Inception fic: Justement, Je Regrette Les Zombies (2/14)
Title: Justement, Je Regrette Les Zombies (2/14)
Fandom/Pairing: Inception, Arthur/Eames
Overall Rating: PG-13
Overall Warnings: Language, violence, character un-death
Wordcount: 3,598
Notes: Chapter 2. :) Continued thanks to my beta, towel_master, for all of her undeserved patience.
Chapter One
Summary: After college, all Arthur wanted to do was live a normal life hacking into government databases. But if the flesh-hungry zombies are any indication, the universe has different plans.
-------------
May 25, 2010: Three years before the Outbreak
Life never goes the way you plan it.
This Arthur had learned in many ways and quite depressingly often. When he came out to his family after high school, he didn’t know what he had been expecting-but it surely hadn’t been a huge falling out with his brother that led to a six-year-long-and-running silence between them.
When he’d gone to college and majored in computer programming, he’d had dreams of leaving town-if not all of South Carolina-behind, only to wind up working in the family business after graduation.
That was, off course, his father’s weapons shop.
His father had inherited the store from his father, and he from his father before him, and so on. Privately, Arthur had always wondered if this went on until they got back to the Stone Age. From the way his father talked about the shop’s history, the answer was yes.
But these were always private thoughts. Not only did his father own the store, but he was also proficient in the use of every weapon it sold, from guns to swords. It was not a good idea to mock the man.
So Arthur had sighed and suffered through all of his father’s combat-training weekends throughout his days at school, “reaping the benefits” as his father had said.
He was the youngest of three children, but he was the only one who could shoot straight.
The thing was, Arthur had very little interest in hunting, or, in fact, violence at all. He had a degree in computer science, not to mention a thriving side-career as a hacker. He really didn’t need to sit behind the counter and watch rednecks and paranoids come in to load up on ammo or more guns (which he made sure they had a license to own). He’d much rather be behind a computer screen, creating new code or reading top-secret government files.
However, it was behind the counter of his father’s store that he first met Dominic Cobb.
-ooo-
“Is there something I can help you with?” Arthur asked for what felt like the millionth time that day, not looking up from his computer. It seemed like every week he was helping the same people find the same things over and over. He’d developed a kind of proximity-radar, so he didn’t actually have to look to find people dithering helplessly by the register.
“No, I don’t think so. Not right now, at least,” came a voice he’d never heard before. Curious, Arthur glanced up from the screen to see a young man in a button-down shirt and jeans. His hair was dirty-blonde and slicked back haphazardly, and he had a thin line of gold ringing his mouth-one of the few tasteful goatees Arthur had ever seen.
“Well, let me know,” Arthur said, and turned back to his laptop. He was dimly aware of the new customer puttering around the shop before he strode purposefully up to the desk. Once again, Arthur looked up.
The shop was now empty, save for the two of them.
Arthur warily closed his laptop to turn his full attention to the stranger. He didn’t like the way he was eyeing the gun display rack. His gaze was critical as it slid over each model. The shotguns were studied first, from the standard Uplander to the pump-action 20 gauge. Then, the rifles. Then, the handguns.
“If you’re thinking about trying to steal them, I’m going to have to strong-arm you into submission,” Arthur sighed. “And neither of us wants that to happen, trust me.”
His remark was greeted with a raised eyebrow and a glint of surprise that melted into an amused smile that Arthur just…had to return.
“Dominic Cobb,” the man said, extending his hand.
“Arthur DeLacey,” Arthur replied, taking it. “So, you’re a new face around here, Mr. Cobb. What brings you to Armé Jusqu’Aux Dents?”
“‘Armed to the Teeth?’” Cobb laughed. “That’s a good name for this store. I mean, even my usual haunts don’t have this many weapons in them.” He leaned on the counter to inspect the display of Derringers.
“Well, ever since Governor Sanford signed the okay for that CWP thing, sales for concealables have skyrocketed. Anything that will fit in a glove compartment,” Arthur said with a shrug. “Dad says it’s good for business, but I’m not sure I agree. I mean, not everyone should have a concealed weapon, y’know? But then again, we sell big-ass knives, too, so.”
He waved a dismissing hand in the air to brush away the conversation before Cobb could reply.
“What can I do for you today, Mr. Cobb? Before engaging in any talks about the purchase of firearms, I am going to have to see your permit. Are you a hunter? I have some suggestions if you’re…”
But Cobb was shaking his head.
“No, I’m here on a more personal visit. You see, Mr. DeLacey, I’m hoping you will be able to help me. But I don’t need a gun.”
Arthur blinked and shifted back in his chair a little, suspicious.
“All right, how about a knife? We sell those, too. They’re in behind, though. If there’s a certain type you’re looking for-”
“No, not a knife either. I did come here looking for a weapon, but nothing so obvious as the physical ones you sell. I came here to buy you, Mr. DeLacey.”
