Eames starts out of a sound sleep, one arm dead under Arthur's weight against his side.
"'mes, make it stop," Arthur whines sleepily in his ear, tucking his face into Eames' neck, and only then does he hear the annoyingly cheery polyphonic ringtone blaring from the nightstand. He flails his free arm at the table, blindly knocking more than one item off the surface, and manages to curl his hand around the cell, eyes slipping closed again after he locates the button to answer.
"Hello, Simon, darling," is crooned into his ear and he bolts upright in the bed, staring wide-eyed into the darkness of the bedroom.
"Mum," he says stupidly. Behind him, Arthur grumbles from where he'd been dropped face-first onto the mattress by Eames' sudden movement and aims a retaliatory punch at his bedmate. "Ow, fuck!" Eames hisses, rubbing the bruise forming on his hip.
His mother's soft laughter curls through the phone, amused and very slightly patronizing, reminding him of his many failed attempts to sneak into the house after curfew as a teenager. "It sounds as though I've called at a bad time," she says, making him huff a laugh as he throws back the covers and leans over to turn on the lamp.
"Eames!" Arthur whines again, sharper this time, glaring at him before stuffing his head under a pillow. His mother laughs again and Eames can't help the grin that spreads across his face.
"Nah, 'sall right, Mum. Arthur'll get over it," he says, glancing fondly over his shoulder at the pillow covering Arthur's head. The punch that lands in the small of his back for this comment isn't affected at all by Arthur's being sightless. "Ow! Bloody hell, Arthur," he protests, wincing at the spasming muscles. Arthur flips him the bird and tucks himself back under the covers, apparently completely ignoring him.
"Oh, Simon," his mother laughs again and Eames can just picture her, hand over her eyes, shaking her head as she laughs at his antics. "Don't be too mean to poor Arthur, I know it's late where you are."
"Speaking of, anything wrong?" he asks, realizing that it's well after three - she tends to keep a closer eye on the time when calling, somehow always knowing where he is in the world and how to compensate for it.
A rumbling sound that could only be a man's voice carries vaguely over the line seconds before his mother speaks again and Eames feels his eyebrows draw down in a confused frown. "No, darling, nothing's wrong," she answers, her voice warm and sure. The man on the other end says something, clearer this time, and Eames can just barely make out an accent -- Russian, maybe -- before she amends her previous statement. "At least, nothing too terribly so, no."
"It's nothing, dear, honestly. I'll be right as rain in no time. I just wanted to tell you, you may see something in the papers in the next few days, and I wanted you to hear it from me first." There's another rumble of male speech and his mother snaps something, her voice sharp and exasperated, even with sounding like she'd placed her hand over the receiver.
"Mum, do you--"
"No, Simon, we're fine, I'm fine. I went to help Francis put down a conspiracy to kill the American Vice-President and things went a little, ah, pear-shaped."
"Is everyone okay?" Eames asks, hand tight enough on the cell phone that its casing creaks in protest. Frank, Joe, Marvin, and his mother are all more than capable of taking care of themselves in almost any situation they could happen on, but that doesn't stop him worrying.
"Marvin's the same as ever and Francis has found himself a sweetheart, but Joe--" Her voice breaks for a second, telling him everything he needs to know. He swallows and pinches the bridge of his nose, while she clears her throat and moves on. "Anyway, we're all okay, or mostly so. I just wanted to let you know, darling, that's all."
He nods to himself and smiles a little, grateful for her phone call, even if it came at arse-o'clock in the morning and earned him a disgruntled Arthur. The man on her end speaks again, close enough to her for Eames to finally peg the voice, and his smile grows as the last of his worry dissipates -- his mother couldn't be in better hands, regardless of whatever trouble she'd gotten herself in.
"All right, Mum," he says, shifting to tuck his feet back under the covers. He spares Arthur's form a glance, mildly curious as to whether the man is actually asleep, and reaches over to turn off the light. "Tell Dad I said 'hey', yeah?" he offers and hears both parents laugh, the bass rumble of Ivan's voice marrying as pleasantly as ever with hers.
"Of course, Simon," she replies. "Give Arthur my love and don't let me catch any of your names on Interpol any time soon, darling."
"Love you, too, Mum," he says as he slides back down in the bed and thumbs off the phone, tossing it back on the nightstand before curling around Arthur.