Right as the fresshe, rede rose newe, Ayen the somer-sonne coloured is - Inception - PG
Title: Right as the fresshe, rede rose newe, ayen the somer-sonne coloured is
Author: anamuan
Fandom, Pairing: Inception, Arthur/Eames
Word Count: 1,769 words.
Rating: PG
Summary: Arthur and Eames do not celebrate Valentine's Day.
Notes: Title taken from Chaucer's Parlement of Foules (lines 442 and 443), which is the first time the various saints Valentine were associated with romance. So really, Valentine's Day, Chaucer's fault. :D
Self-beta. Feel free to point out errors.
"Arthur," Eames says, leaning over from where he's perched on the edge of Arthur's desk. Arthur makes a mark on the print out he's looking at, and then flips to the next page. "Cobb is squinting at me. It's rather unnerving."
Arthur doesn't look up. He flips another page, then flips back to the first, and compares the information on them. "He's not squinting at you. That's just his face." Arthur marks two more things on the pages in front of him and marks the second with a little yellow post-it slip. He's got a system.
"You didn't even look. I know a normal Cobb-squint and a squinty Cobb-squint. This is definitely the latter."
"Eames," Arthur sighs, exasperated. He looks up to give Eames a pointed look. Arthur shifts the pointed look to Eames's ass, perched on his desk, and then back to his face. At no time does he so much as glance over to where Cobb is thinking squinty thoughts at them.
Eames puts both hands up in the air, palms forward, showing surrender. "Yes, yes, I know. Get you coffee or stop sitting on your desk."
Much later, Arthur steps up to the side of Eames's rolly office chair. He's holding a brown paper bag. It smells an awful lot like fresh croissant. "You were right," he says, proffering the bag. "Cobb is definitely squinting at you."
*
Even later yet, in bed, Eames asks, "Ok yes, but why is Cobb squinting at me?"
Arthur shrugs in the dark. Eames will be able to tell it’s a shrug by the way his shoulder moves where they're snuggled together. As for Cobb, the world may never know.
Eventually, Eames just gets used to the way Cobb's face scrunches up whenever he looks in Eames's direction.
*
"So," says Ariadne, twirling a pen thoughtfully near her mouth. With anyone else--Eames, for example--Arthur would suspect a ploy, some cunning way to draw attention to her mouth, but Ariadne, for all her brilliant ability to read other people, is remarkably unaware of herself. Arthur waits. Ariadne never makes you wait very long to hear what she wants to say.
"It's nearly February," she says at last. It's a very loaded sentence. Arthur can tell by her tone. He just has no idea what it's loaded with.
"Yes," he says, guardedly, because it's true. It is nearly February. The beginning of January hadn't caused as much comment, and Ariadne had been throwing a party.
"So, February 14th is coming up faster than you think. What are you and Eames doing for Valentine's Day?"
Oh. This again. "Nothing," Arthur says, hoping to keep the conversation short. He hates this conversation. He's been getting it since he turned eleven and realized that Valentine's Day was not primarily about giving all of your classmates little packets of candy hearts taped inside teenage mutant ninja turtle cards that said things like "I like you more than anchovies."
Ariadne's giving him a shocked look. This is not going to be a quick conversation.
"Valentine's Day is a stupid holiday."
"What, just manufactured by card companies to up sales?" Ariadne guesses.
"No, the saints Valentine were first associated with romance in the late Middle Ages, while the modern practice of note-giving developed in the 19th century. Chocolates and roses and things came in during the 20th century."
Trust Arthur to have researched the history of Valentine's Day. "Then what's the problem? You still wear three-piece suits. Surely a couple of centuries is enough time to justify holiday traditions."
"It's just a stupid holiday."
Ariadne doesn't look convinced.
*
"Now, Arthur, I didn't really think this was possible, but Cobb is squinting at me even more than he was before," Eames says. He drops the coffee on Arthur's desk. It's a large size, so that he gets perching rights longer. Eames is a planner, he is. "Actually, why is Cobb even here? He's not on this job. He's retired for fuck's sake."
