then. Assuming he hasn’t introduced her to dreamsharing and got her involved in an accident of some sort – ”

“He won’t, Arthur.”

“You saying that for my sake or yours?”

“Our sake, darling.”

Arthur knelt, instantly remorseful. “‘m sorry,”

Eames frowned. “You? Apologetic? Who are you and what have you done with my husband?”

A faint smile crossed the other man’s face. “I’ll see you soon, ‘kay? Meanwhile, try not to OD on anxiety,”

Eames made a disgruntled noise. “Could you pass me the remote, please?”

Arthur did so, pressing his lips close to the other man’s ear in the process. “You know I only put up with you because I fucking love you and we have a kick-ass daughter together, right? And we’re gonna have a couple more kick-ass kids. Any other reason and – ”

“You’d kick my arse to the kerb within minutes,” Eames swiftly finished. “I did rather get that impression, darling. I love you too.”

“I know.” Arthur squeezed the other man’s hand, straightened up and left the house, grabbing his keys on the way out.


“Allie, you ready?”

“Yes, Uncle Dom!”

“Okay then.” Cobb took a deep breath. “Your Daddy A is coming to pick you up, okay?”

“How do you know that?”

“He phoned me, little one.”

“Oh.” Allie fell silent for a minute. “Mama usually comes to pick me up,”

Dom frowned. “Mama?”

“Yeah. You know Mama.”

Dom could practically see the cogs turning in the five-year old’s head as she struggled to explain.

“Mama’s not Daddy A,”

“Oh!” The blonde understood. “Mama’s Daddy E?”

Allie nodded sagely. “Yeah. ‘Cause mummies have babies, and Daddy E’s having babies, so I thought he should be my mummy,”

Oh God, she’s got Arthur’s logic. “Y-yeah, I guess so…” he said faintly.

Just then, the doorbell rang, saving him from having to form a more convincing response. Motioning for his goddaughter to stay where she was, he straightened up and strode over to the door, opening it a crack and peering through it.

“Say, Allie, you’ve grown some. And changed gender. And gone blonde,”

Daddeeeeeeeeeeee!” a little voice shrieked, zooming around Dom and colliding with Arthur’s legs.

Arthur chuckled a hello, smoothing Allie’s hair. “She been good?”

“Total angel. You sure she’s yours and Eames’?”

Arthur chuckled again, but it was without humour. Dom picked up on this, discomfort seeping through him.

“Anyway, I’d better let you guys go.” The blonde cleared his throat. “How’s Eames doing, by the way?”

“Oh, you know.” Arthur swallowed. “Huge. Hormonal. Eight months pregnant with twins.”

Dom nodded, gaze averted to the side. “Well, send my…regards. And, uh, Allie’s welcome back round anytime. You know that,”

Arthur nodded stiffly. “I know.” Eames still doesn’t want Allie around you, though.

“Daddy, you’re hurting me,” Allie whimpered, bringing her father’s attention back to reality. Her hair was smooth; he was pulling on it now, his grip tight on the dark strands.

“Sorry, darling.” Arthur crouched at her level, kissing the sore roots. “I didn’t mean to, okay?” He cupped her face, smiling. “Let’s go see Daddy E,”

Allie looked at him in surprise as she took her father’s hand. “He didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Arthur asked as they walked back to the car.

Allie sighed, as if her father was stupid. “Don’t worry. I’ll let Mama tell you when we get home,”

Mama? Arthur thought to himself, starting the car. That truly was something Eames would have to explain to him once they got home.



Fucking hell, Arthur, did you forget your keys again? Eames thought, stretching his legs for the fifth time in that hour. After the pre-eclampsia scare of last month, Arthur’s insistence on Eames taking care of himself – or him taking care of Eames, when he was in the house – had trebled, practically insisting the man take small walks around the house at minimum. It was pretty restrained for Arthur to only be trebly worried about Eames in the context of that time.

The doorbell went again.

Sighing, Eames hauled himself up, arm around his huge stomach as he manoeuvred his way to the door, building up an Arthur-directed rant about keys and their necessity because hello, we’re still in the dream sharing industry even if we no longer work together as he went. It seemed to take forever, and it didn’t help that the thermometer by the door hovered around the twenty-eight Celsius level, pushing him towards giving into the urge to completely strip off.

Suppressing that urge, he opened the door, expecting Arthur, only to find a familiar man – and an equally familiar gun – both staring at him.

“Hello, Tuomas,” the Finn said.

Eames rolled his eyes. “Oh fucking hell, not you again.”

