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Previously on Mika's Musings | Next Time on Mika's Musings!

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
~x~

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.”

~x~

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?”

“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.

~x~

“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.

EPILOGUE