"He gets lonely now that the kids are both in school," Arthur says.
"Oi, Eames," Yusuf says, wandering in to the office space they've got rented late. In actuality, he's early, but Cobb is apparently lurking around at all hours this time, and now that Eames comes in with Arthur in the mornings, there's not really anyone to beat there besides Ariadne. "Why's Cobb staring at you?"
Eames shrugs. "Hell if I know."
Yusuf turns his attention to Arthur. Arthur opens the next excel spreadsheet full of the mark's financial data and ignores them all. Yusuf shrugs and goes to finish his latest compound. Jobs with Arthur and Eames are good because they plan research funds into his budget. He's not getting involved in anything that might get his 'grant' cut off.
*
Eames breaks. "Ok, fine. I give. What is it?" Cobb has been squinting at him nearly nonstop for the past 2 hours, and it's hard to focus on a mark's probable psychological hang ups with Cobb staring at him like that. It had made lunch decidedly uncomfortable as well, and Eames is pretty sure he's got squint-related indigestion as a result.
"Do you really love Arthur?" Cobb's squint, if anything, actually becomes more intense.
Eames doesn't sputter because he's too smooth to be caught flat-footed. Or well, he's too smooth to admit to being caught flat-footed. "That is not an appropriate question for the office," he says.
"I don't think you love him enough. Arthur told me you weren't doing anything for Valentine's Day," Cobb says.
"Well, it's true that we're not. We're not really red roses and chocolates kind of people." Eames can handle questions like this. Eames is, in fact, very good at handling questions like this. For instance, Arthur hasn't had to meet his mum yet, even though she's been pestering him about it for the past seven months. Arthur is very grateful. Eames appreciates Arthur's gratitude.
"Do you know what it means to be a lover?" Cobb demands, squinting ferociously. "Do you?"
Eames suddenly feels uncomfortable. It feels like Cobb is having a different sort of conversation than the one Eames had thought they'd been having. "Um."
Something over in Yusuf's corner of the office explodes. There's suddenly smoke everywhere, and Eames can hear Ariadne coughing over Yusuf's muted cursing. Eames has to get up to open a couple windows to let some of the smoke out. Yusuf is not supposed to have anything on prem that explodes. Eames has never been so happy. He's always liked things that blow up.
*
February 14th is a Monday. International mind criminals don't really get to take weekends off, but a Monday still sucks like a Monday even if you worked through the weekend.
The flowers start arriving at 11. The first one is pretty simple, a glass vase with a dozen red roses and a healthy sprinkling of baby's breath throughout. It's the sort of thing you find in hospital gift shops. The next one is a little fancier--12 red roses, plus 10 red tulips and 10 pink tulips. The card attached says, "Eames, P.S., I love you. A." Two more bunches of roses come next, four dozen red and one dozen pink in total. All of them are addressed to Eames, and all of them are signed Arthur. Eames looks nonplussed, and Arthur disclaims all knowledge of them.
The bouquets start getting more complicated after lunch. Roses with oriental lilies. Roses with pink carnations. Roses with red carnations and dark pink hydrangea. Roses in red, and roses in hot pink, and roses in a kind of sweet pink-orange. Spray roses with mums and sweet william and matsumoto asters. One bouquet comes complete with pink gladioli, purple larkspur, more red roses, white hydrangea, more light pink tulips, purple hanging amaranthus, pink spray roses and lavender dendrobium orchids. Another vase with two dozen roses in a deep, deep red is trailing delicate vines of new ivy.
By the time 3 rolls around, the semi-regular flower delivery seems to be over. Eames has a total of 17 dozen roses, and a good five or six dozen various other flowers in combination. They've totally overflowed the kitchenette's tiny counter, and Eames's favourite rolly chair looks like it got lost in the world's largest rose bush.
"Trying to tell me something, Arthur?" Eames asks with one arch brow cocked at him.
