041
Title: Yellow
Chapter: 2/11
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don’t own Inception.
Pairing/Characters: Arthur/Eames, Phillipa, Mal, James
Summary: In which Eames makes more innuendos, Phillipa likes yellow, and Arthur is frustrated.
Author’s Note: I'm honestly surprised I'm getting this out so soon after the first entry. Heh. ::needs Inception icon::
Previous Part(s): Part One
--
The park isn’t such a bad idea after all, Arthur realizes. Eames had insisted on walking, which Arthur had been wary of (the sky had been clouding over), but he’d agreed after Phillipa had taken Eames’ side. The traitor. But the park itself is nice. There is a strong breeze that ruffles the trees overhead. The darkening clouds are being pushed along quickly while still giving shade. A few children play on the jungle gym loudly, screaming and laughing and hitting.
Phillipa had headed straight for the yellow swing set next to the benches. To Arthur’s amusement, and satisfaction, she had dragged Eames along with her. She’d positioned him behind the swing and then crawled onto the plastic yellow seat. She reclined back, fingers looping around the chain and apparently ordered Eames to push her. The man had bowed theatrically and, for once in his life, obeyed an order.
That was twenty-five minutes ago though and it doesn’t look like Phillipa has any intention of ever vacating her swing. Honestly, who came up with the idea of lounge chairs for swings? Phillipa waves with each swing and he smiles back at her. He ignores the looks Eames is sending him and tries vainly to figure out why the forger decided to show up.
More children and parents begin to turn up. Arthur glances up from the text he’s trying to send Mal when the spot next to him on the bench is taken. A woman with short hair and a sunburned nose smiles at him. “Hello,” she says pleasantly.
“Hello.” He turns back to the text message. At park with Phillipa and Eames. How’s James? Somehow it doesn’t convey his annoyance enough, and he really wants someone to convey his annoyance to. He wonders if he should vent to Cobb. He’s sure Cobb had something to do with this new development. Maybe a new job that he hasn’t had time to tell him about. Maybe. Except then why would Eames know already?
A boy somewhere between Phillipa and James’ ages toddles up. He demands juice from the woman sitting next to him. She laughs and pulls out a juice cup. He tries the text again. At park with Phillipa. And Eames. Why is Eames here? How’s James? Better, not perfect but better. The boy by his knee runs off back to the sandbox and the woman sighs.
“It’s rare to see men around the park.” She smiles brightly at him when he glances at her. “Which one is yours?”
“Pardon?”
“Child. Which child is yours?”
“Oh, I’m-”
He’s cut off by the voice calling across the playground. “Would you mind taking over for me, Darling? My arms are worn out.” Arthur winces as he looks up to see Eames grinning at him.
“Oh,” the woman says. He isn’t sure if he should be annoyed or relieved at the assumption in her voice. “Well, she’s adorable.”
He could try to explain, he supposes, but doesn’t bother since now Eames has got Phillipa calling for him plaintively. He rolls his eyes and stands, snaps his phone shut without remembering to hit send. He crosses the play area carefully, thankful it’s on that new spongy material and not woodchips, or worse - sand. When he reaches the swings though Phillipa is sliding off.
“I thought you wanted me to push you?”
“I want ice cream now. It’s hot.”
“And I’m hungry,” Eames adds.
“You had three cookies and a banana before we left,” Arthur protests.
Eames winks. “The banana was purely for your enjoyment,” he replies.
Arthur turns an alarming shade of red; it’s the heat, the anger, not any form of embarrassment. Phillipa tilts her head and studies them both. “But you didn’t share with him.”
“You’re absolutely right. I’ll have to share another banana with him, later.”
“Eames, this is entirely inappropriate talk around a child.” His eyes narrow. “Anyway, we both know your banana is too small to share.”
Eames sputters and his neck flushes. “Excuse me? I think you need to speak up since clearly I’m not hearing correctly. Too small?”
“It was tiny,” Phillipa agrees. Arthur chuckles while Eames looks like he’s about to choke. A tiny hand tugs at Arthur’s rolled up sleeve. “Ice cream now?”