Arthur was oscillating between curious and extremely disturbed, and disturbed was winning.
“Excuse me-” he began, but Cobb cut him off again.
“I need network passwords, schedules, door codes, a closed loop, and a particularly nasty computer virus. And you come very highly recommended,” Cobb said, turning his head a little to smile at Arthur. It was then that Arthur realized Cobb was carefully keeping his back to the camera and his mouth out of sight. On the security feed, it would just look like he and Arthur were having a conversation about Uplander Supremes.
He had to admire the man’s planning.
“We don’t have what you want in stock, unfortunately,” Arthur said. “But the new shipment is coming in at five. If it’s necessary that you have the barrel today, meet me out back then, and we can get you set up.”
Cobb smiled a bit wider.
“Oh, but my only requirement is that you bring your license and the rest of your collection for me to inspect,” Arthur added, and after a minute of reflection, Cobb nodded.
“All right. I’ll see you then, Mr. DeLacey. Have a pleasant day.”
“You, too, Mr. Cobb,” Arthur said. Calmly he opened his laptop again and methodically began running every search he could think of to find anything on one Dominic Cobb.
-ooo-
The job was an easy exercise for Arthur, and it seemed that Cobb liked his attitude because they worked together again, and then again, until they were practically permanent partners.
Cobb worked out of LA, so he and Arthur didn’t see each other much, but Arthur would always send Cobb the information he needed or the loop he required because he could do it all from his laptop in Charleston.
By the end of that year, Arthur and Cobb were such friends that the casual observer would have sworn they’d grown up together. Cobb’s children had taken a swift liking to him the first of many times he’d met them, and now called him Uncle Arthur. He was honored they still remembered him, and sometimes sent small presents up to them along with Cobb’s info, usually little graphic designs like a ninja for James or a singing unicorn for Philippa.
They adored him.
-oooxooo-
June 20, 2011: Two years before the Outbreak
“Philippa! Philippa!”
Eames looked over at side yard in surprise just in time to see the small blonde girl race out of the fence that enclosed the backyard. Following her was a stressed young man, sleeves rolled up and hair slicked back. His tie had come loose from his vest, but the man hadn’t seemed to notice as he chased the child.
He was possibly the most beautiful creature Eames had ever seen.
“Philippa, come on! Your father said to stay in the backyard! Come on!”
‘He sounds tired,’ Eames thought as he watched the young man for a few more minutes before remembering why he’d come here. He moved to knock, only to have the door open before his hand was halfway to the wood.
“Cobb,” the conman greeted, not really surprised to find Cobb at the door already. After all, Philippa and her captor-for now Eames saw that the young man had successfully grabbed Cobb’s daughter and was throwing her over his shoulder-were being loud enough to wake the dead.
“Eames. Glad you could make it,” the thief replied. “Sorry about the girls.” He stepped back to let Eames into the house, and the conman soon found out what Cobb was talking about: there was a veritable horde of little girls in party hats running around in the backyard, amongst them the newly released Philippa.
By the snacks table Eames spotted Mrs. Cobb, a lovely and kind woman who always had a word or two for him about his line of work, even though she was married to-and aided-one of the best criminals in the world.
Next to her was Eames’s gorgeous young man. He was slumped in one of the plastic chairs on the deck, massaging the back of his neck. He looked worn out, but Eames supposed that that was what happened when one was not used to caring for children. The man’s whole manner screamed reluctant babysitter and not parent, yet he was stuck in charge of watching ten or so six-year-old girls.
Eames felt for him.
“So, who’s your friend?” he asked Cobb nonchalantly. Cobb took it as a scoping of territory, as Eames wanted him to, and not as the ‘What’s his name and is he available?’ that it really was.
“That’s Arthur, my hacker,” Cobb answered. “You can relax. I trust him.”
“Well, that’s obvious, Cobb. You don’t let just anyone get killed by your daughter’s birthday party,” Eames replied.
“True enough,” Cobb agreed with a snort of laughter. “He does look rather exhausted, doesn’t he? Maybe I should-no. Mal can take care of him. Now’s time for business. You want to wait here while I get your money?”
“Can I wait outside?” Eames asked, jumping at the chance to talk to Arthur. “I haven’t said hello to the Mrs. yet. I hardly ever get to talk to her, though that’s probably best. She doesn’t care much for me, does she?”
“Oh, she likes you fine,” Cobb said with a laugh. “Picking on you is how she shows affection. You should hear her when she gets started on Arthur.”
Eames laughed, too, and headed for the sliding glass doors. “I’ll see you in a few, then, Cobb.”
