My Dear Mrs. Dixon - 6/? (Inception)
Title: My Dear Mrs. Dixon
Rating: PG for now, rating will go up
Part: 6 of ?
Pairing: Eames/Ariadne
Disclaimer: I am just playing with Nolan's toys
Summary: The only sensible solution to their current problem is to get 'married' of course!
Author's Note: Written in response to a prompt at inception_kink that called for Ariadne and Eames to go undercover as a couple for a job. Eames is back and in his usual form! Hope you all enjoy!
Ariadne certainly does not primp for her dinner with Eames. She tells herself the reason she has tried on nearly ever article of clothing she owns before deciding on a cream colored skirt (probably the only one she has) and a beaded turquoise tank top (a gift from a well meaning friend) is because her wardrobe is lacking in clothing that fits Eames’ description. And the only reason she has played with her hair is because it is new (well, newish) and she likes how it curls around her face. And she only puts earrings on because they match the top and this may be the only time she wears them. She, however, has no excuse for the makeup. It’s light…but noticeable.
She is slipping on a pair of flats when Eames knocks on the door. She takes a deep breath and promises herself that she will not allow him to get under her skin, at least not to the extent that he had managed the day before. When she opens the door, she has a smile on her face. “Good evening.”
“Is that what you are wearing?” Eames asks immediately. He is dressed in a suit - no loud ties or silk shirts. Black pants, white shirt, black jacket. He looks almost…Arthurish.
Her smile falls. “It’s the nicest thing I own, Eames. Well, correction. The nicest thing I own is a black dress nestled safely in a garment bag. I can’t very well wear that now can I?”
“You’re a touchy one, love. Always on the defense,” Eames points out. “You didn’t even given me a chance to finish. I was going to tell you that you looked…different.” She stifles and he laughs. “Different…lovely.”
Whatever insult she was going to fling at him dies on her lips and she isn’t quite sure what to say. So instead she grabs a cardigan from its resting place across the back of her chair and looks expectantly at him. “Shall we go?”
“Is that all I have to do to tame the beast? Compliment you?” Eames asks. He smiles slowly and then leans forward. “Ariadne, your eyes are the most expressive I have ever seen. You have the cutest little nose. Your mouth is like a delicate flower…”
“Shove it, Eames,” Ariadne says, her face a flame.
“Too much?” He asks, as he watches her step into the hallway. He follows, shutting the door. She is still a lovely shade of red as they descend in the elevator and into the waiting car. He tells the driver the address, an upscale café near the water, and she raises her eyebrow. “I didn’t tell you to dress up for nothing, darling. I figured we better get accustomed to dining with our new peers.”
Once there, and seated on the terrace over looking the water, Ariadne takes a moment to reflect that she is indeed the most underdressed and they do in fact look like the most mismatched couple there…well, if she does not count the old man and the probably high paid escort. Eames is ordering what he claims is a lovely bottle of red wine and prattling on about food suggestions and then notes that she isn’t paying attention. “Ariadne?”
“Huh?” It immediately falls from her lips as she turns her head to look at him.
“Am I boring you, love?”
Ariadne knows that she better answer this carefully. An admission of yes would only serve as challenge for Eames to do what he could to make himself anything but boring. “Sorry, I was just…” She looks around the room again and then leans in to whisper. “If I feel as out of place as I do here at the Collins party what the hell am I going to do?”
Eames leans in as well and his voice level matches her. “How is it that someone so confident in a dream can look like a lost child in a place like this?”
Ariadne furrows her eyebrows together at his choice of words. “Eames, look at these people. There is elegance in this room that I can never hope to copy.” At least now she can stay on her own two feet in heels, after a good hour of practice, but she will never come close to the people in this room.
“Most of the people in this room are fake. Fake tits, fake personalities and everything in between,” Eames tells her. He reaches out and covers her hand with his. She is staring at it when he speaks again. “Everything about you is real. That is a rarity in today’s age. Don’t you forget that…”
Ariadne isn’t sure what to say. It’s quite possibly one of the nicest things he (or perhaps anyone) has ever said to her. She meets his eyes and his is smiling. “This compliment thing really does work with you,” he observes and laughter flashes in his eyes as she pulls her hand away in anger. “Darling, I meant it.” He doesn’t let her thoughts linger any longer and instead motions for the waiter.
