042
Title: Yellow
Chapter: 3/11
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don’t own Inception.
Pairing/Characters: Arthur/Eames, Phillipa, Mal, James
Summary: In which Eames plays with bubbles, Phillipa is bouncy, and Arthur hears from Cobb.
Author’s Note: Wow, this is the fastest I've updated in a long time. And suddenly the fic gets a mind of it's own. Perfect.
Previous Part(s): Part One Part Two
--
“Mal, it’s Arthur again. We’re back at my apartment, still waiting to hear what’s happening. Are you still coming by? Hope all is well with James. Call Eames or me later.” Eames looks up as Arthur leans against the bathroom door. Phillipa’s in the tub splashing about with some of the toys left over from the kids’ last stay. Eames is crouched next to the tub, trying to wipe Phillipa’s face off with a washcloth. “No answer.”
“You call Dom?”
“Not yet. I don’t want to worry him unnecessarily.” Eames nods; they both know Cobb can get a bit anxious when it concerns his wife or children. “Have enough bubbles in there?” He gestures to the tub. Phillipa looks scandalized, Eames matches it.
“No!” Phillipa exclaims.
“Arthur, there is no such thing as enough bubbles. There are in fact not enough bubbles in the world to even be considered too many. Right, Pippa?”
“Right.”
Arthur rolls his eyes. “When she disappears under all that you can explain it to Cobb.” His eyes narrow as Eames leans over the tub. “What are you doing?” Eames sits back with a handful of bubbles. He grins and wriggles his eyebrows. “Don’t you dare.”
Eames ignores him, typical. He puckers and blows and suddenly Arthur is being assaulted by shimmering bubbles. Phillipa giggles and claps her hands together. She’s wearing her ring still, Arthur notices. “Much better.”
Arthur’s eyes narrow. A moment later he’s crouched on the ground next to Eames, with a handful of bubbles pointed in his direction. Eames raises his hands in surrender, lazy grin still covering his face. Arthur isn’t sure how but suddenly they’re involved in a three way bubble fight. His bathroom is covered in soap bubbles; the rug is soaked with water that Phillipa splashes out as she joins in.
Arthur’s hair is now loose, his shirt soaked in parts, spotted in others. Eames has a large bubble somehow balancing on top of his head. Phillipa laughs and reaches out to grab his face. “I want to pop,” she tells him. Obediently he leans forward and Phillipa removes a hand so that she can poke the bubble. Her laughter echoes in the tiny bathroom.
“I’m hungry,” she announces.
“What do you want?” Eames questions. “Soup, broccoli, bananas?”
Phillipa swats at more bubbles and wrinkles her nose. “No, I want tuna fish.”
“Tuna fish!” Eames exclaims. He falls back as if punched. Arthur chuckles. “What self respecting child wants tuna fish?”
“Obviously, an extremely intelligent one,” Arthur responds. “With apple slices.”
“Red ones,” Phillipa instructs. “And a cookie too.”
Slowly Arthur stands, ignores the way Eames’ eyes follow his movements from the ground. “I’m going to get changed, no more bubbles, Eames. I’ll make your lunch after while Eames gets you dry, okay?”
“Okay,” Phillipa responds. Arthur nudges Eames with his foot.
“Alright,” Eames replies finally. He sits up again and finally turns his attention to Phillipa. Arthur pretends he doesn’t hear Eames whisper loudly to Phillipa, “What does he know? Another half a bottle should be good, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Phillipa whispers back just as loud.
--
The phone rings while Eames is trying to fight Phillipa into her clothing. “Really now, Pippa, Uncle Arthur will not like you jumping on his bed” just doesn’t seem to work with her. He wonders if he’ll be blamed for the pillows on the floor and the wrinkles in the bedding. Probably, if he knows Arthur.
