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Emergency Contact: A Secret Sex Club Story

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A/N: Guys, OMG you GUYS, Arthur and Eames are actually MARRIED!!!! It’s kind of horrible that their news ended up shared this way, and I’m sending healing thoughts towards Eames’ dad. But when I first heard that Arthur had called Eames his husband, my initial thought (before we saw the marriage certificate and everything) was, What if they had be secretly married the whole time they were on TV. Obviously we know that isn’t the case, but hopefully you enjoy my flight of fancy.

A/N the second: As always, this is RPF for HGTV’s Arthur and Eames, if you don’t want to read it, the back button is on your left. Eames or Arthur, if you happen to find this, please know that your fandom is thinking of you and your family and hopefully this will bring you a little joy? Standard disclaimer – I don’t know Arthur or Eames, this is a work of fiction and bears little-to-no resemblance to their actual real lives.

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“Uh, hey, Arthur, it’s Cobb. I’m not sure why, but you’re listed as Eames’ emergency contact apparently, so I’m calling to let you know that Eames fell off the roof and they’re taking him to the emergency room at St. Vincent’s. It’s not too serious, but you should probably call someone to come down.”

Arthur listened to Cobb's voicemail and rushed out of the house and down to the hospital, trying to get ahold of Cobb for more details, except he wasn’t answering his damn phone!

“Yes, hello, I’m here to see [first name redacted] Eames? He was brought in by ambulance,” Arthur said at the hospital front desk.

“It looks like he’s still in the ER. I just need your name and a photo ID to give you a visitor’s badge.”

Arthur passed over his ID and stuck the ER visitor’s sticker to his shirt (being glad for a moment he wasn’t in a suit) and followed the signs to the ER.

“Darling! They didn’t need to bother you, I’m fine!” Eames exclaimed upon seeing Arthur.

“Cobb said you fell off the roof,” Arthur said, trying not to let his concern show. He glared at Cobb, who was standing awkwardly near Eames’ bed. “He left me a voice mail saying you had fallen off the roof and were going to the emergency room and then didn’t answer any of my return phone calls.”

“Sorry, they want cells off in the ER,” Cobb responded, as he pulled out his phone, noticing all of his missed calls from Arthur.

Arthur took a deep breath to calm himself. He was somewhat heartened by the fact that Eames did not appear to be seriously injured.

“It’s more like I fell on the roof,” Eames clarified, without actually clearing up anything.

“What does that mean?” Arthur asked.

“Well I didn’t end up on the ground, I was still on the roof,” Eames insisted. It was clear that he had already been given pain medication.

“I’m not entirely sure I find that comforting given that they still rushed you to the emergency room,” Arthur said dryly. “Cobb, maybe you can tell me what happened.”

“He slipped on the roof and fell. Technically I guess he didn’t fall off the roof--” Cobb started.

“I was wearing my safety harness like you like me to!” Eames interjected proudly.

“Yeah, his safety harness kept him on the roof. He just wrenched his ankle and hit his head. But he’s probably fine, they said. I wouldn’t have called you, except you were the name listed on his emergency contact form,” Cobb said self-consciously.

“Yes, that’s why I’m his emergency contact. So that if there’s an emergency, I get contacted,” Arthur said. Just then, a doctor walked back over to them.

“Okay, it looks like your ankle is severely sprained, but not broken, Mr. Eames. We’re going to give you a boot to hold it steady, and then you’ll need to ice it and elevate it regularly. I’m most concerned about your head injury, however. We’re going to want to watch for signs of a concussion over the 48 hours. Do you have someone who can stay with you at home, Mr. Eames, or do we need to admit you?”

“My husband will be home with me,” Eames said.

“What?” Cobb asked.

“I’d much rather go home than stay here, you can do the watch thing, can’t you, Darling?” Eames asked, reaching out for Arthur’s hand.

“Of course,” Arthur said, taking Eames’ hand in his. “What do I need to look for,” he asked the doctor.