"These are really not my fault," Arthur says. Ariadne looks studiously away from all of the flowers piled around Eames. Come to think of it, Ariadne has been suspiciously quiet all day. Arthur narrows his eyes at her. "Ariadne."
Her ears turn pink. Definitely guilty. "I didn't want Eames to feel unloved!"
"Ariadne," Arthur all but growls. She winces.
"So, um. I guess that means I should cancel that 'romantic room service for couples' I had scheduled for your hotel room tonight."
Arthur makes an executive decision. Ariadne is not allowed access to the petty cash fund any more.
*
"Found out what was wrong with Cobb," Eames tells Arthur later. Eames is still working, but he can multi-task. Arthur is, remarkably done for the day. He's flaunted it all afternoon by wandering at loose ends. Around 4 he even took an actual, honest to God unmedicated nap, on Eames's lawn chair. Eames was not particularly impressed, but he's found he can forgive Arthur of rather a lot.
"What was it then?" Arthur asks.
"He doesn't think we're passionate enough, or something."
"Are you planning on dreaming up psychotic projections of me if I die?" Arthur asks.
"Not particularly," Eames replies.
"Good. See that you don't. I'll do you the same favour."
"It's my subconscious," Cobb protests, but no one's listening to him. "I can't control it!"
"Thank you, I appreciate that. I don't want any pretty young architects getting their first taste of dreamsharing in a way that besmirches my good name," Eames says.
"You don't have a good name," Arthur points out helpfully.
"I might, if I'm dead," says Eames.
"Highly unlikely," says Arthur.
"You guys are so romantic," Ariadne says dryly. "I hope someday when I grow up I can have a sweet and loving relationship like yours."
"New compound's ready for testing," Yusuf announces, effectively ending the conversation. "Cobb, if you're just going to hang out around here, you might as well make yourself useful. Ariadne, I could use you too, to help calibrate for weight." Eames might have bribed Yusuf into doing that. They are going to have the worst trip Yusuf knows how to engineer.
Arthur decides Eames is officially the best boyfriend ever.
Author: anamuan
Fandom, Pairing: Inception, Arthur/Eames
Word Count: 1,769 words.
Rating: PG
Summary: Arthur and Eames do not celebrate Valentine's Day.
Notes: Title taken from Chaucer's Parlement of Foules (lines 442 and 443), which is the first time the various saints Valentine were associated with romance. So really, Valentine's Day, Chaucer's fault. :D
Self-beta. Feel free to point out errors.
"Arthur," Eames says, leaning over from where he's perched on the edge of Arthur's desk. Arthur makes a mark on the print out he's looking at, and then flips to the next page. "Cobb is squinting at me. It's rather unnerving."
Arthur doesn't look up. He flips another page, then flips back to the first, and compares the information on them. "He's not squinting at you. That's just his face." Arthur marks two more things on the pages in front of him and marks the second with a little yellow post-it slip. He's got a system.
"You didn't even look. I know a normal Cobb-squint and a squinty Cobb-squint. This is definitely the latter."
"Eames," Arthur sighs, exasperated. He looks up to give Eames a pointed look. Arthur shifts the pointed look to Eames's ass, perched on his desk, and then back to his face. At no time does he so much as glance over to where Cobb is thinking squinty thoughts at them.
Eames puts both hands up in the air, palms forward, showing surrender. "Yes, yes, I know. Get you coffee or stop sitting on your desk."
Much later, Arthur steps up to the side of Eames's rolly office chair. He's holding a brown paper bag. It smells an awful lot like fresh croissant. "You were right," he says, proffering the bag. "Cobb is definitely squinting at you."
*
Even later yet, in bed, Eames asks, "Ok yes, but why is Cobb squinting at me?"
Arthur shrugs in the dark. Eames will be able to tell it’s a shrug by the way his shoulder moves where they're snuggled together. As for Cobb, the world may never know.
