WELCOME

This was something new. Gemma was almost never at a location before Eli arrived. Sure, he wasn't the most timely of people, but Gemma was almost always late. It wasn't that she enjoyed being late, it was that her need to check and recheck everything often caused her to lose quite a bit of time and the effect that most people saw was that she was late. It didn't matter how much time she allotted to allow herself to check things, she was always late. She was surprised when she reached the meet-up spot before Eli had and instantly thought she was in the wrong place. Checking the note she had made to herself, a system she used so she could check to make sure she was doing things correctly, confirmed she was in the correct spot. It just meant Eli was late. She took a sip of the iced latte she had picked up on her way to the destination and thought for a moment.

The first thought was that maybe he was in trouble. He would have called if he was going to be late, right? Or maybe he had just assumed he had more time because he thought Gemma would be later then she was. Of course, now Gemma knew she was worrying for no good reason. It was easy to be delayed in this city, with unexpected traffic and the clumps of tourists, delays lay around every corner to prevent her partner from turning up at the meeting spot on time. But this meeting was important. They were to discuss their recent mission on extracting from Phoebe. It was why it couldn't happen in the office. It had seemed everything went well, but they hadn't be able to discuss most of it yet from other complications. Gemma had sifted through the information and she was sure Eli had as well, but they needed to discuss it and decide what they would report back to SIS.

Gemma took out her phone to see if maybe she had missed his call, yet there were no missed calls or texts so she slid her phone back into her bag and took a seat on one of the lower steps of the memorial, off to the side. She figured she'd give him another fifteen minutes or so before she started to worry and call him. It wouldn't be so bad to people watch for the next few moments. The tourist season was starting to die down, but there were always tourists in DC. With just one glance you were guaranteed to see someone wearing a fanny pack and someone with a jacket tied around their waste and there was always a group speaking a language other than English. Tourists were so easy to spot, not that Gemma could talk much. She wasn't an American, but she was here on business, and although se wasn't the biggest fan of America, she had come to know a bit about Washington DC and the city had become like a home for her. Taking another sip of her drink, she continued to watch the people that passed her, keeping an eye open for her partner to show up.

Having been in Washington DC for several months now, Eames had drawn two conclusions. One of these conclusions was that the weather, quite frankly, was often horrible: much too muggy, foggy, or chilly for his tastes. The other conclusion was that, as long as he ignored the over-population of politicians and business men all dressed in similar suits with guts that were threatening to become actual bellies, there were quite a few interesting characters in America’s fair and soon-to-be-even-more-polluted capital.

There were plenty of your Plain Janes and John Does but on the other hand there were Seedy Sids, Awkward Andys, Gorgeous Gabriellas, and Foreign Fujimarus, with their awkward cameras and colorful Hawaiian shirts and wide shiny eyes. At times Eames would park himself at a café with a newspaper or a laptop and a cup of coffee, watching the rush of people blur by as if the scenery was a looping animation. But if you listened and watched and truly paid attention you could make out certain things from the discordant noises and images that actually made sense, that were unique and each had a specific story whether it be about the latest dip in the market or a woman complaining loudly about her sister-in-law and how the woman was the spawn of the devil.

He’d heard more accents concentrated in a single area than he ever had heard before, had met more people in a single frame of time than he ever had before, and had managed to get under the skins (in good ones and bad) of quite a good chunk of people in a handful of different fashions. He had reunited with a few old cards from the past, from simply two years ago (oh hi Arthur and Fischer!) to someone who had been a pinnacle player in his introduction to dreaming. He was still preoccupied with the latter reunion in particular—Fischer’s circumstances could wait when Eames’ neck could very well be on the line.

But constant worry was not Eames thing—and he would curse the day it ever became his thing—so for now he had decided to visit a place that was long overdue a visit by the English man: the good old Lincoln Memorial. While Eames had played the role of tourist, he really had not given himself any actual time to legitimately be one.

