FIC: Dynamics of Circular Motion || Arthur/Eames || PG
Title: Dynamics of Circular Motion
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Word Count: 1,150
Warnings: pre-slash
Summary: Eames wasn't worried; he was charming. Everyone said so.
A/N: I haven't been making much progress on my WIPs lately, so instead of anything half-way substantial, here, have an aimless little fic about Eames' first meeting with Arthur.
*
"You can't be serious," Eames said, reclining in his chair.
He didn't know Cobb all that well yet, but they had good rapport and had respect for each other, something of a rarity for Eames. He got along with people well, made acquaintances easily -- a necessity in his line of work -- but the number of the people he actually liked was small, and the number of those he respected even smaller.
There was something about Cobb, though, Dom and Mal both. They were dedicated and fun, fearless and inquisitive. They were visionaries; given half-a-chance, Eames was sure they would take the dream business by a storm, coming up with techniques no one had ever thought of before them. And they had morals -- a strange thing for a man who had precious few himself to appreciate, but Eames did.
The Cobbs were decent people. In his line of work, Eames met not a lot of those. He supposed that explained the latest insanity.
"C'mon, the kid is how old? Fourteen?" He laced his fingers behind his head, fixing Cobb with a look he hoped conveyed his blatant disbelieve at Cobb's judgement.
Cobb looked over where Mrs. Cobb -- Mal; she always told him to call her Mal -- was standing with the kid, pointing out something about the presentation of a maze they were working on. The kid was skinny and serious. Trying too hard, Eames thought, eying the preppy clothes and perfectly combed hair.
"He's sixteen," Cobb said, looking reluctantly back to Eames, away from the pair at the work table. Eames found himself both mildly amused and strangely charmed by Cobb's little tells. He'd never been in love the way Cobb was clearly in love with Mal, and didn't particularly want to be, either. Besides that, the skinny kid whom they'd apparently picked up like a stray a year or so ago and were now intent on bringing to work with them seemed to have slipped right through Cobb's defences. Bugger if Eames understood how; Cobb was friendly enough, but private, didn't open his heart easily.
"Oh, he's sixteen, in that case," Eames, all of twenty-one himself, said with great understanding. He smirked and, if possible, settled deeper into his chair, a picture of insolence. "Mid-twenties is too young to be playing daddy for some teenage brat if you ask me, but hey, whatever rocks your boat, mate."
Cobb regarded him with a raised eyebrow. His expression was more amused than annoyed and his body language was relaxed, but Eames knew how quickly that could change, could read the warning in Cobb's eyes all too clearly. Even so, he barely managed to stop himself before drawing Mal into it. He knew where the lines were drawn, even if he was exceptionally bad at keeping clear of them, most times.
"You're an obnoxious little shit," Cobb said, his voice mild. He glanced back to his wife and the kid, still absorbed in whatever they were doing with the maze model, before leaning in closer. "I'm not asking you to set up a day care for him, Eames, and he's not coming with us on the job. I know all too well how fucking young he is, okay? But he's good. He's really good. He's methodical and careful, brilliant with numbers. He doesn't have the sort of natural talent with mazes an architect would, but he's a quick study and can get very inventive under pressure. Show him what you do, teach him if you can. He might not take to it, but I want him to have options. I want him to learn all that he can."
"So he's a little stick-in-the-mud genius and you're totally taken with him, gotcha." Eames leaned forward, suddenly uncomfortable. "Look, if I do this, I want to know. I mean, you know I'm not one to rain on my own parade, don't get me wrong. But you must know there are other forgers with more experience under their belts. Why would you pick me?"
Cobb leaned his elbows on his thighs and crossed his hands where they dangled between his knees, looking at the floor with a thoughtful expression. "There are more experienced forgers, you're right. Some of them I've personally worked with, and I'm sure Miles -- Mal's father -- could recommend others." Cobb looked up with a faint smile. "Sufficient to say I find your brand of imagination to be exceptionally well suited for a forger, and I want Arthur to see the real deal. I might elaborate further, but I'm afraid I've already said too much." He quirked an eyebrow. "Your head might explode if it gets any bigger -- we worry, you know, me and Mal."