“I haven’t even had a chance to look at the menu,” Ariadne protests.
“Trust me,” Eames tells her and the effortlessly orders in French. She tries to fume but she realizes that she what she has been doing all along - she trusted him enough to agree to the ruse, she trusted him in the stores yesterday…she has probably trusted him since the moment she, he and Arthur had agreed to keep working together.
Okay, she concedes…but only to herself. I trust him even though I know before the night is over I will want to stuff a dinner roll in his mouth.
“I didn’t know you spoke French,” Ariadne says so she’s not sitting there over thinking everything.
“There are a lot of things I suspect that you do not know about me,” Eames tells her nonchalantly as the bottle of wine is brought. He pours them each a glass and immediately takes a sip of his, savoring it.
She sets hers in front of her, mentally cursing her brain. Her overactive brain which is managing to turn his offhand comment into many many things. He’s no doubt right. She knows Eames - the here and now Eames - but there are so many things about who he used to be, who he is when no one is around that she does not know. Curiosity has always been her weakness. Suddenly, she is reaching for her wine glass to stop the multitude of questions that has popped into her head. She has never been much of a wine drinker so the taste is surprising to her, pleasant. And effective as the questions die on her tongue. “I take it you invited me here to discuss the details of Mr. and Mrs. Dixon’s marriage?”
“It’s time we were on a first name basis. Don’t you agree, Elizabeth?” Eames asks.
Ariadne ponders the name, trying it on, letting it fall from her tongue. “I do…?”
“Ambrose.”
Ariadne’s reaction is immediate. “Seriously? Ambrose?” She dissolves into a fit of giggles that draws the attention of those at nearby tables. For his part, Eames is patient and lets her have her moment. She draws in a breath and meets his eyes. “Sorry.”
“Quite alright. Better that you get it out of your system now instead of in front of our gracious hosts,” Eames points out. He leans forward and launches into a story. “Ambrose…” A slight giggle which he pointedly ignores. “…and Elizabeth have been married just shy of seven months. From what our dear point man has found they met two years ago while he was on business in Greece. She is originally American, lucky us, and was there on vacation. Both come from money, she more so than him. All accounts have them living a very secluded life in the south of France. She has no job to speak of…”
“Of course not,” Ariadne isn’t sure she likes her alter ego. She wonders if Elizabeth Dixon has ever known what it is like to want for something, to work hard for it. Her mind conjures up some tall stunning creature lying by the side of a pool while servants scurry to do her bidding.
Another comment ignored for the sake of getting the business out of the way. “He invests his hard earned inheritance in companies around the world. Martin Collin’s included. Through his lawyer, Ambrose…” No giggle this time, merely an amused smile. Progress. “…invested a sizable figure in one of Collin’s technological firms. And when I mean sizable I mean enough for Collin’s to feel indebted to Mr. Dixon. Therefore, invitations are issued for every social affair in hopes of meeting his gracious benefactor.”
“Great, so he’ll want to kiss your shoes,” Ariadne observes. She takes another sip of her wine and shakes her head at the mental image.
Eames can’t help but beam. “No doubt. Which means we will be able to get up close and personal with Mrs. Collins,” he leans back in his chair. “I do believe this is an even better plan than I had first anticipated.”
“Don’t get too cocky,” Ariadne warns him. “Is there anything else I should know about Elizabeth Dixon?”
“It’s all in Arthur’s folder. I know I normally pick on the poor fellow but he’s efficient and detailed when you need him to be. Be sure you read it closely before the party,” Eames tells her.
“I thought you called me here to go over the details,” Ariadne has a bad feeling. She should just bolt - her instincts have always served her well.
“No, I called you here because, dear wife, we have intimacy issues that need solving,” Eames’ hand is covering her again and there is little doubt what he is referring to.