The sunlight outside was warm after the A/C of the house, but it was still cool for late June. For a moment, Eames just watched the children run around the yard, squealing and shrieking in what he assumed was a game of tag.
Four-year-old James was winning.
“Good morning, doll,” Eames said with a smile when Mal looked up from arranging candles on Philippa’s cake and caught sight of him. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Bon matin,” she answered pleasantly. “Ça va, Monsieur Eames?”
“Oh, just fine, thank you, Madame Cobb,” he replied as she stepped forward and placed light kisses on his cheeks. “How are the children? Philippa’s what, six now? Bloody Nora, how the time’s flown by.”
By now, Arthur had looked up from cradling his head in his hands to see who Mal was talking to. When he saw Eames, his face tinged a slight shade of pink. He hid it by rocketing up from his chair and telling James not to eat that, though Eames didn’t suppose he’d planned that as an escape seeing as it probably wasn’t a good idea for the boy to be eating strange mushrooms from the edge of the lawn.
By the time Arthur looked back at Eames, the blush was gone and he was composed. But before he could say anything, Mal finished arranging the candles and turned to call to Philippa.
“Philippa! Elle est la fois pour ton gateau! Cake!”
Anything Arthur or Eames could have said would have been drowned out by the happy yells from the crowd of girls (and James) as they raced up onto the deck to watch Philippa blow out her candles.
“Dom! Viens ici! It’s time for cake!” Mal called over her shoulder as she gently restrained Philippa from just pitching forward to extinguish the seven tiny flames (one for good luck) with a huge breath.
“I’m coming,” Cobb chuckled as he stepped through the porch doors, laden with brightly colored bags. As he passed Eames, he slipped the conman an envelope. Eames smiled slightly and tucked it into the inside pocket of his coat. Watching Cobb set down the presents by a plastic bench, Eames took a minute to muse on the differences between Cobb the father and Cobb the criminal, before he was interrupted by a high-pitched, excited voice.
“And I made the cake all by myself! Didn’t I, Uncle Arthur?” Philippa bragged to her friends.
“Yes, you did,” Arthur replied. “Now, shall we sing?”
Happily, Eames joined into the off-tune chorus of “Happy Birthday”, idly cataloging the voices, from Cobb’s baritone to Mal’s alto to Arthur’s incredibly pleasing low tenor. It was a bit odd to hear both versions of the song sung at once-the children’s “Happy Birthday” and Cobb, Mal, and (surprisingly) Arthur’s “Joyous Anniversaire”.
When it was done, Philippa cut the cake with her mother’s help. Arthur rose to get a piece, if only to be polite since he’d seen how much sugar Philippa had put in the frosting when she thought he wasn’t looking. He accepted the plate from Cobb and leaned in to talk to the older man under the pretense of grabbing a plastic fork out of the wire holder in the edge of the table.
“So, who is that?” he asked, gesturing to Eames with a small tilt of his head. And he wasn’t as good as Eames at hiding the intentions behind his inquiry.
Cobb grinned. “Oh, Arthur. Sometimes I forget that you’re only twenty-seven. Ah, to be so young…” Cobb purposefully trailed off wistfully to get his hacker’s goat, and it worked.
“Cobb, I’m not some love-struck teenager, okay? I just want to know his name!” Arthur ground out, face a shade pinker. “And besides, you’re only thirty-two! You’re not that much older than me.”
Cobb laughed a little longer, but soon settled down. “His name’s Eames. He’s an associate of mine.”
“I see,” Arthur said, surreptitiously watching Eames out of the corner of his eye. “Is he any good?”
“The best at what he does. Have you ever known me to work with less?” Cobb asked. He paused, slyly. “So, you going to go talk to him?”
“He has no fashion sense,” Arthur replied, straightening his tie and acting like that answered the question. Cobb shook his head.
“Go on. Go on. Here, just take him a piece of Philippa’s delicious cake. Okay? Perfect conversation starter.” He handed Arthur another fork and a plate loaded with the light pink confectionery and gave him a small shove to the back.
Arthur shot him a poisonous look, but crossed the porch to where Eames sat, one leg crossed over the other, in a white plastic chair.
“Future cavities?” he asked the Brit, holding out the plate. Eames looked up, regarded the plate and then the one who held it, and smiled.
“Well, when you put it like that how could anyone refuse?” Eames reached out and accepted the paper plate from Arthur, fingers brushing the other man’s gently on the underside. “Thank you. I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of an introduction. My name is Eames. I’m a business associate of Cobb’s.” He held out his hand; the left, because he had a glass of lemonade in his right and the plate of cake was balancing on his elbow.
“Arthur,” he replied. “Same.” He shifted his plate to his right hand and shook Eames’s offered one. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Eames grinned. “The pleasure is all mine, darling. Really.”