And seeing all the cutesy little tourists walk by would be fun as well—perhaps he’d even see a particular face he could use for future use. The man strolled leisurely, spying a café and deciding that this was as good a place to park himself as any, though considering it was fairly close to tourist romping grounds the coffee was probably overpriced and might be of questionable quality. He ordered, nevertheless, and scanned the area quickly for a free table whilst placing his free hand into his pocket to replace his wallet and, what do you know, a pair of red worn poker chips bounced out, rolling across the floor until they hit the back of an attractive woman’s (well, her back was attractive anyhow—Eames hadn’t quite seen her face yet) shoes, causing them to cease rolling and fall to a stop.

Eames approached, left hand wound about a cup of coffee, his face plastered with a small apologetic smile. “Sorry about that, those are mine.” His accent was not the thickest of British accents but it was incredibly tangible, a bit warm with the low quality of which he usually spoke with.

He had to say his accent blended in quite well with tourists, though there was always a certain way he carried himself that he was comfortable in nearly every situation possible. A foreigner he was, yes, but a tourist? Not with the cut of his jib.

Gemma was too concentrated on watching in front of her to take in much else, so when she felt the slight tap of something small hitting her shoe followed by the British accent, she was a bit surprised someone had talked to her. Washington DC was like any other major city in the world. People tended to stick to their own business and ignore anyone else. It didn't matter if you bumped into someone or fell on them, it was rare to hear any words uttered and no one around you would even raise an eyebrow. Gemma was used to that attitude and understood everyone wanting to stay in their own little bubble and technology had only made that easier. And in DC, with all the politicians running about, the most common time that someone would enter someone else's bubble was when lobbyists or protesters had some problem and confronted those politicians. But this voice wasn't trying to get something done, and it wasn't even American.

Before even turning to look at the man, Gemma's eyes went to her feet where the two red poker chips lay and she felt herself bending down to pick them up. "Don't worry about it," she smiled at him as she held her hand out to give him the chips back. Her accent was similar to his own and even if she spent the majority of her time around her British partner, it was still nice hearing the accent that reminded her of home instead of some form of American accent. Maybe Gemma was a little homesick, but the accent was just something that was nice to hear. There were a good number of tourists with British accents, but it was a different thing talking to one. And the way this man carried himself led her to believe he wasn't a tourist in this city.

"Though it is curious to find a man carrying around poker chips. They look a bit worn and people generally like to cash them in and get their money. There must be a story as to why you still have them," Gemma stated, opening conversation with him. It may have been personal to ask him a question, but as an agent, Gemma was quick to observe things and was curious about them. Really she was just wondering why this man had these chips with him for her own sake, not anything to deal with her being an agent. And there was nothing wrong with having a conversation while she waited for Eli to show up. "I'm Gemma by the way," she introduced herself with a smile.

Eames' poker chips were really one of the few items that he had that held sentimental value; sentimental value he was not sure he was happy carrying around with him, yes, but that little aside did not change the fact that they had meant something to him and a small part of him unfortunately still felt that way. He had hoped to bury everything, really, blow everything about himself to pieces the second that jeep caught fire and was blown five miles to Heaven--and then straight to Hell. Unfortunately things weren't always that easy; Eames could pretend and he did a damned good job of it but sometimes you couldn't sweep away all the pieces so you stuck them under the rug.

Either way, Eames was impressed by the woman he had stumbled upon by chance, sitting there sipping coffee and generally looking fairly classy. It was odd to him, to see a loan woman by herself in a cafe, though considering DC was home to all sorts of independent business-oriented women he guessed he should not be surprised. Either way she was beautiful and she was British and she seemed to have an eye for detail and enough confidence to express her curiosity. Quite frankly she reminded him of himself--

--well, besides the beautiful part. Eames would rather be called dashing, thank you very much. Unless he was flouncing around as a girl in the dreamscape in which case, he'd prefer to be absolutely stunning.

Eames took the chips from her, fingering their worn edges before slipping them back into his pocket.