“Yes, double scoop for you too.” Phillipa grins and skips ahead. Eames takes the opportunity to trip Arthur when they reach the sidewalk.
“You should really watch your step, Arthur.”
--
Eames has Phillipa hoisted up on one hip, waiting for Arthur to get back with the ice cream. Phillipa stares at the display of jewelry and trinkets at the stand in front of them. Her small fingers pat Eames’ face until he stops looking in the direction of the ice cream shop.
“What is it, Pippa?” he questions. She has one thumb in her mouth, a habit she lost two years ago, and her other hand points to the display of glittery things. Eames edges closer and Phillipa turns her head to see better. “You like something?”
“Lots of pretty things,” the woman minding the stand says. She smiles at them as she gestures to a bowl of beaded bracelets. “Little girls love bracelets. I’m sure your daughter would like one too.”
“He’s not my daddy,” Phillipa replies. Her words are muffled around her thumb.
“Oh, is he your uncle? How old are you, Sweetie?”
She holds up four fingers and the woman smiles. “He’s Eames,” she says simply. Her hand fists in his collar.
“You want a bracelet?” He keeps the tone light as he glances over the plastic beads. She shakes her head and tightens her arm around his neck. She removes her thumb from her mouth and points again. Not to the bracelets but to a basket of silver rings with different colored glass insets. “A ring?”
“Ah, a mood ring,” the woman announces. She adjusts the basket so it’s more accessible to them. Eames frowns at it. “The colors change to indicate the mood you’re in. We have cards to describe them.”
“Mommy had one.”
“Yeah? What happened to it?” He sees Arthur exit the shop with the ice cream. He gives a slight wave to draw his attention. Arthur nods and Eames can see a frown marring his face. Eames raises an eyebrow curiously as Arthur skirts an elderly couple and their dog. “Pippa?”
“Mommy put it down the sink. She hit the button that lets the pipe monster eat the leftovers.” Eames has to think about that, best he can manage is she means the garbage disposal. He frowns and shifts her weight slightly. “I want one.”
“Alright.” He waves at Arthur impatiently once more then leans over the basket with Phillipa. She picks at the rings, ignores the card displaying the moods, and fingers the smooth bands. Her hand closes on one and she pulls it out, holds it up to Eames’ face so he can see. He needs to crane his neck back to get enough distance not to go cross-eyed. “This the one you want then?”
She slips the ring on in response. It’s a pale, pale yellow. Kind of murky around the edges. The woman notices and frowns. “That one doesn’t seem to be working, how about a different one?”
“I like lelow.” Arthur joins them by now and Phillipa’s reaching for her strawberry ice cream, double scoop as promised. “Look, Uncle Arthur, Eames got me a ring.” She shoves her hand into his face.
“Aren’t they supposed to change co-?”
Eames ignores the look Arthur sends him after his foot connects with his shin. “It’s lovely, Pippa.” He sets her on the ground and pulls out his wallet. While the woman is getting his change he checks the card and smiles. “Suits you perfect.” He sends a side long look at Arthur. “Want one too, Darling?”
“No.” He shoves the ice cream into Eames’ hand once he’s properly tucked away the change.
“Hey! There’s a bite missing from my mint chocolate chip!” Phillipa laughs. She slides her free hand into Arthur’s and swings it back and forth as they head back to the apartment. Arthur checks his phone, frowns at it. “You stole some of my ice cream!”
“I bought your ice cream,” Arthur replies.
Eames frowns. “Well, yes, but I noticed Pippa’s was perfectly fine.”
Arthur arches a brow and has the audacity to curl the corner of his mouth into a semblance of a smile. “I’m allergic to strawberries, remember?”
“Oh, right.” He rubs a hand through his hair and looks at the clouds rolling in. “Mal called?”
Arthur shakes his head, tucks the phone back in his pocket. “No, I left her a message while in line. She hasn’t called back yet.” He squeezes Phillipa’s hand. “How’s the ice cream?”
“Good.” She has a pink face and some of it dribbles down to her shirt. Arthur wishes he’d brought more napkins with him.