-oooxooo-
Letter #1
June 30, 2011
From Charleston, South Carolina
Mr. Eames,
Cobb needs someone of your expertise for a job, and we were wondering if you were available.
Montenegro, August.
Arthur
-ooo-
Letter #2
July 5, 2011
From Venice, Italy
Arthur,
I would be honored to work with the two of you. I will be in Montenegro shortly. Shall I see you there?
Eames
-ooo-
Letter #5
November 12, 2011
From Charleston, South Carolina
Eames,
Our heist today went well. The security was, of course, child’s play. How went your job in Brazil? Fine, if the international headlines are anything to go by.
It was nice to see you in Austria in October. Thank you for the tie, even though it will never match anything in a tastefully sedate wardrobe.
Sincerely,
Arthur
-ooo-
Letter #19
February 14, 2012
From San Pedro, Belize
Dearest Arthur,
I had a wonderful time at dinner last week. I’m only sorry it couldn’t be today. I was going to suggest we do something, but you were gone when I woke up. It’s no matter, though. Happy Valentine’s Day. You will probably get this late, but just know that I’m thinking of you.
I lo miss you, darling.
Yours,
Eames
-ooo-
Letter #25
April 26, 2012
From Paris, France
Cher Eames,
I miss you. I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier today, but I was held up by Cobb. My job will be done in a week or two, so if you’re in the area, we should grab dinner sometime.
Hopefully, I’ll see you soon.
Lov Fondly yours,
Arthur
-ooo-
Letter #45
September 17, 2012
From Manchester, England
Darling,
Happy birthday! I’m sorry I’m not there, and I’ll call you later, but your present is in the mail. I got the book of poetry you sent me for mine. Thank you, darling. How on Earth did you know I liked García Lorca? You really are amazing.
I love I miss you, darling, and I’ll try to see you soon.
Thinking of you,
James
-ooo-
Letter #62
December 23, 2012
From Dublin, Ireland
My dearest James,
It’s raining here, but I suppose that isn’t a surprise, really. However, it is still as beautiful as it was in college. It’s been entirely too long since we’ve met up. I can’t wait to see you, so expect me to be a little early arriving in Beirut.
I hope that won’t be a problem.
I lo I love I miss you,
Arthur
-ooo-
Letter #74
February 27, 2013
From Istanbul, Turkey
Dear Arthur,
I’m sorry about what I said last night in the hotel. You’re right, and I was wrong. But you’ll admit that my choice of hotel was a foolish thing to fight about, so let’s just forget it. Okay?
Lo Sincerely,
James
-ooo-
Letter #80
March 7, 2013
From Quebec City, Canada
James,
I apologize for calling you what I did. It was unfair and completely unfounded. Of course you have the right to go for drinks with other people. It’s not like we’re married or anything.
I’m sorry and I lo
I’m sorry,
Arthur
-ooo-
Letter #88
March 23, 2013
From Columbus, Ohio
Arthur,
In all honesty you’re beginning to sound like a nagging old woman. Bloody hell, there’s a reason that I never had an interest in dating a control freak. But, because I am partly to blame, I’ll be the bigger man and apologize for this misunderstanding.
Respectfully,
Eames
-ooo-
Letter #96
April 4, 2013
From Charleston, South Carolina
Eames,
What I do with my life is my own business. I’m sorry that I’m always busy, but I do have a marked interest in eating. And before you say anything, your cover was blown in Rio because of your mistake, not a fault in my research.
The research that you said I should take a break from.
Arthur DeLacey
-ooo-
Letter #97
April 26, 2013
Mr. DeLacey,
If you’re so sick of me, maybe we should stop seeing each other.
Eames
-ooo-
Letter #98
May 15, 2013
Mr. Eames,
For the first time in a long time, you’ve said something intelligent. I agree.
Goodbye,
Mr. DeLacey
-ooo-
Letters #99 and #100, never sent
From Buenos Aires, Argentina
Dear Arthur,
I didn’t mean any of it, darling. I’m so sorry. I can’t expect you to forgive me, but please know that I love you.
I love you. And I always will.
With all my heart,
James
-
From Charleston, South Carolina
Dear James,
It’s all my fault, isn’t it? Of course it is, and I know it. If I wasn’t so afraid of commitment-and that’s it, you know. It wasn’t you, it was me.
The tired old line finds some truth in it this time.
But if I wasn’t so afraid to tell you, to admit to myself that I love you, then maybe things would be simpler. Maybe we would still be together.
It really doesn’t matter, does it? We’ve said our goodbyes, and we’ve moved on.
I will never send this letter.
But I love you, James, and I always will.
Arthur
--------------
Next Chapter
--------------
Hope you all enjoyed that chapter! Flashbacks are fun, but I kind of cheated in the relationship developing parts. I'm not good at writing break-up fights. I'm just...not.
