054
Title: Yellow
Chapter: 11/11
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don’t own Inception.
Pairing/Characters: Arthur/Eames, Phillipa, Mal, James, Cobb
Summary: In which Eames makes Arthur moan, James learns a new game, Phillipa kills Elmo, Mal and Cobb pick up their children and Arthur is unconvinced.
Author’s Note: This is the end of this fic. The first part of the sequel is almost finished, and pretty much it's just a continuation of this set at a later date so it's not really that it's ending, right? So basically it'll be out tomorrow unless I come home and die. Thank goodness tomorrow's Friday! Thank you for the fantastic comments, you make me smile so much.
Previous Part(s): One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten
--
“You tired?” Eames asks softly. Arthur stifles a yawn and shakes his head. “Liar.” He ruffles Arthur’s hair. Arthur snorts and leans into him despite his best efforts not to.
“I’m not,” he pauses to yawn, “tired.”
“Course not.” Eames lowers the volume on the TV and drapes an arm around Arthur’s shoulders. “Why don’t you rest though, you hardly slept last night. And not for the good reasons either.”
Arthur’s elbow connects with Eames’ ribs. Eames lets out a yelp and Arthur pulls away. “You’re hopeless.” He lays back, head on the armrest and feet in Eames’ lap. “I never should have let you in.”
“Oh, but you always do,” Eames responds. He waggles his eyebrows and Arthur mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “God help me.” Eames laughs low and sets about massaging the feet in his lap. Arthur lifts his head slightly to look at him.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to get you to relax. Now be a good lad and take your nap.” He moves before Arthur can kick him in the face. His fingers curl around the instep of Arthur’s right foot, press in deep, and Arthur actually lets his head fall back as he moans. Eames’ smile turns satisfied and Arthur doesn’t care anymore. “Did you say something, Arthur? I could use a bit more specificity.”
“Shut-up,” Arthur barks. He presses his foot into Eames’ hand, eyes closing. Eames grins.
“As you wish.”
--
“You have to be careful, okay?”
These are not words Arthur generally likes hearing upon waking, as a matter of principal. And because he’s had prior experience with Eames’ influences. His eyes open slowly. The room is lit with a dull grey light. He’s sprawled out across the sofa, one arm hanging over the edge. Someone, probably Eames, threw a blanket over him while he slept. It’s now tangled around his calves.
“You’re gonna break it!” Phillipa whines.
Her voice snaps him out of his foggy sleep state and he sat up. “Eames....” he trails off, eyes wide.
Eames smiles innocently up at him. “Something the matter?”
“What, what is all this?” He stops, cranes his neck to look around the small living room. There are small tiles lined up everywhere. White ones with black dots, black ones with white dots, even red ones with white dots. “Where did you get all the dominos?”
Eames’ smile grows. “I made a quick trip to a shop while you were passed out.”
“I was not passed out.” He folds the blanket and watches as Eames carefully instructs the kids on proper domino etiquette. Outside the window he can see clouds have rolled in, heavy with rain. Distantly he can make out thunder.
“Wanna help, Uncle Arthur?” Phillipa asks. “James is scratching again!” she announces.
“James, do you need more lotion?”
“No! I wanna make a squiggle.” Eames laughs, lies on his stomach and guides James’ mitten covered hands in the proper arrangement.
--
James runs to his parents when Eames opens the door. Cobb grabs him up, grins at him. Arthur stands slowly and gestures for Phillipa to turn off the television. She does, reluctantly, and Elmo is shut off finally. Mal looks pale, with dark circles around her eyes and a wavering smile.
“Phillipa, ma chère, come here,” she says. Phillipa hangs back a moment longer before hurrying into her mother’s embrace.
James wriggles in his father’s arms, reaches for Mal. “Mommy, look what we made. We made something cool.” Cobb sets him down and James grabs his mother’s hand, tows her into the living room where the dominos are still set up.
They curl out, climb a stack of books, fan out across the coffee table, slide down an inverted cookie tray, and continue on in branching formations. There have to be at least two hundred dominos in his living room and he has no idea what to do with them after. Mal kneels, with a child on each side, as they show her which parts they made and which parts Eames did.
Arthur notices the scar on the inside of her left wrist, neatly connecting three needle marks, when she points to a blossom of red dominos. Cobb follows his gaze from where he stands next to Eames. “An accident.”
“Sometimes accidents are more than that,” Eames murmurs. Phillipa tugs on Mal’s hand, pulls her around the sofa to see where she spelled her name in black tiles. “The doctors say anything?”
“No,” Cobb replies. His voice is razor sharp. “Thank you, both, for watching them. I know they had fun.”
“Anytime,” Arthur replies. “Dom-”
Cobb looks at him and for just a moment he sees the flash of pain before it’s buried in a sea of blue. “I’m going to take a rest, stay home with Mal and the children for awhile. She needs a break.”
Eames rests a hand on Cobb’s shoulder. “You need either of us, you call.”
“I will.” He’s looking back at his family though and they both know he’s lying.
“Daddy!” James calls. He lifts his face, smiling.
“Daddy, come on, we’re going to set them off!” Phillipa adds. Cobb smiles as he goes to join them. One hand rests on Mal’s shoulder, rubs reassuringly at her neck.
James pushes the white domino that starts his name and Phillipa pushes the black one at the start of hers. They all watch as the dominos fall one by one. It's silent except for the clicking of the tiles hitting each other, the scrape as they land on the floor.
When it's done, Mal calmly spins her top in the middle of the destruction.