Ariadne is reaching for her wine again.
Rating: PG for now, rating will go up
Part: 6 of ?
Pairing: Eames/Ariadne
Disclaimer: I am just playing with Nolan's toys
Summary: The only sensible solution to their current problem is to get 'married' of course!
Author's Note: Written in response to a prompt at inception_kink that called for Ariadne and Eames to go undercover as a couple for a job. Eames is back and in his usual form! Hope you all enjoy!
Ariadne certainly does not primp for her dinner with Eames. She tells herself the reason she has tried on nearly ever article of clothing she owns before deciding on a cream colored skirt (probably the only one she has) and a beaded turquoise tank top (a gift from a well meaning friend) is because her wardrobe is lacking in clothing that fits Eames’ description. And the only reason she has played with her hair is because it is new (well, newish) and she likes how it curls around her face. And she only puts earrings on because they match the top and this may be the only time she wears them. She, however, has no excuse for the makeup. It’s light…but noticeable.
She is slipping on a pair of flats when Eames knocks on the door. She takes a deep breath and promises herself that she will not allow him to get under her skin, at least not to the extent that he had managed the day before. When she opens the door, she has a smile on her face. “Good evening.”
“Is that what you are wearing?” Eames asks immediately. He is dressed in a suit - no loud ties or silk shirts. Black pants, white shirt, black jacket. He looks almost…Arthurish.
Her smile falls. “It’s the nicest thing I own, Eames. Well, correction. The nicest thing I own is a black dress nestled safely in a garment bag. I can’t very well wear that now can I?”
“You’re a touchy one, love. Always on the defense,” Eames points out. “You didn’t even given me a chance to finish. I was going to tell you that you looked…different.” She stifles and he laughs. “Different…lovely.”
Whatever insult she was going to fling at him dies on her lips and she isn’t quite sure what to say. So instead she grabs a cardigan from its resting place across the back of her chair and looks expectantly at him. “Shall we go?”
“Is that all I have to do to tame the beast? Compliment you?” Eames asks. He smiles slowly and then leans forward. “Ariadne, your eyes are the most expressive I have ever seen. You have the cutest little nose. Your mouth is like a delicate flower…”
“Shove it, Eames,” Ariadne says, her face a flame.
“Too much?” He asks, as he watches her step into the hallway. He follows, shutting the door. She is still a lovely shade of red as they descend in the elevator and into the waiting car. He tells the driver the address, an upscale café near the water, and she raises her eyebrow. “I didn’t tell you to dress up for nothing, darling. I figured we better get accustomed to dining with our new peers.”
Once there, and seated on the terrace over looking the water, Ariadne takes a moment to reflect that she is indeed the most underdressed and they do in fact look like the most mismatched couple there…well, if she does not count the old man and the probably high paid escort. Eames is ordering what he claims is a lovely bottle of red wine and prattling on about food suggestions and then notes that she isn’t paying attention. “Ariadne?”
“Huh?” It immediately falls from her lips as she turns her head to look at him.
“Am I boring you, love?”
Ariadne knows that she better answer this carefully. An admission of yes would only serve as challenge for Eames to do what he could to make himself anything but boring. “Sorry, I was just…” She looks around the room again and then leans in to whisper. “If I feel as out of place as I do here at the Collins party what the hell am I going to do?”
Eames leans in as well and his voice level matches her. “How is it that someone so confident in a dream can look like a lost child in a place like this?”
Ariadne furrows her eyebrows together at his choice of words. “Eames, look at these people. There is elegance in this room that I can never hope to copy.” At least now she can stay on her own two feet in heels, after a good hour of practice, but she will never come close to the people in this room.
“Most of the people in this room are fake. Fake tits, fake personalities and everything in between,” Eames tells her. He reaches out and covers her hand with his. She is staring at it when he speaks again. “Everything about you is real. That is a rarity in today’s age. Don’t you forget that…”
Ariadne isn’t sure what to say. It’s quite possibly one of the nicest things he (or perhaps anyone) has ever said to her. She meets his eyes and his is smiling. “This compliment thing really does work with you,” he observes and laughter flashes in his eyes as she pulls her hand away in anger. “Darling, I meant it.” He doesn’t let her thoughts linger any longer and instead motions for the waiter.