Chapter 3 will be up next week. :)
Fandom/Pairing: Inception, Arthur/Eames
Overall Rating: PG-13
Overall Warnings: Language, violence, character un-death
Wordcount: 3,598
Notes: Chapter 2. :) Continued thanks to my beta, towel_master, for all of her undeserved patience.
Chapter One
Summary: After college, all Arthur wanted to do was live a normal life hacking into government databases. But if the flesh-hungry zombies are any indication, the universe has different plans.
-------------
May 25, 2010: Three years before the Outbreak
Life never goes the way you plan it.
This Arthur had learned in many ways and quite depressingly often. When he came out to his family after high school, he didn’t know what he had been expecting-but it surely hadn’t been a huge falling out with his brother that led to a six-year-long-and-running silence between them.
When he’d gone to college and majored in computer programming, he’d had dreams of leaving town-if not all of South Carolina-behind, only to wind up working in the family business after graduation.
That was, off course, his father’s weapons shop.
His father had inherited the store from his father, and he from his father before him, and so on. Privately, Arthur had always wondered if this went on until they got back to the Stone Age. From the way his father talked about the shop’s history, the answer was yes.
But these were always private thoughts. Not only did his father own the store, but he was also proficient in the use of every weapon it sold, from guns to swords. It was not a good idea to mock the man.
So Arthur had sighed and suffered through all of his father’s combat-training weekends throughout his days at school, “reaping the benefits” as his father had said.
He was the youngest of three children, but he was the only one who could shoot straight.
The thing was, Arthur had very little interest in hunting, or, in fact, violence at all. He had a degree in computer science, not to mention a thriving side-career as a hacker. He really didn’t need to sit behind the counter and watch rednecks and paranoids come in to load up on ammo or more guns (which he made sure they had a license to own). He’d much rather be behind a computer screen, creating new code or reading top-secret government files.
However, it was behind the counter of his father’s store that he first met Dominic Cobb.
-ooo-
“Is there something I can help you with?” Arthur asked for what felt like the millionth time that day, not looking up from his computer. It seemed like every week he was helping the same people find the same things over and over. He’d developed a kind of proximity-radar, so he didn’t actually have to look to find people dithering helplessly by the register.
“No, I don’t think so. Not right now, at least,” came a voice he’d never heard before. Curious, Arthur glanced up from the screen to see a young man in a button-down shirt and jeans. His hair was dirty-blonde and slicked back haphazardly, and he had a thin line of gold ringing his mouth-one of the few tasteful goatees Arthur had ever seen.
“Well, let me know,” Arthur said, and turned back to his laptop. He was dimly aware of the new customer puttering around the shop before he strode purposefully up to the desk. Once again, Arthur looked up.
The shop was now empty, save for the two of them.
Arthur warily closed his laptop to turn his full attention to the stranger. He didn’t like the way he was eyeing the gun display rack. His gaze was critical as it slid over each model. The shotguns were studied first, from the standard Uplander to the pump-action 20 gauge. Then, the rifles. Then, the handguns.
“If you’re thinking about trying to steal them, I’m going to have to strong-arm you into submission,” Arthur sighed. “And neither of us wants that to happen, trust me.”
His remark was greeted with a raised eyebrow and a glint of surprise that melted into an amused smile that Arthur just…had to return.
“Dominic Cobb,” the man said, extending his hand.
“Arthur DeLacey,” Arthur replied, taking it. “So, you’re a new face around here, Mr. Cobb. What brings you to Armé Jusqu’Aux Dents?”
“‘Armed to the Teeth?’” Cobb laughed. “That’s a good name for this store. I mean, even my usual haunts don’t have this many weapons in them.” He leaned on the counter to inspect the display of Derringers.
“Well, ever since Governor Sanford signed the okay for that CWP thing, sales for concealables have skyrocketed. Anything that will fit in a glove compartment,” Arthur said with a shrug. “Dad says it’s good for business, but I’m not sure I agree. I mean, not everyone should have a concealed weapon, y’know? But then again, we sell big-ass knives, too, so.”
He waved a dismissing hand in the air to brush away the conversation before Cobb could reply.
“What can I do for you today, Mr. Cobb? Before engaging in any talks about the purchase of firearms, I am going to have to see your permit. Are you a hunter? I have some suggestions if you’re…”
But Cobb was shaking his head.
“No, I’m here on a more personal visit. You see, Mr. DeLacey, I’m hoping you will be able to help me. But I don’t need a gun.”
Arthur blinked and shifted back in his chair a little, suspicious.
“All right, how about a knife? We sell those, too. They’re in behind, though. If there’s a certain type you’re looking for-”
“No, not a knife either. I did come here looking for a weapon, but nothing so obvious as the physical ones you sell. I came here to buy you, Mr. DeLacey.”