"You could say they're good luck charms." Eames said, smiling, and actually it was not a lie at all. Mingled in the several poker chips he kept on his person was one in particular that was specifically special: his totem. His coffee, still perched in his hand, was practically forgotten by now.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Gemma." he greeted, observing her quietly just as she was probably observing him. "Most people simply call me Eames." Well, it wasn't a lie.

"I have to say, it's nice to see another Brit around here." he admitted, lips quirking upwards just a tad. "I haven't seen one in months. I've almost taken to simply talking to myself in the mirror to compensate for the lack of dapper accents around here."

Gemma didn't like to believe in superstitions like luck, but she could understand why people chose to believe in it and could respect those beliefs. Gemma just didn't like luck because luck was never a good reason to explain why things happened. Things happened to people who did stuff and tried to achieve. Gemma had spent her whole life working hard to get what she wanted and she would never let something like luck take the credit for what she had done. But then again, gambling games were part chance. You could always increase your odds of winning, but part of it was the hand you were dealt. Yes, Gemma could understand superstition and good luck charms but she could never buy into that idea. "If they're good luck you might want to be more careful about not losing them," a smile accompanied her words showing it mostly a joke.

"It's a pleasure to meet you too, Eames," she nodded. Well, if it was what most people called him, she would call him that too. It wasn't necessarily a typical name, but then again, Gemma wasn't very typical in America. And as they were just meeting, it wasn't like she needed to know his actual name and she wouldn't press for it.

Though she was mostly focused on Eames, her eyes still scanned the area occasionally to check for Eli. The information she had to discuss with her partner was important, both to their mission and their, well mostly his, personal lives. It was nice being able to talk to a fellow Brit, but Gemma's work had always come first and foremost in her mind. She was a workaholic to the core and her general lack of a social life was only testament to that. Sure, she had Ted, but that really only worked out because he was a workaholic as well and thus they understood the need to cancel any date for work. The first thing on Gemma's mind was almost always work. But she didn't see her partner anywhere around, so there couldn't be any harm in having this discussion.

"Well, in that case I'm glad you've found another Brit to talk to because some might consider talking to yourself signs that you're a bit mental," she smiled at him. She knew the feeling, though. "I know where you're coming from, though. It's almost a bit of a homesickness. Luckily I have a British coworker so I'm not completely deprived." No, she couldn't really say he was her partner and they were on loan to the FBI. Stating she was an agent was never advisable unless she was doing some sort of interrogation or bust. In social settings, it was never a good idea to say she was with law enforcement. There were a good number of people who didn't take too kindly to agents of any kind.

Eames chuckled. Unlike many people he had met in this sordid city her humor was not spat out with the intent to scathe him. Nice change of pace, really. ”I suppose if I lose them I’ll know they were never lucky in the first place.”

Eames noticed the occasional flickering of her eyes, the way they subtly slid away from him to make a quick scan of the area. It was incredibly impressive, something that was difficult to pull off, and Eames only took notice because, well, observing was practically his profession. Obviously he was either incredibly boring that she had to look away to relief herself from banality, he was unattractive and a sight to make sore eyes sorer, or she was meeting someone and said someone was late.

Eames was confident that the answer was the last one. He did not make comment, however, since she had not excused herself politely or pursed her lips and hardened her eyes in a way that said please go, just please go. Besides, he had earnestly meant what he said—sometimes straight up American accents did get a little dull and talking with a pretty British woman was not. At least so far—it was typically difficult to hold Eames’ absolute attention for long.

He smiled lightly in response to her humor, somewhat gentle but still dry—subtle and she did it in a way that made her still prim and proper. ”I assure you I would have risked it.” he quipped back. ”I’m sure quite a few of the people who know me have already jumped to the conclusion that I’m a little mental, anyhow.” He was joking again, but…not really. He was pretty sure he could name a few people who thought he was an anomaly of nature. And Eames typically encouraged that, really.

