Harvey started out in the mail room, but Jessica's always been good at spotting potential.

Eames and Mal have been seducing each other for years. But this time, Mal brings backup.

In the immortal words of Freddie Mercury, Fucking on the subway, fucking on the subway, fucking on the subway on a job.

Bang bang, we're beautiful and dirty rich.

These are not all lies.

Arthur and Eames adopt a kid and raise that kid into Neal Caffrey.

The first time Arthur shoots Eames in the head at point blank range is when Eames falls in love. That’s the beginning. That’s the end. (Or: Tattoo!Arthur gone sideways.)

Nash is this, Nash is that, but it's far more likely that Nash is just something in between.

"I don't lie to Barton."

"He lies to you."

"Not very well. Not as well as you do."

Eames can't get the taste of Arthur out of his mouth.

Some days, Arthur knew he deserved what he got. Other days, he still knew it, but he wrapped himself in self-pity, let it encase him like a security blanket, and didn’t know how to settle without it.

Natasha met Clint a little more than five years ago, under less than ideal circumstances. She met Phil five years ago, when things had got worse. It hasn’t been all downhill from there, but at least she’s had company. [No movie spoilers]

Clint rejects this reality and replaces it with his own.

It's such a little thing, a bullet, to be giving Erik so many problems.

If this is what the middle of the night is usually like, Clint is prepared to visit it way more often.

Darcy has a mom who used to be a showgirl in Vegas and a dad who is a financial advisor in Santa Fe. She also has a Tony.

Everyone thinks Peter Burke has only caught Neal Caffrey twice. Everyone is wrong.

The first time they met, it took twenty-eight seconds for Eames to start hitting on Arthur. It took a good five hours for Arthur to point a gun at Eames’ head.

“I don't think the definition of 'easy' includes being shot at by Russians and getting cock-blocked by your best friends!” Arthur shouts.

This could be the beginning of something amazing ... if Dom and Mal will only stay out of Arthur's way. A story in which there are Russians, Arthur spends a lot of time in his underwear, and (sadly) no one gets laid.

After his mother "retires," Arthur finds himself in need of a new business partner. He gets a bit more than he bargained for with Eames. OR; in which Arthur becomes a real boy.

Hate him, love him. It doesn’t matter. He’s still Arthur’s.

The story of how Eames and Arthur meet is one of the great legends of the dream-sharing profession.

In it, there's a dark alley, a foreign country, a bar, a punch in the face, a loaded die, a poker chip, a three-piece suit, and a kiss. Not necessarily in that order. And not necessarily all the time.

They're in Kiev the first time it happens – it's a complex job with a condescending extractor who has a grudge against Arthur that no one can adequately explain, and Arthur gets so wound up, and comes so close to snapping. It's disconcerting to witness him losing his ever-present cool, so Eames defies self-preservation instinct and pulls him aside with stern, bracing words, with a firm grip and a level voice, Get a hold of yourself, I fucking mean it. The fact that this actually works is categorically unexpected.

Mal makes them tell stories. Mal makes them fumble for something to touch. Mal makes them fuck, but maybe that's not the important part.

Five months ago, as Arthur had been readying to leave their hotel room, Eames (still naked, still half-asleep) had said come find me whenever.

Apparently, this is whenever and Eames is an arsehole.

They say Man was made in God's image, and that's not wrong, exactly, except for how it's all wrong, except for how it's always been wrong, because Man was made in God's image, that first time, but man, lowercase, widespread, always evolving into something worse, man was made in the image of man, who was made in the image of Man, who spent too much time gorging himself on apples to remember much about whose image it was he was made in.

Charles doesn't really care what his daemon chooses to be. Raven just wants it to happen. Erik has forgotten what it's like to have a soul. Alex is running for his life. And Sebastian Shaw knows, the moment his Pele settles, they're destined for great things.

Or, five different characters and how their daemon settled.

Rumpelstiltskin really just wants a child.

Eames’ cheeks go faintly pink, and for a long moment there’s nothing to listen to but the thumping of the headboard next door, the shouting.

"I sent you an email."

"And here I am."

"And it had nothing to do with me being in Las Vegas, the Gambling Capital of the World."

"Las Vegas. Duluth. Athens. In cases such as this a good memory is unpardonable."

Aziraphale tries his hand at a little light tempting.

“Why are you even here?” Crowley said in irritation.

Aziraphale looked vaguely surprised.

“I thought you said you wanted to go for a drink?”

Crowley thought about that for a while.