Arthur was oscillating between curious and extremely disturbed, and disturbed was winning.
“Excuse me-” he began, but Cobb cut him off again.
“I need network passwords, schedules, door codes, a closed loop, and a particularly nasty computer virus. And you come very highly recommended,” Cobb said, turning his head a little to smile at Arthur. It was then that Arthur realized Cobb was carefully keeping his back to the camera and his mouth out of sight. On the security feed, it would just look like he and Arthur were having a conversation about Uplander Supremes.
He had to admire the man’s planning.
“We don’t have what you want in stock, unfortunately,” Arthur said. “But the new shipment is coming in at five. If it’s necessary that you have the barrel today, meet me out back then, and we can get you set up.”
Cobb smiled a bit wider.
“Oh, but my only requirement is that you bring your license and the rest of your collection for me to inspect,” Arthur added, and after a minute of reflection, Cobb nodded.
“All right. I’ll see you then, Mr. DeLacey. Have a pleasant day.”
“You, too, Mr. Cobb,” Arthur said. Calmly he opened his laptop again and methodically began running every search he could think of to find anything on one Dominic Cobb.
-ooo-
The job was an easy exercise for Arthur, and it seemed that Cobb liked his attitude because they worked together again, and then again, until they were practically permanent partners.
Cobb worked out of LA, so he and Arthur didn’t see each other much, but Arthur would always send Cobb the information he needed or the loop he required because he could do it all from his laptop in Charleston.
By the end of that year, Arthur and Cobb were such friends that the casual observer would have sworn they’d grown up together. Cobb’s children had taken a swift liking to him the first of many times he’d met them, and now called him Uncle Arthur. He was honored they still remembered him, and sometimes sent small presents up to them along with Cobb’s info, usually little graphic designs like a ninja for James or a singing unicorn for Philippa.
They adored him.
-oooxooo-
June 20, 2011: Two years before the Outbreak
“Philippa! Philippa!”
Eames looked over at side yard in surprise just in time to see the small blonde girl race out of the fence that enclosed the backyard. Following her was a stressed young man, sleeves rolled up and hair slicked back. His tie had come loose from his vest, but the man hadn’t seemed to notice as he chased the child.
He was possibly the most beautiful creature Eames had ever seen.
“Philippa, come on! Your father said to stay in the backyard! Come on!”
‘He sounds tired,’ Eames thought as he watched the young man for a few more minutes before remembering why he’d come here. He moved to knock, only to have the door open before his hand was halfway to the wood.
“Cobb,” the conman greeted, not really surprised to find Cobb at the door already. After all, Philippa and her captor-for now Eames saw that the young man had successfully grabbed Cobb’s daughter and was throwing her over his shoulder-were being loud enough to wake the dead.
“Eames. Glad you could make it,” the thief replied. “Sorry about the girls.” He stepped back to let Eames into the house, and the conman soon found out what Cobb was talking about: there was a veritable horde of little girls in party hats running around in the backyard, amongst them the newly released Philippa.
By the snacks table Eames spotted Mrs. Cobb, a lovely and kind woman who always had a word or two for him about his line of work, even though she was married to-and aided-one of the best criminals in the world.
Next to her was Eames’s gorgeous young man. He was slumped in one of the plastic chairs on the deck, massaging the back of his neck. He looked worn out, but Eames supposed that that was what happened when one was not used to caring for children. The man’s whole manner screamed reluctant babysitter and not parent, yet he was stuck in charge of watching ten or so six-year-old girls.
Eames felt for him.
“So, who’s your friend?” he asked Cobb nonchalantly. Cobb took it as a scoping of territory, as Eames wanted him to, and not as the ‘What’s his name and is he available?’ that it really was.
“That’s Arthur, my hacker,” Cobb answered. “You can relax. I trust him.”
“Well, that’s obvious, Cobb. You don’t let just anyone get killed by your daughter’s birthday party,” Eames replied.
“True enough,” Cobb agreed with a snort of laughter. “He does look rather exhausted, doesn’t he? Maybe I should-no. Mal can take care of him. Now’s time for business. You want to wait here while I get your money?”
“Can I wait outside?” Eames asked, jumping at the chance to talk to Arthur. “I haven’t said hello to the Mrs. yet. I hardly ever get to talk to her, though that’s probably best. She doesn’t care much for me, does she?”
“Oh, she likes you fine,” Cobb said with a laugh. “Picking on you is how she shows affection. You should hear her when she gets started on Arthur.”
Eames laughed, too, and headed for the sliding glass doors. “I’ll see you in a few, then, Cobb.”
The sunlight outside was warm after the A/C of the house, but it was still cool for late June. For a moment, Eames just watched the children run around the yard, squealing and shrieking in what he assumed was a game of tag.