Well, for once Eames wasn’t even really fishing for information and he was getting it—not a lot, mind you, but the amount he did was still much more than he typically got out of people around these parts; normally people in DC did not even want to share with you their names let alone anything that wasn’t bordering on incredibly vague. ”A coworker? Then you’re in the states for business?” he asked, for once simply curious and asking for the sake of asking. While he never thought he would say it, the whole psychoanalyzing of everything was beginning to become a little tiring, especially after having attempted to psychoanalyze the bloody hell out of a man he only knew by name for the little fact that, oh, he had hired a hit on him. Normalcy was nice at times—though Eames’ idea of normalcy still had a few screws loose compared to a normal person’s.

he's like, so whatever

Eli totally knew he was running late. He felt pretty awkward about being late, especially since it wasn't often that he and Gemma met outside of work. Yes, they were going to be talking about work, but it was different when they went somewhere out in the open air. Plus, there was absolutely no way that Ted could tag along on this particular meeting - nor would Eli want him to, since he was going to talk to Gemma about her inferences about what to do with the information from Phoebe Chou's mind. He'd even picked the steps of the memorial, a nice, quiet place, as opposed to a bar of some sort or even a cafe. He felt he needed to make things up to Gemma, for dragging her into his personal messes. And she didn't even know about the personal mess he was now holding over Maia's head. Eli desperately wanted to ask Gemma if Maia had some sort of significant other, just to see how twisted her attraction to Gregory Allen really was, but he didn't need her getting even more pissed at him.

As he grew closer to the memorial, he noticed that Gemma was talking to someone. His glasses were pretty good for seeing things, but he couldn't tell who the person was, so he automatically assumed the worst, Ted Kohler. God. Couldn't Ted try to stay out of Gemma's pants for more than five minutes? This was why he needed to be constantly vigilant with him and his advances. Gemma was beautiful and a great catch, but Ted was most certainly not, and Eli would do anything to protect his sister. His fake one. Not the real one. Who gave a shit about the real one?

But as Eli grew closer, he felt something roil in the pit of his stomach. He recognized this guy. Shit, did he ever recognize that guy. It was very hard to forget James Eames, especially since the two of them had been dream criminals in England at around the same time. Where Eli was surly and sarcastic, Eames was charming and personable. Eli killed and brutalized people with a stunning lack of finesse; Eames' finesse was the only thing that disguised how bad his actions were. Of course, the government chose to target the guy who left people with their brains leaking out onto sidewalks, instead of the guy who left puddles of brains in people's skulls, which didn't leave Eli feeling too appreciative of James Eames. And here he was, hitting on his savior. She probably had no idea who he was, how bad he was. If she mentioned her work, they were both pretty well doomed. He strode up to her side, loosening his tie. Shit would probably go down, after all.

"Sorry I'm late," Eli said as soon as he entered both of their personal spaces, adjusting his glasses. He lightly kissed the side of Gemma's cheek, a typical greeting, before looking up at Eames. Jesus fucking Christ. "...well, isn't this odd."

you could do so much better

words: 507
lyrics: girlfriend | avril lavigne

Gemma was about to respond to Eames when Eli strode up to their group. Well, at least he was finally here, though truth be told, she had stopped worrying too much about his tardiness as she had chatted with Eames. The other man had taken her mind off her late partner, which was a very good thing seeing as when Gemma's OCD acted up and she started worrying things were never pretty, and Gemma really could deal without that stress. Plus, Eli should be glad to see she wasn't freaking out worrying about him. He wanted her OCD to get better, and the fewer meltdowns she had due to it, the better.

"Don't worry about it," Gemma smiled at Eli as he greeted her. She had mostly forgiven him and become warmer toward him after the Phoebe fiasco. They had done what they could to get him out of that sticky situation, aside from dealing with what to with the information, so Gemma had basically forgiven him for the ordeal. Plus, she couldn't hold a grudge against her partner for a long amount of time. He was her best friend and the only friend she could fully disclose all of her information to. Well, everything except for information about her and Ted. She kept most of their activities a secret from Eli, but that was for everyone's safety. She knew Eli hated Ted and if he knew everything, it was likely there might be a fight, or some fallout. It wasn't worth it.