He hears Arthur’s voice carry from the kitchen. It rises and then drops suddenly. All he can make out is Mal’s name. He frowns as Phillipa bounces closer. “Jumpy, jumpy, jumpy,” she chants over and over. He wonders if he was this bad when he was an ankle-biter.
“Gotcha!” He lunges and catches her. She falls to the bed giggling and he has a mouth full of blonde hair. Phillipa’s legs kick out as she tugs at his hair. “Uh-uh. You’re getting dressed.”
“No!” she shrieks. She trails off into more giggles as Eames tickles her sides. She rolls over and tries to crawl away. Eames shakes his head and sits up, pulling Phillipa onto his lap. With one hand locked around her stomach he uses the other hand to pull her dress over her head.
Phillipa finally settles down and even helps him pull up her tights. She sits on the edge of the bed and swings her legs back and forth while he goes into the master bath to grab a comb. Eames can’t hear Arthur’s voice anymore and he frowns again. Phillipa looks at him when he returns. Her eyebrows draw together, her eyes widen, and her lips pucker out like a fish’s. Eames raises an eyebrow at her.
“Smile!” she instructs. She follows her own advice and grins. Eames chuckles and runs the comb through her hair. “Braid it like Mommy does.”
“How does your mommy braid it?”
“From here all the way down.” She gestures from the top of her head to the ends of her hair.
“French braid?” She nods. He mutters under his breath. “Okay, no promises on whether it’ll look the same though.” She begins to sing Alouette happily. He’s tying her elastic, a stringy hair tie in a rainbow of colors, around the end when Arthur appears in the bedroom doorway. He glances between his messed up bed, to Phillipa’s braided hair, to Eames. His mouth curves slightly even as his eyes look dark.
“Hi, Uncle Arthur!”
“Hello, Phillipa. Why don’t you go have your sandwich, I need to talk to Eames.”
Eames wiggles his eyebrows once Phillipa has skipped out. He flops back on the bed, twists on his side and stares at Arthur lecherously. “Something you wanted, Darling?”
“Mal’s at the hospital.”
Chapter: 3/11
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don’t own Inception.
Pairing/Characters: Arthur/Eames, Phillipa, Mal, James
Summary: In which Eames plays with bubbles, Phillipa is bouncy, and Arthur hears from Cobb.
Author’s Note: Wow, this is the fastest I've updated in a long time. And suddenly the fic gets a mind of it's own. Perfect.
Previous Part(s): Part One Part Two
--
“Mal, it’s Arthur again. We’re back at my apartment, still waiting to hear what’s happening. Are you still coming by? Hope all is well with James. Call Eames or me later.” Eames looks up as Arthur leans against the bathroom door. Phillipa’s in the tub splashing about with some of the toys left over from the kids’ last stay. Eames is crouched next to the tub, trying to wipe Phillipa’s face off with a washcloth. “No answer.”
“You call Dom?”
“Not yet. I don’t want to worry him unnecessarily.” Eames nods; they both know Cobb can get a bit anxious when it concerns his wife or children. “Have enough bubbles in there?” He gestures to the tub. Phillipa looks scandalized, Eames matches it.
“No!” Phillipa exclaims.
“Arthur, there is no such thing as enough bubbles. There are in fact not enough bubbles in the world to even be considered too many. Right, Pippa?”
“Right.”
Arthur rolls his eyes. “When she disappears under all that you can explain it to Cobb.” His eyes narrow as Eames leans over the tub. “What are you doing?” Eames sits back with a handful of bubbles. He grins and wriggles his eyebrows. “Don’t you dare.”
Eames ignores him, typical. He puckers and blows and suddenly Arthur is being assaulted by shimmering bubbles. Phillipa giggles and claps her hands together. She’s wearing her ring still, Arthur notices. “Much better.”
Arthur’s eyes narrow. A moment later he’s crouched on the ground next to Eames, with a handful of bubbles pointed in his direction. Eames raises his hands in surrender, lazy grin still covering his face. Arthur isn’t sure how but suddenly they’re involved in a three way bubble fight. His bathroom is covered in soap bubbles; the rug is soaked with water that Phillipa splashes out as she joins in.