Four-year-old James was winning.
“Good morning, doll,” Eames said with a smile when Mal looked up from arranging candles on Philippa’s cake and caught sight of him. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Bon matin,” she answered pleasantly. “Ça va, Monsieur Eames?”
“Oh, just fine, thank you, Madame Cobb,” he replied as she stepped forward and placed light kisses on his cheeks. “How are the children? Philippa’s what, six now? Bloody Nora, how the time’s flown by.”
By now, Arthur had looked up from cradling his head in his hands to see who Mal was talking to. When he saw Eames, his face tinged a slight shade of pink. He hid it by rocketing up from his chair and telling James not to eat that, though Eames didn’t suppose he’d planned that as an escape seeing as it probably wasn’t a good idea for the boy to be eating strange mushrooms from the edge of the lawn.
By the time Arthur looked back at Eames, the blush was gone and he was composed. But before he could say anything, Mal finished arranging the candles and turned to call to Philippa.
“Philippa! Elle est la fois pour ton gateau! Cake!”
Anything Arthur or Eames could have said would have been drowned out by the happy yells from the crowd of girls (and James) as they raced up onto the deck to watch Philippa blow out her candles.
“Dom! Viens ici! It’s time for cake!” Mal called over her shoulder as she gently restrained Philippa from just pitching forward to extinguish the seven tiny flames (one for good luck) with a huge breath.
“I’m coming,” Cobb chuckled as he stepped through the porch doors, laden with brightly colored bags. As he passed Eames, he slipped the conman an envelope. Eames smiled slightly and tucked it into the inside pocket of his coat. Watching Cobb set down the presents by a plastic bench, Eames took a minute to muse on the differences between Cobb the father and Cobb the criminal, before he was interrupted by a high-pitched, excited voice.
“And I made the cake all by myself! Didn’t I, Uncle Arthur?” Philippa bragged to her friends.
“Yes, you did,” Arthur replied. “Now, shall we sing?”
Happily, Eames joined into the off-tune chorus of “Happy Birthday”, idly cataloging the voices, from Cobb’s baritone to Mal’s alto to Arthur’s incredibly pleasing low tenor. It was a bit odd to hear both versions of the song sung at once-the children’s “Happy Birthday” and Cobb, Mal, and (surprisingly) Arthur’s “Joyous Anniversaire”.
When it was done, Philippa cut the cake with her mother’s help. Arthur rose to get a piece, if only to be polite since he’d seen how much sugar Philippa had put in the frosting when she thought he wasn’t looking. He accepted the plate from Cobb and leaned in to talk to the older man under the pretense of grabbing a plastic fork out of the wire holder in the edge of the table.
“So, who is that?” he asked, gesturing to Eames with a small tilt of his head. And he wasn’t as good as Eames at hiding the intentions behind his inquiry.
Cobb grinned. “Oh, Arthur. Sometimes I forget that you’re only twenty-seven. Ah, to be so young…” Cobb purposefully trailed off wistfully to get his hacker’s goat, and it worked.
“Cobb, I’m not some love-struck teenager, okay? I just want to know his name!” Arthur ground out, face a shade pinker. “And besides, you’re only thirty-two! You’re not that much older than me.”
Cobb laughed a little longer, but soon settled down. “His name’s Eames. He’s an associate of mine.”
“I see,” Arthur said, surreptitiously watching Eames out of the corner of his eye. “Is he any good?”
“The best at what he does. Have you ever known me to work with less?” Cobb asked. He paused, slyly. “So, you going to go talk to him?”
“He has no fashion sense,” Arthur replied, straightening his tie and acting like that answered the question. Cobb shook his head.
“Go on. Go on. Here, just take him a piece of Philippa’s delicious cake. Okay? Perfect conversation starter.” He handed Arthur another fork and a plate loaded with the light pink confectionery and gave him a small shove to the back.
Arthur shot him a poisonous look, but crossed the porch to where Eames sat, one leg crossed over the other, in a white plastic chair.
“Future cavities?” he asked the Brit, holding out the plate. Eames looked up, regarded the plate and then the one who held it, and smiled.
“Well, when you put it like that how could anyone refuse?” Eames reached out and accepted the paper plate from Arthur, fingers brushing the other man’s gently on the underside. “Thank you. I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of an introduction. My name is Eames. I’m a business associate of Cobb’s.” He held out his hand; the left, because he had a glass of lemonade in his right and the plate of cake was balancing on his elbow.
“Arthur,” he replied. “Same.” He shifted his plate to his right hand and shook Eames’s offered one. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Eames grinned. “The pleasure is all mine, darling. Really.”
-oooxooo-
Letter #1
June 30, 2011
From Charleston, South Carolina
Mr. Eames,
Cobb needs someone of your expertise for a job, and we were wondering if you were available.
