Chapter Text
“Do you have showings today?” Eames asks the next day, sticking his head into Arthur’s office.
“No, today is a day that I line up showings for later in the week,” Arthur replies from his desk. You can tell it’s a serious workday because he’s using his desk for a change. “Why?”
“I’m very bored, I was going to tag along on your showings.”
Eames is actually lovely to bring on showings. All of Arthur’s clients fall desperately in love with him and then, by extension, with the houses Eames is in. Arthur considers him a secret weapon.
But Arthur says, “No such luck. Why are you bored? Don’t you have couch pornography to work on?”
“Are you referring to the fanfiction I’m working on: ‘Baby, I’ll Show You Where to Put That Ottoman’?”
“No, and how long did it take you to think up that title?”
“Most of the morning. Do you like it?”
“Brain power well spent,” Arthur says drily. “But by ‘couch pornography,’ I meant your job for which you get paid. You know, designing rooms for people.”
“I’m annoyed with all of them,” Eames sighs heavily. “I worked late last night mending entire psyches.”
“You should catch up on the Internet, then,” Arthur suggests. “And I don’t mean fanfiction. There’s this whole medieval tapestry meme going around that’s fantastic.”
“And here I thought you were going to suggest something serious like catching up on some design blogs,” remarks Eames.
“You could do that, too,” Arthur agrees.
Eames goes off and Arthur immerses himself in cross-referenced, color-coded spreadsheets and it’s really a very pleasant few hours because Arthur enjoys his job very much.
Eames knocks on the office door on his way in.
Arthur doesn’t even look up from his computer. “Done with the Internet already?”
“Darling, you have lost all track of time. It is long past lunchtime, so I have brought you sustenance so you don’t die of hunger.”
Arthur glances up at the plate of Oreos Eames is offering. “Healthy,” he remarks.
“It was this or carrot sticks,” says Eames.
“Yes. I bought those carrot sticks. To have with hummus. For a healthy lunch.”
“Darling, please have some Oreos, they’re fully baked and everything.” Eames gives him a puppy-dog look.
Arthur sighs and gives in to the Oreos. At least Eames has also brought milk.
“Do you think Alec’s shagging one of the contestants?” Eames asks, settling himself on Arthur’s couch.
“No.” Arthur dunks an Oreo in milk. “Do you?”
“No. But the Internet certainly does.”
“I think he’d be in a better fucking mood if he was getting any,” notes Arthur sourly.
“So does the Internet. I support the get-Alec-laid tag.”
Arthur gives him a look.
“Not enough to volunteer my services,” Eames assures him.
“Who do you think would be the most likely contestant to catch his eye?” asks Arthur, twisting the top off another Oreo.
Eames snorts. “Himself. He is his own most potent crush.”
Arthur laughs and shakes his head and says, “What are his fans like? Have you met them?”
“I think he is also most of his fans. I spied on a few of their Twitter profiles today and I’m sure they’re mostly just him in disguise.”
“He must have fans, though, Eames. He’s got a whole show. It must have viewers.”
“It’s a manipulative, exploitative show, and I think half of the viewers are hate-watching it and the other half take it far, far too seriously. So that means only fifty percent of the viewership, let’s say, could technically be called Alec’s fans. And of those, I think most of them are like Alec: willfully oblivious that anything other than earnestness exists in the world.”
“That’s all an act,” Arthur points out. “An extremely irritating but extremely effective act. ‘Oh, of course I seriously thought you run a sex club, because you told me that you did, and I must never be expected to comprehend sarcasm.’”
“Yeah,” agrees Eames. “Be that as it may, I think it’s not an act for a lot of his fans. I think a lot of the nuance of the drama going on between all of us is lost on them.”
“Does our drama have nuance?” deadpans Arthur. “Because I think our drama is pretty fucking in-your-face.”
“Our drama has nuance if you really are as oblivious as Alec pretends to be. I mean, how often does Alec bring up anything in a straightforward manner? Every little dig is roundabout and buried in a million layers of affected innocence so he can protest ignorance at our apparent overreactions. If that wasn’t an act—if it was genuine—then you might really have no idea how fucked up everything is.”
“I guess,” Arthur allows, and basically shoves a whole Oreo in his mouth without pretense because that seems like the sort of thing Alec Hart calls for.
“In happier Internet news,” says Eames, “I’m in love with that medieval tapestry meme. In fact, I am going to have a drawing of the you in that meme hung by our bed. I have seldom seen such an accurate depiction of your ‘why the fuck am I surrounded by idiots’ face. Not even on your own face.”
Arthur smiles and clicks a new tab open on his computer, and his plan is to figure out what Eames is talking about when it comes to the medieval tapestry meme, because Arthur hadn’t really paid attention to his own depiction. Except that there’s a Google alert on his name that gives him pause, and when he clicks over to Alec’s Twitter to confirm it, all thoughts of the medieval tapestry meme vanish from his head.
“Uh-oh,” Eames says. “What’s that look? You look like you need a grenade launcher in your hand or something.”
“Did you see this thing Alec tweeted?” Arthur demands.
“Evidently not,” says Eames slowly, rising from the couch, “or I would be sharing in your outrage.”
Eames leans over Arthur’s desk so he can see the computer screen.
Arthur and Eames raised a good point that all of us judges should get to know all of the contestants, not just the ones on our teams! #goteamalec
So they’ve graciously offered to host a viewing party for everyone on the show for the next episode. At their awesome house! I can’t wait to see it! Aren’t they just the best? #arthur4everything
No comment on whether or not the night ends in the sex club. ;-)
“A viewing party?” says Eames.
“Son of a bitch,” says Arthur, and grabs a handful of Oreos.