Next chapter

FIC: Chasing Seasons

Title: Chasing Seasons
Author: MikaHaeli8
Pairing(s): Eames/ Arthu.
Summary: Based off this kink meme prompt.
Genre(s): Romance, est-rel, family/ domesticity, fluffier than an army of chicks
Warning(s): Mentions of MPreg, self-beta’d, British spelling and slang.
Rating: PG for bad feels.
Word count: 937.
Disclaimer: Characters sprung from le mind of Christopher Nolan. Jacob, however, is mine.
Author’s Note: I know I was meant to be finishing Direct Me To The Sun but then this prompt caught my brain and ate my eye and like what am I DOING, why am I filling so many domesticity prompts right now omg. Anyway. ~Mika


The closer Eames got to the end, the more and more he found himself thinking about Arthur and Jacob, both of whom were waiting for him back home. In fact, he had strictly expressed his desire to get the job finished in time for those two reasons.

It was all the more reason, then, to work as quickly and efficiently as he could, checking and double-checking that he'd done everything to a level of precision more often seen in his husband than himself. The relief he felt once he walked out that door and slipped into the car was palpable.

He pulled into the drive, parked the car and let his forehead dunk onto the steering wheel, careful to miss the horn so his boys wouldn't be woken. After a few moments of peace, he got out, locked the car and walked to the front door, ready to sink into Arthur's arms and into their bed.

That's when he noticed that the lights were off.

He frowned. This was unusual; Arthur was always there to welcome him home. Eames cocked an ear towards the house, listening out for footsteps, low-volume TV; anything. There was nothing.

Panic creeping into his chest, Eames slipped into the home, the door shutting with a quiet click. Once again, he listened out for signs of movement, trying to keep his breathing even. Still nothing. The panic in his chest grew as he slipped off his shoes and ran up the stairs, careful to avoid the creaky spots he knew were present.

Please God, no, no no...

The words became a mantra circling his mind even as he strode towards Jacob's room. The door was ajar, showing a strip of black - Eames flung it open, terror gripping the base of his throat upon seeing the bed was empty, the covers thrown back.

"No," he whispered, turning in the direction of the master bedroom, terror now gripping his entire body. It had been several years since the failed extraction on Saito, but if Cobol had found Arthur and Jacob -- what if Cobol had found them, what --

He stopped in the doorway, breath halting in his lungs.

Arthur and Jacob were both there, Arthur's long, lean body curled around the smaller one of their five-year old son, who had practically buried himself in Arthur's embrace. They were both asleep. Unharmed, unhurt, otherwise unblemished.

Terror ceding itself to a mix of emotions, taking Eames' knees from under him and eliciting a long, relieved sigh, felt by his entire self. Oh, thank hell. Thank you, non-existant deity. Thank you for not taking my family from me.

Once he'd calmed down sufficiently to stand, stand he did, making his way around the bed quietly. He lowered himself slowly onto the bed, simply observing his little family for a few minutes. Arthur chose that moment to stir, extracting his arm from around Jacob to manoeuvre himself onto his back.

"Eames?" he murmured sleepily. "You hmmm?"

"Yes, love, I'm home." Eames shifted himself onto the bed, lightly brushing Arthur's fingers with his own. "Jake have another nightmare?"

"Mmm." Arthur frowned. He hauled himself up, his day clothes rumpled. "'m sorry I wasn't..." He waved his other hand in the vague direction of the ground floor. "Was a long nightmare. Monsters under the bed. That kind of stuff."

"'S okay, darling. Let me take him back to bed, yeah? You look done in."

"Mmkay." Arthur rubbed his eyes.

Eames curled both his arms around the small body in the middle of the bed, manoeuvring Jacob to a safe and comfortable level in his arms. He took a moment to press his nose to the black curls that had come from Arthur, inhaling the child's scent.

"You gonna breathe him back to bed?" Arthur asked, humour underlining his voice.

"Easy. Just got home, remember? Haven't seen either of you since Thursday." Eames kissed Jacob's head before carrying him carefully back to bed. As he was laying the little boy down, he stirred, almond-shaped brown eyes opening.


"Hey, Jakey. You alright?" Eames knelt by the bed, smiling as he stroked his son's curls.

"I guess. I had a bad dream and went to Daddy and we fell 'sleep."

"Yeah, Daddy mentioned that. You're okay though, yeah? No more bad dreams."

"No more bad dreams, 'specially now you're home," Jacob replied, voice thickening with sleep.

Swallowing back the lump in his throat, Eames kissed his son's forehead once again. "Night night, Jakey,"

"Nuh night, Papa..."