Montenegro, August.
Arthur
-ooo-
Letter #2
July 5, 2011
From Venice, Italy
Arthur,
I would be honored to work with the two of you. I will be in Montenegro shortly. Shall I see you there?
Eames
-ooo-
Letter #5
November 12, 2011
From Charleston, South Carolina
Eames,
Our heist today went well. The security was, of course, child’s play. How went your job in Brazil? Fine, if the international headlines are anything to go by.
It was nice to see you in Austria in October. Thank you for the tie, even though it will never match anything in a tastefully sedate wardrobe.
Sincerely,
Arthur
-ooo-
Letter #19
February 14, 2012
From San Pedro, Belize
Dearest Arthur,
I had a wonderful time at dinner last week. I’m only sorry it couldn’t be today. I was going to suggest we do something, but you were gone when I woke up. It’s no matter, though. Happy Valentine’s Day. You will probably get this late, but just know that I’m thinking of you.
I lo miss you, darling.
Yours,
Eames
-ooo-
Letter #25
April 26, 2012
From Paris, France
Cher Eames,
I miss you. I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier today, but I was held up by Cobb. My job will be done in a week or two, so if you’re in the area, we should grab dinner sometime.
Hopefully, I’ll see you soon.
Lov Fondly yours,
Arthur
-ooo-
Letter #45
September 17, 2012
From Manchester, England
Darling,
Happy birthday! I’m sorry I’m not there, and I’ll call you later, but your present is in the mail. I got the book of poetry you sent me for mine. Thank you, darling. How on Earth did you know I liked García Lorca? You really are amazing.
I love I miss you, darling, and I’ll try to see you soon.
Thinking of you,
James
-ooo-
Letter #62
December 23, 2012
From Dublin, Ireland
My dearest James,
It’s raining here, but I suppose that isn’t a surprise, really. However, it is still as beautiful as it was in college. It’s been entirely too long since we’ve met up. I can’t wait to see you, so expect me to be a little early arriving in Beirut.
I hope that won’t be a problem.
I lo I love I miss you,
Arthur
-ooo-
Letter #74
February 27, 2013
From Istanbul, Turkey
Dear Arthur,
I’m sorry about what I said last night in the hotel. You’re right, and I was wrong. But you’ll admit that my choice of hotel was a foolish thing to fight about, so let’s just forget it. Okay?
Lo Sincerely,
James
-ooo-
Letter #80
March 7, 2013
From Quebec City, Canada
James,
I apologize for calling you what I did. It was unfair and completely unfounded. Of course you have the right to go for drinks with other people. It’s not like we’re married or anything.
I’m sorry and I lo
I’m sorry,
Arthur
-ooo-
Letter #88
March 23, 2013
From Columbus, Ohio
Arthur,
In all honesty you’re beginning to sound like a nagging old woman. Bloody hell, there’s a reason that I never had an interest in dating a control freak. But, because I am partly to blame, I’ll be the bigger man and apologize for this misunderstanding.
Respectfully,
Eames
-ooo-
Letter #96
April 4, 2013
From Charleston, South Carolina
Eames,
What I do with my life is my own business. I’m sorry that I’m always busy, but I do have a marked interest in eating. And before you say anything, your cover was blown in Rio because of your mistake, not a fault in my research.
The research that you said I should take a break from.
Arthur DeLacey
-ooo-
Letter #97
April 26, 2013
Mr. DeLacey,
If you’re so sick of me, maybe we should stop seeing each other.
Eames
-ooo-
Letter #98
May 15, 2013
Mr. Eames,
For the first time in a long time, you’ve said something intelligent. I agree.
Goodbye,
Mr. DeLacey
-ooo-
Letters #99 and #100, never sent
From Buenos Aires, Argentina
Dear Arthur,
I didn’t mean any of it, darling. I’m so sorry. I can’t expect you to forgive me, but please know that I love you.
I love you. And I always will.
With all my heart,
James
-
From Charleston, South Carolina
Dear James,
It’s all my fault, isn’t it? Of course it is, and I know it. If I wasn’t so afraid of commitment-and that’s it, you know. It wasn’t you, it was me.
The tired old line finds some truth in it this time.
But if I wasn’t so afraid to tell you, to admit to myself that I love you, then maybe things would be simpler. Maybe we would still be together.
It really doesn’t matter, does it? We’ve said our goodbyes, and we’ve moved on.
I will never send this letter.
But I love you, James, and I always will.
Arthur
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Next Chapter
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Hope you all enjoyed that chapter! Flashbacks are fun, but I kind of cheated in the relationship developing parts. I'm not good at writing break-up fights. I'm just...not.
Chapter 3 will be up next week. :)