Gemma furrowed her brow at Eli's next statement though. She didn't know why the situation was odd. She was just talking to a man while she waited for him. Gemma was a friendly woman at heart, so she didn't see anything odd with chatting up another man. Maybe it was that he was British? But he hadn't really said a word to Eli yet, so Eli couldn't know that. Gemma was generally good at reading people but she couldn't see what was odd about the situation. Nothing was. Of course, now she needed Eames to leave soon so she and Eli could get down to work, but that was how these random encounters went. They shared a couple of words and then went separate ways, so that should happen soon.

Although she was expecting her chance encounter to end soon, Gemma was still polite and felt the need to introduce the two men. "Eames, this is my coworker, Eli, and Eli, this is Eames," she stated, making the proper introduction. It was the typical thing for her to do. She wanted to ignore Eli's statement for the most part, a statement that almost implied familiarity with Eames, because she knew how to be proper and polite. She had to introduce her partner to the man she was speaking with. Of course, she couldn't say Eli was her partner from SIS, she was still working under the guise she had come from Britain as a businesswoman and this was her coworker. He was her British coworker, the one that made it so she wasn't desperate for someone to understand anything she referenced and had a nice British accent to fulfill her necessity to hear someone who spoke like she did. "What is odd, Eli?" She couldn't contain her curiosity at the statement. She should have let it go unnoticed, but she just couldn't dismiss it.

Oh, just peachy. Absolutely peachy. And this was what showed on Eames’ face the second he recognized who the boorish man was despite any personal objections he might have had tutting away in the back of his mind. He never remembered Elijah Thomas as a particularly kiss-you-on-the-cheek sort of guy, but hey, maybe he had grown to stop being such a psychopath, with the beating of heads and spilling of blood on the nice English pavement—the notion, however, was not a promising or realistic idea in Eames’ mind and he allowed his mouth to broaden into a genuine smile of amusement as he thought of the other man being…anything other than the man he knew him to be. He allowed his eyes to meet Thomas’ less-than-welcoming ones and that little grin of his never left his face.

”So this is your coworker?” he asked Gemma, though his eyes never left Thomas’ face and there was quite a silent discord that he was certain the two of them were giving off, though Eames hoped that in his case it margined on much more attractive and pleasant that whatever ominous vibes the other man was giving. ”Charming.” and then Eames extended his hand in the most polite of ways to the Thomas, and this time he could not help but allow a small smirk to come to his face. In his head he was running through a list of possibilities—girlfriend and boyfriend, siblings, jailer and prisoner—but finally the British man (the one who was suaver) decided to let his carefully calculating thoughts rest upon their relationship (because, really, while it was interesting there were much more important things to be thought about and his thoughts, while they often went a mile a minute, were precious) let everything slide for now and decided to feign ignorance until Thomas himself broke the news of their acquaintanceship.

If he’d break the news. But, well, so much for laying low and for the first time in a while instead of looking for trouble and stalking it like a lovelorn teenager, it had found him instead. Sorry Chase—things never do go exactly as you planned them. It simply proved Eames’ point to never have a detailed plan; you choke yourself in it.

Looking at a certain someone right now.

he's like, so whatever

What the fuck was he even doing in Washington DC? And why was he chatting up FBI agents? Eli never assumed anything like coincidence when it came to encounters; he'd grown extremely paranoid from his time on the run, and knew that people almost always had ulterior motives. He'd dealt enough, collectively, with Maia Vaughn, Ted Kohler, his sister Janine, and the SIS, to know that people engineered a lot of these 'chance meetings' for their own purposes. Eames definitely had one. And when Eames noticed the other man, his features grew a bit too friendly, as if he didn't want to disturb Gemma. Well, fuck that. Eli walked up and kissed her on the cheek before mentioning how odd this occasion was. Gemma, delightfully oblivious to what she'd walked into, asked why it was odd, but not after introducing them to each other. They needed no introduction.