What Cobb was saying was, I'm sure you'll be the best of them all, one day. Eames knew he was sporting a shit-eating grin, but he quite honestly couldn't help himself, insufferably smug as he was feeling. Judging by his rueful expression, Cobb knew as much.
"Yeah, alright," Eames finally said. "I'll show him the ropes."
"That's all I'm asking," Cobb said, bracing his hands on his thighs and standing up. "Come on, I'll introduce you. Fair warning, though. He doesn't take to most people."
"Aww, have a little faith, Cobb. I'm charming. Getting one preppy little rug rat to eat from my hand will be a breeze."
"You might not want to let him hear you call him that," Cobb said. The look he threw at Eames was a bit too amused and knowing for Eames' liking. He shrugged it off; what did Cobb know, anyway. Eames was charming. Utterly charming. Everyone said so.
"I'm sure the projections in your head are very vocal and reassuring about it," the kid -- Arthur -- deadpanned five hours later when Eames was reduced to sharing with him this widely known fact in an effort to make him see how very unbecoming his resistance to Eames' charming ways really was. The kid -- Arthur -- was completely unimpressed.
Right, that was it. As far as Eames was concerned, their little study hour was over.
"You're giving up, then?" The kid -- Arthur -- said, sounding bored.
"Not on your life, darling," Eames snapped before thinking. There was a sudden flash of irritation and uncertainty on Arthur's face; Eames felt his spirits rising.
"Let's try this again, shall we? Do try to remember that the purpose here is to look like someone else, would you, Arthur, dearest." His voice was gratingly, painstakingly pleasant. He could tell from Arthur's stormy expression that the effort was not appreciated. Eames looked at him, oozing with fake concern. "I know five syllable words can be difficult to grasp -- do you need me to explain how 'imagination' works, again?"
The scowl on Arthur's stuck up little face was delicious. Eames grinned widely, showing teeth. His day was looking up.
Bonus points to anyone who caught the very random and accidental reference to a quote from George Carlin. Sorry, Dom and Mal, I didn't mean to compare you to chickens -- but it's a compliment, I swear!
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Word Count: 1,150
Warnings: pre-slash
Summary: Eames wasn't worried; he was charming. Everyone said so.
A/N: I haven't been making much progress on my WIPs lately, so instead of anything half-way substantial, here, have an aimless little fic about Eames' first meeting with Arthur.
*
"You can't be serious," Eames said, reclining in his chair.
He didn't know Cobb all that well yet, but they had good rapport and had respect for each other, something of a rarity for Eames. He got along with people well, made acquaintances easily -- a necessity in his line of work -- but the number of the people he actually liked was small, and the number of those he respected even smaller.
There was something about Cobb, though, Dom and Mal both. They were dedicated and fun, fearless and inquisitive. They were visionaries; given half-a-chance, Eames was sure they would take the dream business by a storm, coming up with techniques no one had ever thought of before them. And they had morals -- a strange thing for a man who had precious few himself to appreciate, but Eames did.
The Cobbs were decent people. In his line of work, Eames met not a lot of those. He supposed that explained the latest insanity.
"C'mon, the kid is how old? Fourteen?" He laced his fingers behind his head, fixing Cobb with a look he hoped conveyed his blatant disbelieve at Cobb's judgement.
Cobb looked over where Mrs. Cobb -- Mal; she always told him to call her Mal -- was standing with the kid, pointing out something about the presentation of a maze they were working on. The kid was skinny and serious. Trying too hard, Eames thought, eying the preppy clothes and perfectly combed hair.
"He's sixteen," Cobb said, looking reluctantly back to Eames, away from the pair at the work table. Eames found himself both mildly amused and strangely charmed by Cobb's little tells. He'd never been in love the way Cobb was clearly in love with Mal, and didn't particularly want to be, either. Besides that, the skinny kid whom they'd apparently picked up like a stray a year or so ago and were now intent on bringing to work with them seemed to have slipped right through Cobb's defences. Bugger if Eames understood how; Cobb was friendly enough, but private, didn't open his heart easily.