“I haven’t even had a chance to look at the menu,” Ariadne protests.
“Trust me,” Eames tells her and the effortlessly orders in French. She tries to fume but she realizes that she what she has been doing all along - she trusted him enough to agree to the ruse, she trusted him in the stores yesterday…she has probably trusted him since the moment she, he and Arthur had agreed to keep working together.
Okay, she concedes…but only to herself. I trust him even though I know before the night is over I will want to stuff a dinner roll in his mouth.
“I didn’t know you spoke French,” Ariadne says so she’s not sitting there over thinking everything.
“There are a lot of things I suspect that you do not know about me,” Eames tells her nonchalantly as the bottle of wine is brought. He pours them each a glass and immediately takes a sip of his, savoring it.
She sets hers in front of her, mentally cursing her brain. Her overactive brain which is managing to turn his offhand comment into many many things. He’s no doubt right. She knows Eames - the here and now Eames - but there are so many things about who he used to be, who he is when no one is around that she does not know. Curiosity has always been her weakness. Suddenly, she is reaching for her wine glass to stop the multitude of questions that has popped into her head. She has never been much of a wine drinker so the taste is surprising to her, pleasant. And effective as the questions die on her tongue. “I take it you invited me here to discuss the details of Mr. and Mrs. Dixon’s marriage?”
“It’s time we were on a first name basis. Don’t you agree, Elizabeth?” Eames asks.
Ariadne ponders the name, trying it on, letting it fall from her tongue. “I do…?”
“Ambrose.”
Ariadne’s reaction is immediate. “Seriously? Ambrose?” She dissolves into a fit of giggles that draws the attention of those at nearby tables. For his part, Eames is patient and lets her have her moment. She draws in a breath and meets his eyes. “Sorry.”
“Quite alright. Better that you get it out of your system now instead of in front of our gracious hosts,” Eames points out. He leans forward and launches into a story. “Ambrose…” A slight giggle which he pointedly ignores. “…and Elizabeth have been married just shy of seven months. From what our dear point man has found they met two years ago while he was on business in Greece. She is originally American, lucky us, and was there on vacation. Both come from money, she more so than him. All accounts have them living a very secluded life in the south of France. She has no job to speak of…”
“Of course not,” Ariadne isn’t sure she likes her alter ego. She wonders if Elizabeth Dixon has ever known what it is like to want for something, to work hard for it. Her mind conjures up some tall stunning creature lying by the side of a pool while servants scurry to do her bidding.
Another comment ignored for the sake of getting the business out of the way. “He invests his hard earned inheritance in companies around the world. Martin Collin’s included. Through his lawyer, Ambrose…” No giggle this time, merely an amused smile. Progress. “…invested a sizable figure in one of Collin’s technological firms. And when I mean sizable I mean enough for Collin’s to feel indebted to Mr. Dixon. Therefore, invitations are issued for every social affair in hopes of meeting his gracious benefactor.”
“Great, so he’ll want to kiss your shoes,” Ariadne observes. She takes another sip of her wine and shakes her head at the mental image.
Eames can’t help but beam. “No doubt. Which means we will be able to get up close and personal with Mrs. Collins,” he leans back in his chair. “I do believe this is an even better plan than I had first anticipated.”
“Don’t get too cocky,” Ariadne warns him. “Is there anything else I should know about Elizabeth Dixon?”
“It’s all in Arthur’s folder. I know I normally pick on the poor fellow but he’s efficient and detailed when you need him to be. Be sure you read it closely before the party,” Eames tells her.
“I thought you called me here to go over the details,” Ariadne has a bad feeling. She should just bolt - her instincts have always served her well.
“No, I called you here because, dear wife, we have intimacy issues that need solving,” Eames’ hand is covering her again and there is little doubt what he is referring to.
Ariadne is reaching for her wine again.