Maybe to prevent Eli from saying anything too weird, Eames asked if this was Gemma's coworker (at least she stuck to their usual cover) and noted that he was charming, with heavy, dripping sarcasm, straight from the Queen's realm. He extended a hand. Eli shook it much too forcefully. "Hello again." Eli turned to Gemma. "It's just a bit strange. We used to work together, you see. That didn't go as well as we'd collectively hoped." That should signal all Gemma needed to know about the situation - being FBI agents, they had to be extremely careful; with him being a former dream terrorist, he had to be even more careful about their past together. He turned back to Eames, smiling lightly, but dangerously, as if daring him to get even one step closer to his beloved Gemma. "I didn't realize you knew my sister." Another convenient lie. But hey, Eames didn't need to know anything more about Gemma. He needed to leave.

you could do so much better

words: 311
lyrics: girlfriend | avril lavigne

Gemma was starting to feel a bit uneasy with them. She was getting the sense there was something she didn't know going on here. Eames was just a random man she had run into as far as Gemma was concerned, and they couldn't possibly know each other. England was a big country as was America, so running into someone you knew was difficult. And if Gemma didn't know the man she was fairly certain he couldn't be from Eli's life after joining SIS. Gemma knew most of the people, well most of the men, that Eli knew after joining the right side of the law. The women came and went and Gemma really didn't even want to know about them. Plus, she doubted Eli would even remember most of them considering he was smashed when he spent time with them.

And then Eli elaborated a bit. They used to work together. Gemma knew it had to be from his days as a criminal which really only left the question of why did Gemma not know who this Eames was. He had to be a criminal if Eli had worked with him back in those days. And if he was working with Eli, Gemma should have at least heard of him considering the time and effort she put into hunting Eli down in the first place. She knew some of his accomplices. Maybe they just hadn't worked together, it seemed things hadn't gone well between them. But Gemma knew she couldn't bring up any of this. Eames obviously didn't know they were now with SIS and the FBI, so she couldn't speak of anything criminal. She couldn't let him know who she really was. "Oh, you worked with Eli in the past? I sincerely apologize, he's quite difficult to work with," Gemma stated, trying to keep things light. She still didn't know much about the situation, but she had a feeling it just wasn't good. Gemma was now more interested than ever to learn more about this Eames. Who he was and what he did and what his relation to Eli was. Her curiosity had now peaked. She just couldn't stop herself from asking. "Why did you stop working together?" It wasn't a smart question, she knew that, but it had just escaped her lips.

”Apology accepted.” he told Gemma though inside what he really meant was no, no, not really. He slid his gaze over towards Thomas very subtly and offered him a very pleasant and charming smile, the type that would be utterly infuriating considering the bits of nasty history the two Brits had going on for them. The history was bitterer on Thomas’ side of course, but really the man needed to stop starching his panties with inferior quality products and switch to something like Gain Ultra Fabric Softener, because everyone knows that Downey’s is incredibly overrated anyway.

When Gemma asked about their relationship Eames’ eyes brightened and he opened his mouth to speak and then…then, for the first time in quite a while, closed it. It was tempting to spew out something (something entirely ridiculous and filled with as many lies as half-truths) to make Thomas look like a git or, at the very least, a sponge cake, but there was something he had promised a few days earlier that cuffed him over the ankle in a rather stern way.

Bollocks. If Eames didn’t have such a good poker face his brow would have been furrowed in frustration. As much as he would love to butt heads with Thomas and blow the stick out of his arse, he had priorities—namely priorities that would lead to his heart staying very firmly in his chest. He had promised to lay low and conversing with a former associate (criminal associate) in broad daylight with one of his associates did not seem like the proper thing to do. And while Eames was usually about breaking barriers he had made a promise—a promise that he actually meant to keep.