Arthur’s hair is now loose, his shirt soaked in parts, spotted in others. Eames has a large bubble somehow balancing on top of his head. Phillipa laughs and reaches out to grab his face. “I want to pop,” she tells him. Obediently he leans forward and Phillipa removes a hand so that she can poke the bubble. Her laughter echoes in the tiny bathroom.
“I’m hungry,” she announces.
“What do you want?” Eames questions. “Soup, broccoli, bananas?”
Phillipa swats at more bubbles and wrinkles her nose. “No, I want tuna fish.”
“Tuna fish!” Eames exclaims. He falls back as if punched. Arthur chuckles. “What self respecting child wants tuna fish?”
“Obviously, an extremely intelligent one,” Arthur responds. “With apple slices.”
“Red ones,” Phillipa instructs. “And a cookie too.”
Slowly Arthur stands, ignores the way Eames’ eyes follow his movements from the ground. “I’m going to get changed, no more bubbles, Eames. I’ll make your lunch after while Eames gets you dry, okay?”
“Okay,” Phillipa responds. Arthur nudges Eames with his foot.
“Alright,” Eames replies finally. He sits up again and finally turns his attention to Phillipa. Arthur pretends he doesn’t hear Eames whisper loudly to Phillipa, “What does he know? Another half a bottle should be good, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Phillipa whispers back just as loud.
--
The phone rings while Eames is trying to fight Phillipa into her clothing. “Really now, Pippa, Uncle Arthur will not like you jumping on his bed” just doesn’t seem to work with her. He wonders if he’ll be blamed for the pillows on the floor and the wrinkles in the bedding. Probably, if he knows Arthur.
He hears Arthur’s voice carry from the kitchen. It rises and then drops suddenly. All he can make out is Mal’s name. He frowns as Phillipa bounces closer. “Jumpy, jumpy, jumpy,” she chants over and over. He wonders if he was this bad when he was an ankle-biter.
“Gotcha!” He lunges and catches her. She falls to the bed giggling and he has a mouth full of blonde hair. Phillipa’s legs kick out as she tugs at his hair. “Uh-uh. You’re getting dressed.”
“No!” she shrieks. She trails off into more giggles as Eames tickles her sides. She rolls over and tries to crawl away. Eames shakes his head and sits up, pulling Phillipa onto his lap. With one hand locked around her stomach he uses the other hand to pull her dress over her head.
Phillipa finally settles down and even helps him pull up her tights. She sits on the edge of the bed and swings her legs back and forth while he goes into the master bath to grab a comb. Eames can’t hear Arthur’s voice anymore and he frowns again. Phillipa looks at him when he returns. Her eyebrows draw together, her eyes widen, and her lips pucker out like a fish’s. Eames raises an eyebrow at her.
“Smile!” she instructs. She follows her own advice and grins. Eames chuckles and runs the comb through her hair. “Braid it like Mommy does.”
“How does your mommy braid it?”
“From here all the way down.” She gestures from the top of her head to the ends of her hair.
“French braid?” She nods. He mutters under his breath. “Okay, no promises on whether it’ll look the same though.” She begins to sing Alouette happily. He’s tying her elastic, a stringy hair tie in a rainbow of colors, around the end when Arthur appears in the bedroom doorway. He glances between his messed up bed, to Phillipa’s braided hair, to Eames. His mouth curves slightly even as his eyes look dark.
“Hi, Uncle Arthur!”
“Hello, Phillipa. Why don’t you go have your sandwich, I need to talk to Eames.”
Eames wiggles his eyebrows once Phillipa has skipped out. He flops back on the bed, twists on his side and stares at Arthur lecherously. “Something you wanted, Darling?”
“Mal’s at the hospital.”