“That was seventy years ago,” he said finally. Stupid angelic sense of time. The bastard had probably looked in his diary, thought ‘oh, I can fit in a quick pint in a few decades.’

“I had to think about it,” Aziraphale said. “Would you like dessert?”

Eames has a hard and fast rule against fucking anyone underage. Arthur would have the utmost respect for this rule, if he hadn't just gotten cockblocked by it at the age of twenty-three.

Winona is called to fix the cock-up of the Yorktown's engines. She uses one of the science-bitches to help her do it.

“You’re the first person to pull off inception,” Mal says, to Eames, not bothering to mask her own delight, “and you did it with your penis!”

Harvey Specter, second year law student at Harvard, was walking home one night when he found a teenaged runaway named Mike freezing to death on his doorstep.

"I hate giving a shit, it never ends well."

‘I want to get married.’

At once, Arthur’s mouthful of rigatoni turned to cement. He kept chewing and chewing and chewing as the moment elongated, Eames watching him expectantly from across the table. After what felt like at least an hour, Arthur managed to swallow and said, rather stupidly, ‘What? Who to?’

Eames fixed him with a look of well-mannered exasperation. ‘Don’t be a twat, Arthur,’ he said.

‘Is there a reason for this?’ asked Arthur, not sure if he meant Are you drunk or Is this for a job? ‘What are we talking about, here? Do you want to move in with me?’

Arthur and Eames call each other between jobs. No really, that's it.

Fred was born first. This, he claims, has given him innumerable advantages over his twelve-minutes-younger brother: he is ever so slightly taller, handsomer, smarter, wittier, and generally more popular than poor George. George concedes sadly that this is indeed the case, then transfigures Fred's ears into cauliflowers.

The Great Revelation isn't put up for a vote.

When Death was young, young enough to think that living forever was a blessing, he killed his Maker.

Eric often wonders why Godric chose this place. Novgorod is a city; not small but not the biggest they've ever been in. It's beautiful but not magnificent, a place of trade but not one of the central markets. The climate is temperate – warmer than Eric prefers but not excessively so. Together he and Godric have seen places so vast, so eclectic, so mesmerizing... Why choose to settle down here, now?

Ted doesn't like to admit it (and he certainly will never admit it to his kids, Jesus Christ. He may be the king of the inter-generational over share, but some things cross the line from inherently dorky dad trying to prove he once approached cool right into someone should probably call the cops on that dude territory), but it perhaps, might have, maybe, been his idea first.

Billy was seven the first time he saw Dr. Horrible.

Eames was not prone to romantic notions, despite (because) of his romantic affectations; Arthur gave the impression that a grand romantic concept had never crossed his mind. And so Eames dedicated himself to feeding Arthur a steady, infuriating diet of what he seemed to want least, knowing that Arthur would inevitably be drawn to it.

The second dream is Eames', but the Arthur in it is just a projection.

They end up having to platonically share a bed for ages.

Arthur meets Mal first. He inherits Dom, after. Everything else is on him.

It was so obvious, Arthur thinks to himself sometimes. He was so fucking obvious all the time.

Eddie: Mr C? How the hell are you? How's Mr. F?
Mozzie: Good!
Peter: Mr. C and Mr. F?
Mozzie: Oh, there's a long, strange story attached to that.

Arthur's nineteen when he makes his first kill.

Darling, sorry for leaving without waking you. Hope you will forgive me. I also took a picture of you while you slept, with your fantastic antique polaroid camera. (Those are so handy!) Anyway, I've an early flight back to Vegas, and I shan't tell a soul of our relations, so long as I retain my mental capacities.

Eames has a mouth like a porn star.

It's not the most professional thought that Arthur could have upon their initial meeting in the deserted warehouse with three broken windows and an ant problem, but it's certainly the most prominent thought.

There are other thieves, but Eames is a forger. He does not debate the legality of his actions or the rewards for his head, but he wants to make that distinction very clear. Thieves take things, steal things, plunder, and violate—and they didn’t call you the morning after. Eames might have taken things, stolen things, plundered, and violated, but he always gave a little something in return.

Detailing one of Amanda Grayson's first diplomatic assignments, which happens to be on the USS Kelvin.

A six-year-old princess of the blood, Azula was quite accustomed to gifts; the fact that these ones talked back was just an added novelty.

"James T Kirk," Jim says, and sticks his hands in his pockets because Vulcans don't shake hands, and he's pretty sure his fingers don't bend that way.

In which the origins of one Bela Talbot are explored.

Growing up, Malcolm Reynolds never had much use for the stars.