Eames closed the door quietly on the way out, stripping as he headed back to the master bedroom. Arthur was already ahead of him, pale skin almost matching the sheets, dark eyes watching Eames steadily.

The Brit chuckled. "Y'know, Jake gets more and more like you every day?"

"'Cept when it comes to candy," Arthur grumbles. "Can't get him out the confectionary aisle these days,"

"Ah, my sweet tooth perseveres." Eames pressed himself against Arthur, fingers dancing on the Caesarean scar low on the American's stomach, lips pressed against that patch of soft skin just below the ear. "I missed you, you know,"

Arthur grumbled, but pressed himself against Eames. "I missed you too, I guess,"

"You guess," Eames echoed with a chuckle. "Nah, course you missed me."

"If by 'missed you', you think I meant 'missed your c-"

Eames had cut him off with a kiss, which Arthur was only too happy to deepen. Suddenly, he cut it off abruptly, causing the other man to whine.

"You know what I meant, Arthur."

Arthur rolled his eyes before pulling Eames into another long, lazy kiss.


Title: Your Sweet Disaster
Author: MikaHaeli8
Pairing(s): Eames/ Arthur (and mentions of past Arthur/ OC).
Summary: Arthur and Eames are married with a daughter, a dog and a practically perfect life, all of that stuff. They have very few secrets between then...or so Eames thinks, not knowing about the job that Arthur has. And then some.
Genre(s): AU, romance, est-rel, family/ domesticity, fluff, MPreg, eventual dark/ tragedy.
Warning(s): Mild biting, dirty talk, MPreg, violence, language, self-beta’d, British spelling and slang.
Word count: 1, 266
Disclaimer: Characters sprung from le mind of Christopher Nolan. Allie, however, is mine.
Author’s Note: So! Fangirling over The Dark Knight Rises ate my creativity, so I couldn't write for aaaaaaaaaaages. Then I've spent the last 3hrs writing. SMH. Anyway, this is my first time at writing Eames/ Arthur sex rather than just skimming around the issue (as in previous fics). Really hope it's not terrible (I tried). Enjoy and comment! ~Mika

Previous chapter

It was with moments like these that Eames was glad Allie was out the house, with Arthur mouthing at his bump like it was a sacred relic. His stomach had always been a particularly sensitive area, and pregnancy just exacerbated it, so when Arthur’s lips and the tip of his tongue trailed over it, the groan that escaped from the back of his throat was completely involuntary.

“Christ, you have missed me,” Arthur uttered in a hushed, almost reverent tone as his fingertips curled under the waistband of Eames’ joggers. “Look at you.”

The Brit grumbled wordlessly.

“Oh shh.” Arthur drew Eames’ joggers down, nuzzling his swollen belly as he went. “Just let me take care of you, okay? I’m back now. I’m not leaving you again.”

Eames raised himself a few inches, reaching a hand down to Arthur. He had to touch him, just to ascertain his real, physical presence in the house. He didn’t have his totem on him, but he didn’t want Arthur to be a dream. Not this time.

Understanding the motive behind his action, Arthur raised himself up, fitting his face into Eames’ hand. “I won’t.”


“God damn it,” Arthur sighed, turning his attentions back to the rest of the other man’s body. “I love seeing you like this, all full of my babies. But I’m never knocking you up again; you get so insecure when you’re pregnant,”

“Yeah, well – mmmghh, shit.”

Arthur smirked, continuing to roll Eames’ balls in his hand. “Stop complaining, Mr. Eames.”

Eames let his head fall back to rest on the back of the sofa, pushing himself down into Arthur’s more than capable hands, god yes, yes, right there, right there

And suddenly, he felt his husband’s tongue on his rock-hard dick, tearing a very loud “Fuck!” from his throat. Arthur chuckled as he took Eames in, the sound reverberating along his shaft and causing his hips to jolt forward, bumping the back of Arthur’s throat.

It was a good thing the American had learned to tame his gag reflex when he was still in his teens, illicitly drinking with the older boys he hung around with. That was a skill that came in useful many times, especially now. All the Englishman could do was half-lie on the sofa, body full of nothing but pure want for the man between his legs, as said man sent ripples of pleasure using the best upper-body tools he had (and Christ, were they the best).

“Shit, Arthur…”

Arthur stopped, pulling off with a slick popping sound. “Yes, darling?”

“Uh no, no, no…” Eames frantically flapped his hands at Arthur. “No stop. No.”

The American merely chuckled, skimming his hands lightly around the exposed areas. “Oh no, Eames. I’m not done here yet. Just be patient, okay?” He got up, arching over the heavily pregnant man, lips ghosting his ear. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get your release. Come with me.”

