And anothing thing...
Title: 100 Things Eames Is No Longer Allowed To Do #29
Authors: unvarnishedtale & immoral_crow
Team: ♥ROMANCE ♥
Prompt: TOUCH & SILENT
Word count: 700
Rating: PG
Warnings: Utter nonsense, alas.
Author’s Note: What I should have mentioned earlier is that this is a small part of a plan for world domination series of drabbles and ficlets based on our very slightly cracky list of 100 Things Eames Is No Longer Allowed To do While Working For Cobb. There will be a sort-of-cohesive narrative hidden in the silliness ;)
“You can’t be serious.” Cobb leaned back in his chair and stared at the file Eames had just handed him.
“Never been more serious in my life, Cobb. It’s my job, this sort of thing, if you remember. The research is all there, and there’s no doubt about it.”
Cobb took a drag on his cigarette. “I don’t suppose there’s much point asking you why you’ve run such a comprehensive background check on a member of your own team? Unless you’re planning on forging Arthur’s identity in a dreamscape to fulfil one of your disturbed sexual fantasies?”
“I don’t know what you mean, I’m sure,” Eames replied, looking shifty.
“Oh, please. That…Carebear…incident will haunt me to the end of my days. Anyway, if you’re not planning on dressing up as him, why have you gone to all this trouble?” Cobb tapped the file for emphasis. It was a very thick file.
“I had a hunch, all right? Arthur’s, well, he’s not normal, is he? And look-“ Eames flipped the file open, “there’s nothing, not a single thing, on ‘Arthur’ that predates nineteen ninety nine.”
“So he changed his name. So what? You going to tell me that Eames is your real name?”
“What do you mean, ‘so what?’? Your point man appears to have sprung, fully formed, from the earth like something out of Greek mythology and you’re not the least bit curious?”
“I assume he has his reasons, and I respect his privacy,”’ Cobb said pointedly.
“Well, forgive me, Cobb, but I like to know who I’m working with,” Eames said.
“Uh huh. So you’ve run a check like this on me, I take it.”
Eames hesitated briefly before replying, “…Not as such, no.”
“Have you done one on Yusuf?”
Eames was silent.
“What about Ariadne?”
“No. Look, that’s not the point-”
“Oh, come on, a beautiful girl like that working with us and you haven’t checked up on her, but you’ve researched what brand of socks Arthur buys and hacked his iTunes account to keep track of his music preferences?” Cobb stared at Eames through the disintegrating ribbons of cigarette smoke.
“I didn’t know you felt like that about our feisty little architect, although I suppose she is your type, hmm?”
“Shut up, and don’t change the subject.” Cobb closed the file. “Arthur is not an alien-”
“Would you at least read the file? I have evidence, actual evidence!”
“I don’t care what sort of proof you think you have!”
“Cobb, listen-“
“Are you nuts? I ask because normally, when a person likes a person, they just ask them out for coffee or something, they don’t spend weeks-“
“Months,” Eames says sheepishly.
“-months, sorry, researching every minute aspect of their lives and concocting alien conspiracy theories.”
“I didn’t concoct-“
Eames’s defence was interrupted by the appearance of a harassed-looking Arthur with a cardboard tray of takeaway coffees in one hand and his gun in the other. It was grim testament to the dangers of this particular job that no-one batted an eye. Cobb gave Eames a Meaningful Squint and pushed the file towards him across the desk.
“Eames,” he said, keeping his voice low and casual as Arthur approached. “I’m telling you this as your friend. Just ask him out. And as your employer, I’m telling you that if it all goes horribly wrong neither of you is allowed to shoot the other one until after the job’s finished. Have I made myself clear?”
“Perfectly,” Eames said, standing up. He held the file close to his chest.
“Cobb, you’re a skinny cappuccino with two sugars and extra chocolate sprinkles, right?” Arthur asked, holstering his gun and absently handing Cobb one of the cups.
“I asked for a macchiato, but sure,” Cobb said. If Arthur heard, he gave no indication; he merely wiped a smear of blood from his cheek and offered Eames one of the other cups.
“Flat white, one sugar?” he asked.
“Perfect, darling. I’m truly touched.”
Arthur actually blushed, and tried to compensate by scowling. “Touched in the head, perhaps,” he muttered, stalking away to deliver Ariadne’s drink. Eames sipped his coffee, and wondered where one would take a slightly unhinged, gun-wielding, charmingly uptight and probably extra-terrestrial point man, supposing one could persuade such a person to go on a date.