Chapter: 11/11
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don’t own Inception.
Pairing/Characters: Arthur/Eames, Phillipa, Mal, James, Cobb
Summary: In which Eames makes Arthur moan, James learns a new game, Phillipa kills Elmo, Mal and Cobb pick up their children and Arthur is unconvinced.
Author’s Note: This is the end of this fic. The first part of the sequel is almost finished, and pretty much it's just a continuation of this set at a later date so it's not really that it's ending, right? So basically it'll be out tomorrow unless I come home and die. Thank goodness tomorrow's Friday! Thank you for the fantastic comments, you make me smile so much.
Previous Part(s): One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten
--
“You tired?” Eames asks softly. Arthur stifles a yawn and shakes his head. “Liar.” He ruffles Arthur’s hair. Arthur snorts and leans into him despite his best efforts not to.
“I’m not,” he pauses to yawn, “tired.”
“Course not.” Eames lowers the volume on the TV and drapes an arm around Arthur’s shoulders. “Why don’t you rest though, you hardly slept last night. And not for the good reasons either.”
Arthur’s elbow connects with Eames’ ribs. Eames lets out a yelp and Arthur pulls away. “You’re hopeless.” He lays back, head on the armrest and feet in Eames’ lap. “I never should have let you in.”
“Oh, but you always do,” Eames responds. He waggles his eyebrows and Arthur mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “God help me.” Eames laughs low and sets about massaging the feet in his lap. Arthur lifts his head slightly to look at him.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to get you to relax. Now be a good lad and take your nap.” He moves before Arthur can kick him in the face. His fingers curl around the instep of Arthur’s right foot, press in deep, and Arthur actually lets his head fall back as he moans. Eames’ smile turns satisfied and Arthur doesn’t care anymore. “Did you say something, Arthur? I could use a bit more specificity.”
“Shut-up,” Arthur barks. He presses his foot into Eames’ hand, eyes closing. Eames grins.
“As you wish.”
--
“You have to be careful, okay?”
These are not words Arthur generally likes hearing upon waking, as a matter of principal. And because he’s had prior experience with Eames’ influences. His eyes open slowly. The room is lit with a dull grey light. He’s sprawled out across the sofa, one arm hanging over the edge. Someone, probably Eames, threw a blanket over him while he slept. It’s now tangled around his calves.
“You’re gonna break it!” Phillipa whines.
Her voice snaps him out of his foggy sleep state and he sat up. “Eames....” he trails off, eyes wide.
Eames smiles innocently up at him. “Something the matter?”
“What, what is all this?” He stops, cranes his neck to look around the small living room. There are small tiles lined up everywhere. White ones with black dots, black ones with white dots, even red ones with white dots. “Where did you get all the dominos?”
Eames’ smile grows. “I made a quick trip to a shop while you were passed out.”
“I was not passed out.” He folds the blanket and watches as Eames carefully instructs the kids on proper domino etiquette. Outside the window he can see clouds have rolled in, heavy with rain. Distantly he can make out thunder.
“Wanna help, Uncle Arthur?” Phillipa asks. “James is scratching again!” she announces.
“James, do you need more lotion?”
“No! I wanna make a squiggle.” Eames laughs, lies on his stomach and guides James’ mitten covered hands in the proper arrangement.
--
James runs to his parents when Eames opens the door. Cobb grabs him up, grins at him. Arthur stands slowly and gestures for Phillipa to turn off the television. She does, reluctantly, and Elmo is shut off finally. Mal looks pale, with dark circles around her eyes and a wavering smile.
“Phillipa, ma chère, come here,” she says. Phillipa hangs back a moment longer before hurrying into her mother’s embrace.
James wriggles in his father’s arms, reaches for Mal. “Mommy, look what we made. We made something cool.” Cobb sets him down and James grabs his mother’s hand, tows her into the living room where the dominos are still set up.
They curl out, climb a stack of books, fan out across the coffee table, slide down an inverted cookie tray, and continue on in branching formations. There have to be at least two hundred dominos in his living room and he has no idea what to do with them after. Mal kneels, with a child on each side, as they show her which parts they made and which parts Eames did.
Arthur notices the scar on the inside of her left wrist, neatly connecting three needle marks, when she points to a blossom of red dominos. Cobb follows his gaze from where he stands next to Eames. “An accident.”
“Sometimes accidents are more than that,” Eames murmurs. Phillipa tugs on Mal’s hand, pulls her around the sofa to see where she spelled her name in black tiles. “The doctors say anything?”
“No,” Cobb replies. His voice is razor sharp. “Thank you, both, for watching them. I know they had fun.”
“Anytime,” Arthur replies. “Dom-”
Cobb looks at him and for just a moment he sees the flash of pain before it’s buried in a sea of blue. “I’m going to take a rest, stay home with Mal and the children for awhile. She needs a break.”
Eames rests a hand on Cobb’s shoulder. “You need either of us, you call.”
“I will.” He’s looking back at his family though and they both know he’s lying.
“Daddy!” James calls. He lifts his face, smiling.
“Daddy, come on, we’re going to set them off!” Phillipa adds. Cobb smiles as he goes to join them. One hand rests on Mal’s shoulder, rubs reassuringly at her neck.
James pushes the white domino that starts his name and Phillipa pushes the black one at the start of hers. They all watch as the dominos fall one by one. It's silent except for the clicking of the tiles hitting each other, the scrape as they land on the floor.
When it's done, Mal calmly spins her top in the middle of the destruction.