You see? This is why Eames did not like making promises. It tied you down and put you in an incredibly tough place when faced with the choice of having fun and being reckless versus…not.

So for the first time in a while Eames simply shut his mouth and restrained himself. This whole business seemed far to coincidental, anyhow, now that Thomas had showed up. The British man smiled modestly, well, as modestly as Eames could smile when only making a quarter of an effort.

”Well, I don’t like to toot my own horn and if your brother—” And he emphasized this word with more gusto than was necessary, eying Thomas with sharp smirking blue-gray eyes because there was no way for a second he would believe that something like him was related to someone as gorgeous as Gemma. Unless it was a freak mutation—that Eames might have a better time believing. ”—hasn’t mentioned me then I guess it’s for good reason. We just had…” He smiled, gaze shifting towards Thomas. ”—Artistic differences, that’s all.”

Though it killed him to label the other man an artist of any sort.

”Well, I’ll get out of your way, then. You have work related things—I’m sure it’s important.” he said casually. Eames’ lips quirked upwards towards Thomas, his face the perfect picture of innocence. ”See you later, old chap.” He nodded to the woman, the pretty one of the two. ”Nice to meet you Gemma.”

With his forgotten coffee in his hand he took a very large gulp out of it, almost draining the entire thing (for it was incredibly lukewarm and rather tasteless by now) and put it on an empty table for the busboy to clean up and took off.

The poker chips jangled in his pockets silently. Good luck charms, he had called them. Well, he wasn't sure what to think about this encounter.

he's like, so whatever

Eli was a little too startled and infuriated to take anything that James Eames, professional asshole who got away from the law in ways Eli couldn't believe, said without getting offended. He had the gall to slip away from SIS's notice while he was getting his ass thrown through Limbo and jail and the legal system, and now he had the nerve to talk to Gemma, the best thing that ever happened to him. This was beyond offensive. This was honestly enough to make Eli snap and rip Eames' heart out. He doubted he could do it, even if he was in perfect shape. Maybe from a few feet away, he could take out Eames with a shotgun without him knowing. Eli, being as cold as he could be, mentioned to Gemma that the two of them had worked together, but things didn't go quite as planned. Eames might've tried to play it off, saying that the pair of them had artistic differences and not being mentioned was probably a good thing, but Gemma got the message, something Eli saw in her face. She said that Eli was difficult to work with, doing her best to keep this light. Good thing. If she turned on Eames, Eli would have to keep himself from killing the guy.

Gemma and Eli stared as Eames excused himself, saying that they probably had work-related things to deal with and didn't want to interrupt them any longer. Smiling at Eli, wishing him well - oh, Eli wanted to cave his skull in - before saying it was nice to meet Gemma, he strode away, probably pleased with the chaos he'd caused. Eli watched him walk away, smiling before it slipped into a very obvious frown. He sat next to Gemma, putting an arm around her waist protectively. He glared at Eames' retreating back before turning to Gemma.

"He didn't ask you anything, did he?" Eli asked immediately, his voice darkening. He let out a frustrated noise before sighing. "That's James Eames. He basically threw me under a fucking lorry. I got your guys' attention because he had to be subtle about his work. He's more of a monster than I was." He shook his head, his voice still low. "If he comes near you again, I will personally kill him. He deserves it." He sighed. "...how are you?"

you could do so much better

words: ???
lyrics: girlfriend | avril lavigne

Eames was excusing himself, and Gemma, although she didn't mind Eames, was glad because more than anything she wanted to question Eli, and that couldn't be done with the other man still standing near them. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Eames," Gemma beamed at him. It really had been. Their few minutes long conversation had been enjoyable, a perk to waiting for her partner to show up and it had caused her to not worry over Eli because he had been late. She certainly had nothing against this other British man as of yet.Gemma was all to familiar with Eli's tendency to make enemies and really just supposed this was another case of such an incident.

