Political crisis managers AU. Arthur and Eames are operatives for rival presidential campaigns in a heated Democratic primary. Can they find love and happiness in spite of all the pies, Republicans, and publicity disasters in their way? Even in the face of the dreaded ELECTORAL COLLEGE SYSTEM? I DON'T KNOW! LET'S FIND OUT!

"I'm looking for a good bra," she smiles again, "I'm sure you hear that every day."

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.

Whatever life Dom had in America, he’s left it behind as thoroughly as Arthur, and neither of them ever push the other for their life stories. Arthur likes to think that it’s because he and Dom agree about why everything that came before doesn’t really matter. That they both know their lives began when they met Eames and Mal.

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

Arthur gets out of a bad situation and into a nice suit.

Arthur likes to find his inspiration in other people's dreams. Mal holds the secrets of a princess in a tower. Eames wants to cross the bridge and burn it behind him. And Saito's most popular author can't (or won't) finish her greatest work...

Arthur loves Daniel, he truly does; but it’s Eames. There’s no point in drawing a comparison. It’s not apples and oranges. It’s apples and Goethe, apples and Rachmaninoff.

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.

‘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?’

Basically, no one in London gave two shillings for what Arthur did, which was why Arthur liked London enough to sell books on architecture, design, and engineering at a bookshop called The Robie House, a name he'd chosen on a whim when he was signing the papers and regretted ever since.

Putting aside your truly appalling spelling, I do not think it very professional to name a dish… "taste’s realy goood." Do you, Mr. Eames?

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.

And he certainly couldn't get Cobb to help him out. Cobb was the master of purple prose. Everyone bowed down to him on his purple prose throne. The only pairing he wrote was him/Mal with the occasional him/Saito - but that was no surprise, since everyone shipped themselves with Saito.

Eames is a high-end thief. Arthur is a private investigator hired to catch him. Ridiculous events ensue; something like love happens somewhere along the way.

"Please tell me you're not going to keep him," says Ariadne.

"What do vampires eat?" asks Eames.

"You," says Ariadne. "And me. And pretty much everyone. You idiot."

Mal wakes up; Dom doesn't.