[fic] Thrillride
Eames must have been drunk when Arthur had asked him, because he can’t remember a damn thing about agreeing to a trip to South Carolina.
“Who the hell even lives in such a backwards little excuse for an English colony,” he mutters as he settles into his seat.
“Cobb’s parents,” Arthur replies, sitting down next to the forger. He’s never quite understood Eames’ aversion to the South, but has never felt the need to know more about it.
“And why am I going again, love?”
“Because you promised James and Phillipa you’d visit them.”
“I was drunk, I can’t be held accountable for what I say when inebriated.”
“Try explaining that to the children,” says Arthur, and Eames sighs, letting his head fall back to the headrest in defeat. Not even he can stand against the might of Dominic Cobb’s children, especially James now that he’s taking to mimicking Cobb’s classic eye squint.
“And,” Arthur leans over as they’re preparing to take off, lips to Eames’ ear, “because of the hot sex I promised when we get back.”
--
As it turns out, Cobb’s parents are as sweet as the iced tea they serve (“Darling, I think I’m going to go into a diabetic coma now.”), and announced at breakfast the next morning that they’re going to take everyone to an amusement park for the next day. James and Phillipa squealed in delight, jumping up and down in their chairs. Eames’ smile twitches slightly; for all the excitement he’s been through with running from police, angry marks, angry employers, angry debt collectors, and angry ex’s, he’s never been fond of roller coasters. At all. But he keeps his smile in place, and acts nearly as thrilled as the children.
Arthur notices the small twitch to Eames’ smile, one of his few tells. He hides his grin by getting up to pour himself another cup of coffee.
--
“Are we there yet,” Eames’ chimes in from the backseat, and immediately James and Phillipa are following suit, “Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?”
Cobb gives him The Squint in the rearview mirror. “Almost. Now be quiet, that includes you too, Eames.”
“Oh, they have a new ride this year,” Arthur says, turning around in his seat to show Eames the brochure.
“It’s called the Intimidator.”
It’s a long mass of red track, and just looking at it makes him slightly queasy.
“Oh, I’m very intimidated, pet,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes. Arthur turns back around and allows himself a small smile.
--
Ariadne met them at park gates (or more like ambushed, Eames thought when she practically jumped at Arthur before attacking him and Cobb with hugs and pecks on the cheek), having flown in from France the day before. James and Phillipa latch onto her arms as they stroll into the park, wading into the crowds of people.
Eames’ heart nearly stops when they get in line for the first ride, the one Arthur had showed him in the brochure. They leave James with his grandparents while the rest of them get into line, Phillipa all excited as she just barely met the height requirement to ride it. He tries to ignore the panic that begins to gnaw at his gut the closer the line takes them to the ride, hiding it behind a veneer of nonchalance, cracking jokes at whatever he could (seeing as the ride was themed after a dead NASCAR driver, he had plenty of ammunition) to keep his mind occupied with anything but the coils of the red and gray tracks looming ahead.
The next thing he knows, the next car pulls in, unloads its last passengers, the gates open, and Arthur is pulling him to a seat. He can’t hide the brief flash of terror on his face as he stumbles forward, and Arthur is giving him that look, the one he uses to study marks or to make a silent challenge, the one that’s telling him ‘man up and get in’. He can’t back down from that look, not without making himself look like a complete pussy in front of the entire team as well as Phillipa, so he flops into the seat and tries to look unimpressed. He looks around for some kind of seatbelt or harness or whatever safety measures most roller coasters used nowadays, and is startled to find out all that there is to keep him from flying out at the ground at eighty miles per hour is a black… thing, he’s not sure what to call it really or how it’s going to keep him in the chair at all. It locks in shut at his lower abdomen, and the next thing he knows the operator is yelling cheerfully into the microphone and the car is pulling away from the station.
The incline takes what seems like forever, climbing higher and higher, till Eames is sure that they’ll be hit by an incoming plane or something. And then they’re tilting forward, and the ground comes rushing up towards them at an ungodly rate. He lifts out of the seat slightly as they plunge down, and it’s all he can do to keep from screaming like a little girl. He scrambles to hold onto anything as they thunder up and down hills and whip around corners, keeping his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to watch when he inevitably comes out of the seat to plummet to his death.
And then they’re jerking to a stop, the ride finally over. His heart is hammering against his ribs, and he’s covered in a fine sheen of sweat. The car pulls back into the station and they all get off, Phillipa running ahead with Cobb and Ariadne chasing after her as she runs to look at the pictures from during the ride at the gift shop. Eames takes his time, his limbs feeling like jelly and shaking from the adrenaline.
Arthur watches Eames make his way down the staircase, hands gripping the railing till his knuckles are white. He gives Arthur this look when he’s finally back on the ground, and Arthur can’t tell if it says he wasn’t to punch the point man, or vomit on him. He looks pale enough for him to guess it’s the latter, though he would much rather deal with being hit. Vomit is a pain to clean from his leather shoes. He offers his arm to Eames, who gives him a proper glare before stalking away (if you could stalk off while your legs are still trembling) to join the rest of the group at the gift shop. Eames nearly dies of humiliation when he sees the pictures, his face a mask of utter terror at the time it was taken.
He doesn’t notice when Arthur buys a wallet sized print and tucks it away.
--
“It wasn’t that bad,” Arthur insists.
“Darling,” Eames’ hisses, for the tenth time that day, “kindly shut up.”
Ahead of them, James squeals happily atop a horse as the carousel begins to move.
“Well, I guess this should be closer to your level then,” Arthur teases. If looks could kill, Eames’ glare would have cut him in half. The older man leans across his own horse till he’s as close to Arthur as he could get without sliding off.