Watching as Eames left, Gemma waited a few moments before turning back to face Eli. She had noticed how protective he had acted over her and she only had to wonder why. Eames liked a civilized sort of persona and Gemma was curious as to why Eli was so hostile with him, even if they had tried to mask that hostility. But, Eli had questions of his own that needed to be addressed first. "No, he didn't ask me anything, at least nothing leading to you or SIS really that I hadn't brought up first." She didn't think he had asked any suspicious questions; it had just been a regular sort of conversation. "We really just chatted about Britain and the like, normal things really." Nothing stuck out in her mind and Gemma was trained, she generally knew how to spot suspicious things and people, or at least shady criminals. Then again, maybe how charismatic Eames seemed to be showed how good of a criminal he was. "He told me his name, but it didn't ring any bells. I don't think he's ever been on our radar, or at least on mine."

Gemma had to give a small laugh at Eli's words about subtlety. "You could have learned a thing from him, Eli. If you were so subtle, you may never have been caught." If he had never been caught, Gemma wouldn't be here. She would be an ordinary agent, not the woman who had thrown Eli into Limbo and dragged his ass in to SIS. That was her only extraordinary action: capturing Eli Thomas. "What has he done?" she asked simply. He had called the man a monster and obviously didn't like him too much, so what had he done that was so horrible that even Eli would call him a monster, Eli who was a cold blooded killer back in England. But she had to answer his question about how she was, he seemed worried about her because of Eames who didn't seem to be too bad of a guy. "I'm fine. And really you don't need threaten him if he comes near me again. I rather enjoyed my small conversation with him."

he's like, so whatever

Gemma was always polite, always prim and proper. Eli supposed that was good, at this moment - had Eames actually said anything else, Eli would've destroyed him. He knew he collected enemies like most people collected pennies, but James Eames was seriously bad news, no matter what his charming outward persona suggested. Eli demanded to know what he asked about; surprisingly, it seemed his meeting with Gemma was pure coincidence. She said there was nothing about him, or the SIS, or anything she hadn't mentioned first. Basically they spoke of their homeland, England, and normal things. Eli's frown slipped a bit, replaced with a more placid look. "That's good. Very... well, not good, but at least he..." His mind was going a million miles an hour. What did Eames want with Gemma? He never did things by coincidence. He was a meticulous planner, and even the most easy of conversations was usually a front.

Eames' name didn't ring any bells, not on her radar, anyway. Eli sighed. "Because that's probably not his real name. He has more aliases than online sexual predators." He ran his fingers through his hair, a bit exasperated. He grew even more exasperated when Gemma, gently, mentioned that he could've done with a little more subtlety, and he might not have been caught. Eli glared at her for a second, one of the few times he'd ever shown extreme displeasure with her, before turning away. "Don't say things like that. You catching me is the best thing that ever happened to me." He paused again, explaining that Eames was a monster. Gemma had to ask why. Eli thought about what he needed to say here before launching his explanation. "He's a forger. He creates masks of people, masks so well-worn that you can't even tell it's a fake. Eames is probably the best in the business. I thought he was still in England, which says a lot about how far law enforcement has gotten with tracking him... but he's been a forger for so many people that ended up in jail that it's hard to find it coincidence." Eli narrowed his eyes. "He didn't like my... methods of extraction. Too messy, too grotesque. what-not. I paid him, and he basically ratted me out to people I had extracted from, which led me to shoot one of them and you know the rest. I know other people were on my tail, but Eames is slippery. Duplicitous. He'll throw his own mother under a bus to escape."

Eli knew that he wasn't the most honorable person, but Eames really got to him. "And he loves messing with people's heads. He might've professed to not know who you were, but I wouldn't put it past him to have known who you were and where you work for weeks, and to have engineered this to piss me off and nothing more." He leaned back on the steps of the monument; it wasn't very comfortable, but it didn't matter. "The fact that you enjoyed the conversation is troubling."

you could do so much better

words: 507
lyrics: girlfriend | avril lavigne