Eventually, Eames just gets used to the way Cobb's face scrunches up whenever he looks in Eames's direction.
*
"So," says Ariadne, twirling a pen thoughtfully near her mouth. With anyone else--Eames, for example--Arthur would suspect a ploy, some cunning way to draw attention to her mouth, but Ariadne, for all her brilliant ability to read other people, is remarkably unaware of herself. Arthur waits. Ariadne never makes you wait very long to hear what she wants to say.
"It's nearly February," she says at last. It's a very loaded sentence. Arthur can tell by her tone. He just has no idea what it's loaded with.
"Yes," he says, guardedly, because it's true. It is nearly February. The beginning of January hadn't caused as much comment, and Ariadne had been throwing a party.
"So, February 14th is coming up faster than you think. What are you and Eames doing for Valentine's Day?"
Oh. This again. "Nothing," Arthur says, hoping to keep the conversation short. He hates this conversation. He's been getting it since he turned eleven and realized that Valentine's Day was not primarily about giving all of your classmates little packets of candy hearts taped inside teenage mutant ninja turtle cards that said things like "I like you more than anchovies."
Ariadne's giving him a shocked look. This is not going to be a quick conversation.
"Valentine's Day is a stupid holiday."
"What, just manufactured by card companies to up sales?" Ariadne guesses.
"No, the saints Valentine were first associated with romance in the late Middle Ages, while the modern practice of note-giving developed in the 19th century. Chocolates and roses and things came in during the 20th century."
Trust Arthur to have researched the history of Valentine's Day. "Then what's the problem? You still wear three-piece suits. Surely a couple of centuries is enough time to justify holiday traditions."
"It's just a stupid holiday."
Ariadne doesn't look convinced.
*
"Now, Arthur, I didn't really think this was possible, but Cobb is squinting at me even more than he was before," Eames says. He drops the coffee on Arthur's desk. It's a large size, so that he gets perching rights longer. Eames is a planner, he is. "Actually, why is Cobb even here? He's not on this job. He's retired for fuck's sake."
"He gets lonely now that the kids are both in school," Arthur says.
"Oi, Eames," Yusuf says, wandering in to the office space they've got rented late. In actuality, he's early, but Cobb is apparently lurking around at all hours this time, and now that Eames comes in with Arthur in the mornings, there's not really anyone to beat there besides Ariadne. "Why's Cobb staring at you?"
Eames shrugs. "Hell if I know."
Yusuf turns his attention to Arthur. Arthur opens the next excel spreadsheet full of the mark's financial data and ignores them all. Yusuf shrugs and goes to finish his latest compound. Jobs with Arthur and Eames are good because they plan research funds into his budget. He's not getting involved in anything that might get his 'grant' cut off.
*
Eames breaks. "Ok, fine. I give. What is it?" Cobb has been squinting at him nearly nonstop for the past 2 hours, and it's hard to focus on a mark's probable psychological hang ups with Cobb staring at him like that. It had made lunch decidedly uncomfortable as well, and Eames is pretty sure he's got squint-related indigestion as a result.
"Do you really love Arthur?" Cobb's squint, if anything, actually becomes more intense.
Eames doesn't sputter because he's too smooth to be caught flat-footed. Or well, he's too smooth to admit to being caught flat-footed. "That is not an appropriate question for the office," he says.
"I don't think you love him enough. Arthur told me you weren't doing anything for Valentine's Day," Cobb says.
"Well, it's true that we're not. We're not really red roses and chocolates kind of people." Eames can handle questions like this. Eames is, in fact, very good at handling questions like this. For instance, Arthur hasn't had to meet his mum yet, even though she's been pestering him about it for the past seven months. Arthur is very grateful. Eames appreciates Arthur's gratitude.
"Do you know what it means to be a lover?" Cobb demands, squinting ferociously. "Do you?"
Eames suddenly feels uncomfortable. It feels like Cobb is having a different sort of conversation than the one Eames had thought they'd been having. "Um."