“The sex had better be mind-blowing, dearest.”
“Who the hell even lives in such a backwards little excuse for an English colony,” he mutters as he settles into his seat.
“Cobb’s parents,” Arthur replies, sitting down next to the forger. He’s never quite understood Eames’ aversion to the South, but has never felt the need to know more about it.
“And why am I going again, love?”
“Because you promised James and Phillipa you’d visit them.”
“I was drunk, I can’t be held accountable for what I say when inebriated.”
“Try explaining that to the children,” says Arthur, and Eames sighs, letting his head fall back to the headrest in defeat. Not even he can stand against the might of Dominic Cobb’s children, especially James now that he’s taking to mimicking Cobb’s classic eye squint.
“And,” Arthur leans over as they’re preparing to take off, lips to Eames’ ear, “because of the hot sex I promised when we get back.”
--
As it turns out, Cobb’s parents are as sweet as the iced tea they serve (“Darling, I think I’m going to go into a diabetic coma now.”), and announced at breakfast the next morning that they’re going to take everyone to an amusement park for the next day. James and Phillipa squealed in delight, jumping up and down in their chairs. Eames’ smile twitches slightly; for all the excitement he’s been through with running from police, angry marks, angry employers, angry debt collectors, and angry ex’s, he’s never been fond of roller coasters. At all. But he keeps his smile in place, and acts nearly as thrilled as the children.
Arthur notices the small twitch to Eames’ smile, one of his few tells. He hides his grin by getting up to pour himself another cup of coffee.
--
“Are we there yet,” Eames’ chimes in from the backseat, and immediately James and Phillipa are following suit, “Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?”
Cobb gives him The Squint in the rearview mirror. “Almost. Now be quiet, that includes you too, Eames.”
“Oh, they have a new ride this year,” Arthur says, turning around in his seat to show Eames the brochure.
“It’s called the Intimidator.”
It’s a long mass of red track, and just looking at it makes him slightly queasy.
“Oh, I’m very intimidated, pet,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes. Arthur turns back around and allows himself a small smile.
--
Ariadne met them at park gates (or more like ambushed, Eames thought when she practically jumped at Arthur before attacking him and Cobb with hugs and pecks on the cheek), having flown in from France the day before. James and Phillipa latch onto her arms as they stroll into the park, wading into the crowds of people.
Eames’ heart nearly stops when they get in line for the first ride, the one Arthur had showed him in the brochure. They leave James with his grandparents while the rest of them get into line, Phillipa all excited as she just barely met the height requirement to ride it. He tries to ignore the panic that begins to gnaw at his gut the closer the line takes them to the ride, hiding it behind a veneer of nonchalance, cracking jokes at whatever he could (seeing as the ride was themed after a dead NASCAR driver, he had plenty of ammunition) to keep his mind occupied with anything but the coils of the red and gray tracks looming ahead.
The next thing he knows, the next car pulls in, unloads its last passengers, the gates open, and Arthur is pulling him to a seat. He can’t hide the brief flash of terror on his face as he stumbles forward, and Arthur is giving him that look, the one he uses to study marks or to make a silent challenge, the one that’s telling him ‘man up and get in’. He can’t back down from that look, not without making himself look like a complete pussy in front of the entire team as well as Phillipa, so he flops into the seat and tries to look unimpressed. He looks around for some kind of seatbelt or harness or whatever safety measures most roller coasters used nowadays, and is startled to find out all that there is to keep him from flying out at the ground at eighty miles per hour is a black… thing, he’s not sure what to call it really or how it’s going to keep him in the chair at all. It locks in shut at his lower abdomen, and the next thing he knows the operator is yelling cheerfully into the microphone and the car is pulling away from the station.
The incline takes what seems like forever, climbing higher and higher, till Eames is sure that they’ll be hit by an incoming plane or something. And then they’re tilting forward, and the ground comes rushing up towards them at an ungodly rate. He lifts out of the seat slightly as they plunge down, and it’s all he can do to keep from screaming like a little girl. He scrambles to hold onto anything as they thunder up and down hills and whip around corners, keeping his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to watch when he inevitably comes out of the seat to plummet to his death.
And then they’re jerking to a stop, the ride finally over. His heart is hammering against his ribs, and he’s covered in a fine sheen of sweat. The car pulls back into the station and they all get off, Phillipa running ahead with Cobb and Ariadne chasing after her as she runs to look at the pictures from during the ride at the gift shop. Eames takes his time, his limbs feeling like jelly and shaking from the adrenaline.
Arthur watches Eames make his way down the staircase, hands gripping the railing till his knuckles are white. He gives Arthur this look when he’s finally back on the ground, and Arthur can’t tell if it says he wasn’t to punch the point man, or vomit on him. He looks pale enough for him to guess it’s the latter, though he would much rather deal with being hit. Vomit is a pain to clean from his leather shoes. He offers his arm to Eames, who gives him a proper glare before stalking away (if you could stalk off while your legs are still trembling) to join the rest of the group at the gift shop. Eames nearly dies of humiliation when he sees the pictures, his face a mask of utter terror at the time it was taken.
He doesn’t notice when Arthur buys a wallet sized print and tucks it away.
--
“It wasn’t that bad,” Arthur insists.
“Darling,” Eames’ hisses, for the tenth time that day, “kindly shut up.”
Ahead of them, James squeals happily atop a horse as the carousel begins to move.
“Well, I guess this should be closer to your level then,” Arthur teases. If looks could kill, Eames’ glare would have cut him in half. The older man leans across his own horse till he’s as close to Arthur as he could get without sliding off.
“The sex had better be mind-blowing, dearest.”