“Not half-naked, I’m not.” Eames was too aware of the fact that the curtains were open. He didn’t want the neighbourhood to see him getting sucked off, let alone his bare arse.

“Oh, you,” Arthur mock-scoffed, a note of affection softening the tone. Diving down again, he pulled Eames’ underwear and joggers back up before assisting Eames to his feet. “You’re such a diva sometimes,”

“Me?” Eames huffed. “Nah, I’m the cool side of the pillow in the messy bed that is our little family. Isn’t that right, Nelly?”

Nelly wagged her tail in confirmation.

“Good girl.”

Arthur chuckled, the dimples making an appearance. “Bedroom. Now. C’mon.”

“Yes, Solomon. Finish what you started,”

“Cheeky bastard,”

“You started it!”

“Yes, I tend to start a lot.”

Eames growled in response as both men undressed, kissing each other as if they were drowning and each was the other’s air, hands reacquainting themselves with the other’s body. In very little time at all, the couple were on the bed, Arthur balls-deep in Eames; one hand was wrapped around the other man’s cock, the other splayed across his stomach.

They were both feeling every millimetre of the other, especially as there was no need for a condom. All of which made this time incredibly intense, so much so that Arthur thought he was going to lose control as soon as he slid into Eames.

“Oh, you,” Arthur breathed affectionately, mouthing Eames’ shoulder as the other man impaled himself on his cock, over and over again, each time with little mewls and grunts that inspired Arthur to slow his cock-filled hand to an almost torturous pace. “Look at you, full of my babies, full of me. Jesus…”

Eames let out a long groan, telling Arthur exactly what he thought of that kind of talk, increasing his speed. Arthur soon found a counter-rhythm, increasing his own speed until he was fucking his husband harder than either of them could remember. The other man responded by ways of wordless cries, punctuated by the occasional fuck, shit and Arthur.

Arthur laughed, the sound coming out rough and dirty. “That’s right. You fucking know it, don’t you?” He reached over, lightly biting Eames’ earlobe, making the other man buck hard. “You know how well I know you. What makes you – uhh – moan…”

They were both reaching their edge, and they knew it, Eames fucking Arthur’s hand whilst Arthur fucked Eames; both wanting more of this, more of eachother, more

And over they both went, Arthur painting Eames’ insides whilst Eames covered the sheets, both with mingled shouts and white in their respective visions. For a long time, they stayed entangled, Arthur kissing away the red marks he’d put on Eames’ shoulder.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked, voice hoarse with lust.

“Fuck,” Eames panted, shaking his head, completely and thoroughly sated. “No. ‘Course not.”

“Good.” Arthur’s hand came to rest on Eames’ stomach again, caressing as much as he could reach. One of the twins moved, making him jump, which made Eames laugh breathlessly in turn. “What?”

“You. Being startled.” A chuckle underscored Eames’ voice. “Least you don’t have a gun this time,”

“That’s ‘cause it’s slotted in your holster.” Arthur smirked.

Eames gave him a look – or as much as he could, from the angle he was positioned at. “You’re so fucking cheesy,”

“Don’t swear. There are little ones around,”

“Aw, c’mon, Arthur, they won’t absorb it,”

“I guess not. But it’s the principle of the matter.”

Eames snorted. “You and principles?”

“I have ‘em. You just took ages to get yours.” Arthur tapped Eames’ sensitive nipples, which only made him groan again.

“Oh, touché.” Eames eased himself off Arthur’s cock and buried himself under the covers.

“Eames!” Arthur laughed breathlessly. “What are you doing?”

“‘m tired,” Eames mumbled from under the sheets. “Gonna take a nap,”

“Do you not want to shower first? Also, you’re sleeping on a come-soaked sheets,”

“It’s my come, it doesn’t matter.” Eames’ head appeared from the top of the soiled quilt. “Also, we’ve done way worse to this bed, and it’s still survived over half a decade of marriage.”

Arthur shrugged. “I guess so. I’m gonna go shower, though.”

“‘Kay,” Eames replied, impending sleep thickening his voice.

He was already fully gone by the time Arthur stepped out the shower. He observed the sleeping man for a while, a small smile on his face, before he dropped the towel from his waist and slipped into bed. One arm around Eames’ bump, he kissed the soft skin behind his ear before snuggling down, body practically sighing with relief as it spooned his husband’s.

He was home. At last.

Next chapter

About Me

inception, 2010, totem
Mika Haeli Arctilinx

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June 2013


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