Authors: unvarnishedtale & immoral_crow
Team: ♥ROMANCE ♥
Prompt: TOUCH & SILENT
Word count: 700
Rating: PG
Warnings: Utter nonsense, alas.
Author’s Note: What I should have mentioned earlier is that this is a small part of a plan for world domination series of drabbles and ficlets based on our very slightly cracky list of 100 Things Eames Is No Longer Allowed To do While Working For Cobb. There will be a sort-of-cohesive narrative hidden in the silliness ;)
“You can’t be serious.” Cobb leaned back in his chair and stared at the file Eames had just handed him.
“Never been more serious in my life, Cobb. It’s my job, this sort of thing, if you remember. The research is all there, and there’s no doubt about it.”
Cobb took a drag on his cigarette. “I don’t suppose there’s much point asking you why you’ve run such a comprehensive background check on a member of your own team? Unless you’re planning on forging Arthur’s identity in a dreamscape to fulfil one of your disturbed sexual fantasies?”
“I don’t know what you mean, I’m sure,” Eames replied, looking shifty.
“Oh, please. That…Carebear…incident will haunt me to the end of my days. Anyway, if you’re not planning on dressing up as him, why have you gone to all this trouble?” Cobb tapped the file for emphasis. It was a very thick file.
“I had a hunch, all right? Arthur’s, well, he’s not normal, is he? And look-“ Eames flipped the file open, “there’s nothing, not a single thing, on ‘Arthur’ that predates nineteen ninety nine.”
“So he changed his name. So what? You going to tell me that Eames is your real name?”
“What do you mean, ‘so what?’? Your point man appears to have sprung, fully formed, from the earth like something out of Greek mythology and you’re not the least bit curious?”
“I assume he has his reasons, and I respect his privacy,”’ Cobb said pointedly.
“Well, forgive me, Cobb, but I like to know who I’m working with,” Eames said.
“Uh huh. So you’ve run a check like this on me, I take it.”
Eames hesitated briefly before replying, “…Not as such, no.”
“Have you done one on Yusuf?”
Eames was silent.
“What about Ariadne?”
“No. Look, that’s not the point-”
“Oh, come on, a beautiful girl like that working with us and you haven’t checked up on her, but you’ve researched what brand of socks Arthur buys and hacked his iTunes account to keep track of his music preferences?” Cobb stared at Eames through the disintegrating ribbons of cigarette smoke.
“I didn’t know you felt like that about our feisty little architect, although I suppose she is your type, hmm?”
“Shut up, and don’t change the subject.” Cobb closed the file. “Arthur is not an alien-”
“Would you at least read the file? I have evidence, actual evidence!”
“I don’t care what sort of proof you think you have!”
“Cobb, listen-“
“Are you nuts? I ask because normally, when a person likes a person, they just ask them out for coffee or something, they don’t spend weeks-“
“Months,” Eames says sheepishly.
“-months, sorry, researching every minute aspect of their lives and concocting alien conspiracy theories.”
“I didn’t concoct-“
Eames’s defence was interrupted by the appearance of a harassed-looking Arthur with a cardboard tray of takeaway coffees in one hand and his gun in the other. It was grim testament to the dangers of this particular job that no-one batted an eye. Cobb gave Eames a Meaningful Squint and pushed the file towards him across the desk.
“Eames,” he said, keeping his voice low and casual as Arthur approached. “I’m telling you this as your friend. Just ask him out. And as your employer, I’m telling you that if it all goes horribly wrong neither of you is allowed to shoot the other one until after the job’s finished. Have I made myself clear?”
“Perfectly,” Eames said, standing up. He held the file close to his chest.
“Cobb, you’re a skinny cappuccino with two sugars and extra chocolate sprinkles, right?” Arthur asked, holstering his gun and absently handing Cobb one of the cups.
“I asked for a macchiato, but sure,” Cobb said. If Arthur heard, he gave no indication; he merely wiped a smear of blood from his cheek and offered Eames one of the other cups.
“Flat white, one sugar?” he asked.
“Perfect, darling. I’m truly touched.”
Arthur actually blushed, and tried to compensate by scowling. “Touched in the head, perhaps,” he muttered, stalking away to deliver Ariadne’s drink. Eames sipped his coffee, and wondered where one would take a slightly unhinged, gun-wielding, charmingly uptight and probably extra-terrestrial point man, supposing one could persuade such a person to go on a date.