Something over in Yusuf's corner of the office explodes. There's suddenly smoke everywhere, and Eames can hear Ariadne coughing over Yusuf's muted cursing. Eames has to get up to open a couple windows to let some of the smoke out. Yusuf is not supposed to have anything on prem that explodes. Eames has never been so happy. He's always liked things that blow up.
*
February 14th is a Monday. International mind criminals don't really get to take weekends off, but a Monday still sucks like a Monday even if you worked through the weekend.
The flowers start arriving at 11. The first one is pretty simple, a glass vase with a dozen red roses and a healthy sprinkling of baby's breath throughout. It's the sort of thing you find in hospital gift shops. The next one is a little fancier--12 red roses, plus 10 red tulips and 10 pink tulips. The card attached says, "Eames, P.S., I love you. A." Two more bunches of roses come next, four dozen red and one dozen pink in total. All of them are addressed to Eames, and all of them are signed Arthur. Eames looks nonplussed, and Arthur disclaims all knowledge of them.
The bouquets start getting more complicated after lunch. Roses with oriental lilies. Roses with pink carnations. Roses with red carnations and dark pink hydrangea. Roses in red, and roses in hot pink, and roses in a kind of sweet pink-orange. Spray roses with mums and sweet william and matsumoto asters. One bouquet comes complete with pink gladioli, purple larkspur, more red roses, white hydrangea, more light pink tulips, purple hanging amaranthus, pink spray roses and lavender dendrobium orchids. Another vase with two dozen roses in a deep, deep red is trailing delicate vines of new ivy.
By the time 3 rolls around, the semi-regular flower delivery seems to be over. Eames has a total of 17 dozen roses, and a good five or six dozen various other flowers in combination. They've totally overflowed the kitchenette's tiny counter, and Eames's favourite rolly chair looks like it got lost in the world's largest rose bush.
"Trying to tell me something, Arthur?" Eames asks with one arch brow cocked at him.
"These are really not my fault," Arthur says. Ariadne looks studiously away from all of the flowers piled around Eames. Come to think of it, Ariadne has been suspiciously quiet all day. Arthur narrows his eyes at her. "Ariadne."
Her ears turn pink. Definitely guilty. "I didn't want Eames to feel unloved!"
"Ariadne," Arthur all but growls. She winces.
"So, um. I guess that means I should cancel that 'romantic room service for couples' I had scheduled for your hotel room tonight."
Arthur makes an executive decision. Ariadne is not allowed access to the petty cash fund any more.
*
"Found out what was wrong with Cobb," Eames tells Arthur later. Eames is still working, but he can multi-task. Arthur is, remarkably done for the day. He's flaunted it all afternoon by wandering at loose ends. Around 4 he even took an actual, honest to God unmedicated nap, on Eames's lawn chair. Eames was not particularly impressed, but he's found he can forgive Arthur of rather a lot.
"What was it then?" Arthur asks.
"He doesn't think we're passionate enough, or something."
"Are you planning on dreaming up psychotic projections of me if I die?" Arthur asks.
"Not particularly," Eames replies.
"Good. See that you don't. I'll do you the same favour."
"It's my subconscious," Cobb protests, but no one's listening to him. "I can't control it!"
"Thank you, I appreciate that. I don't want any pretty young architects getting their first taste of dreamsharing in a way that besmirches my good name," Eames says.
"You don't have a good name," Arthur points out helpfully.
"I might, if I'm dead," says Eames.
"Highly unlikely," says Arthur.
"You guys are so romantic," Ariadne says dryly. "I hope someday when I grow up I can have a sweet and loving relationship like yours."
"New compound's ready for testing," Yusuf announces, effectively ending the conversation. "Cobb, if you're just going to hang out around here, you might as well make yourself useful. Ariadne, I could use you too, to help calibrate for weight." Eames might have bribed Yusuf into doing that. They are going to have the worst trip Yusuf knows how to engineer.
Arthur decides Eames is officially the best boyfriend ever.