"Oh, he's sixteen, in that case," Eames, all of twenty-one himself, said with great understanding. He smirked and, if possible, settled deeper into his chair, a picture of insolence. "Mid-twenties is too young to be playing daddy for some teenage brat if you ask me, but hey, whatever rocks your boat, mate."
Cobb regarded him with a raised eyebrow. His expression was more amused than annoyed and his body language was relaxed, but Eames knew how quickly that could change, could read the warning in Cobb's eyes all too clearly. Even so, he barely managed to stop himself before drawing Mal into it. He knew where the lines were drawn, even if he was exceptionally bad at keeping clear of them, most times.
"You're an obnoxious little shit," Cobb said, his voice mild. He glanced back to his wife and the kid, still absorbed in whatever they were doing with the maze model, before leaning in closer. "I'm not asking you to set up a day care for him, Eames, and he's not coming with us on the job. I know all too well how fucking young he is, okay? But he's good. He's really good. He's methodical and careful, brilliant with numbers. He doesn't have the sort of natural talent with mazes an architect would, but he's a quick study and can get very inventive under pressure. Show him what you do, teach him if you can. He might not take to it, but I want him to have options. I want him to learn all that he can."
"So he's a little stick-in-the-mud genius and you're totally taken with him, gotcha." Eames leaned forward, suddenly uncomfortable. "Look, if I do this, I want to know. I mean, you know I'm not one to rain on my own parade, don't get me wrong. But you must know there are other forgers with more experience under their belts. Why would you pick me?"
Cobb leaned his elbows on his thighs and crossed his hands where they dangled between his knees, looking at the floor with a thoughtful expression. "There are more experienced forgers, you're right. Some of them I've personally worked with, and I'm sure Miles -- Mal's father -- could recommend others." Cobb looked up with a faint smile. "Sufficient to say I find your brand of imagination to be exceptionally well suited for a forger, and I want Arthur to see the real deal. I might elaborate further, but I'm afraid I've already said too much." He quirked an eyebrow. "Your head might explode if it gets any bigger -- we worry, you know, me and Mal."
What Cobb was saying was, I'm sure you'll be the best of them all, one day. Eames knew he was sporting a shit-eating grin, but he quite honestly couldn't help himself, insufferably smug as he was feeling. Judging by his rueful expression, Cobb knew as much.
"Yeah, alright," Eames finally said. "I'll show him the ropes."
"That's all I'm asking," Cobb said, bracing his hands on his thighs and standing up. "Come on, I'll introduce you. Fair warning, though. He doesn't take to most people."
"Aww, have a little faith, Cobb. I'm charming. Getting one preppy little rug rat to eat from my hand will be a breeze."
"You might not want to let him hear you call him that," Cobb said. The look he threw at Eames was a bit too amused and knowing for Eames' liking. He shrugged it off; what did Cobb know, anyway. Eames was charming. Utterly charming. Everyone said so.
"I'm sure the projections in your head are very vocal and reassuring about it," the kid -- Arthur -- deadpanned five hours later when Eames was reduced to sharing with him this widely known fact in an effort to make him see how very unbecoming his resistance to Eames' charming ways really was. The kid -- Arthur -- was completely unimpressed.
Right, that was it. As far as Eames was concerned, their little study hour was over.
"You're giving up, then?" The kid -- Arthur -- said, sounding bored.
"Not on your life, darling," Eames snapped before thinking. There was a sudden flash of irritation and uncertainty on Arthur's face; Eames felt his spirits rising.
"Let's try this again, shall we? Do try to remember that the purpose here is to look like someone else, would you, Arthur, dearest." His voice was gratingly, painstakingly pleasant. He could tell from Arthur's stormy expression that the effort was not appreciated. Eames looked at him, oozing with fake concern. "I know five syllable words can be difficult to grasp -- do you need me to explain how 'imagination' works, again?"
The scowl on Arthur's stuck up little face was delicious. Eames grinned widely, showing teeth. His day was looking up.
Bonus points to anyone who caught the very random and accidental reference to a quote from George Carlin. Sorry, Dom and Mal, I didn't mean to compare you to chickens -- but it's a compliment, I swear!