“It’s seems like it a minor head injury and he didn’t lose consciousness, so what you need to do is watch for headache, difficulty concentrating, slower reaction time, dizziness, nausea, irritability, and sensitivity to bright lights or sounds. If he experiences more than two episodes of vomiting or you start seeing patterns of bruising around his eyes or ears, or he loses consciousness bring him back to the ER immediately. Otherwise he should follow up with his PCP in a day or two. It’s important to let his brain rest, so no reading or watching TV.”

“Okay, I can do that.” Arthur said, still holding onto Eames’ hand.
“In that case I’ll get a nurse in here to fit you for a boot and process your exit paperwork and you’ll be free to go, Mr. Eames.”

The doctor shook Eames’ other hand, and Arthur’s and then walked out of the room briskly. Then it was Cobb’s turn to glare at Arthur.

“Why did he call you his husband?” Cobb demanded.

“Because I’m his husband,” Arthur said calmly.

“Since when?” Cobb exploded.

“Since May 10th, 2009, why?” Arthur asked.

“You’ve been married this whole time?”

“Cobb, it’s not like it was a secret,” Arthur responded.

“Why didn’t anyone know?”

“I wasn’t aware that you didn’t know. We both listed each other as our emergency contacts on our employment paperwork. Which you were apparently aware of, since you called me.”

“I know, but that didn’t make any sense to me!” Cobb exclaimed.

“What else did you want us to do? Start making out on set? Eames’ flirting is bad enough.”

“What flirting?” Cobb asked. “I thought you two just bickered all the time.”

“Well, it’s a rather specific definition of flirting, mostly seen among adolescents.” Arthur tried to hide his grin, but he knew his dimples were showing.

“I thought you liked my flirting,” Eames protested, lifting up his hand to press a finger into Arthur’s left dimple.

“I love your flirting,” Arthur reassured Eames, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “But even that seems to push the bounds of decency sometimes, I can’t imagine the network would approve of your more physical displays of affection.”

“This just doesn’t make any sense, why wouldn’t you tell anyone?” Cobb asked, baffled.

“It’s never really come up. And it’s not like we go around introducing each other on set or anything. I assumed everyone knew. Again, it’s not like we were hiding it. Our fandom calls us ‘househusbands’.”

“I like that one!” Eames exclaimed. “It’s much better than when they try to combine our names.”

“Agreed,” Arthur said, remembering the ‘Earthur or Armes’ portmanteau debate.

“Can we go home, Darling?” Eames asked, pulling Arthur closer to him.

“We have to wait for the nurse to bring us your boot,” Arthur said, letting himself be pulled down so he could snuggle gently against Eames.

“What about the show?” Cobb suddenly switched tracks.

“What about the show?” Arthur asked, his voice laced with steel.

“How are we supposed to finish this episode without Eames?”

“Well, either we can scrap the episode, or Paul and the rest of the crew can keep working. I’ve found several excellent houses for them to view. Maybe this week they’ll decide to list it.”

“That’s cheating, unfair advantage,” Eames protested.

“Well maybe next time you won’t fall off a roof if you don’t want to be out of commission for half the episode,” Arthur said with faux sternness. He could tease Eames about it because he knew Eames was going to be all right.

“On the roof. I fell on the roof, darling.” Eames corrected.

“Of course,” Arthur said, smiling fondly down at his husband. “You can go now, Cobb. I’ve got this under control. Call me when you decide what you’re doing about the episode.”

“I can’t believe you had a secret marriage!” Cobb muttered as he walked away.

“It wasn’t a secret,” Arthur called after him. “You’re just an idiot,” he finished under his breath so that only Eames could hear. Eames huffed a laugh at that.

“Do you really think no one knows we’re married?” Eames asked.

“I guess not? Although Cobb might just be exceptionally dense. Much like your head,” Arthur teased.

“Be nice to me, I fell off a roof,” Eames complained.

“I thought you fell on the roof.”