065
Title: Lelow
Chapter: 11/?
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don’t own Inception.
Pairing/Characters: Arthur/Eames, Phillipa, James, Cobb, Mal's mother
Summary: In which Arthur is snippy, James is dirty, Phillipa has a leaf in her hair, Eames brings wine, and Cobb has a request.
Author’s Note: Omg, I am so, so, so sorry for the month and a half it took me to get this out. School, life, and just plain old fighting with it has procrastinated it. However, yesterday afternoon I finally realized what was wrong and now I have a fairly clear idea on where it will go. I'm just not sure how many more parts there will be. I won't promise daily updates but I will promise a heck of a lot more than what I've given you recently. Thank you to everyone who has read and prodded me into updating.
Previous Series: Yellow One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven
Previous Parts: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
--
Arthur flicks Eames in the side of the head as he enters the kitchen. “All done?”
“Yes, Master,” Eames grumbles. He opens the fridge and roots around until he finds a beer. “Everything is unpacked and put away.”
Arthur turns partially from where he’s chopping vegetables. “I’m impressed. Maybe I should bribe you more often,” he teases.
Eames grins and leans against the counter next to him. “Maybe. And maybe I just like discovering that you’re a closet exhibitionist.” He grins as Arthur’s ears turn red. “I always have enjoyed danger.”
“There was nothing dangerous about my balcony.”
“No? What about…mmph.” He bit down on the slice of carrot Arthur shoves in his mouth with a satisfying crunch. “You know, you’re the only American I’ve met who actually cooks dinner.”
“Mustn’t have met many then. Mal cooked every night.”
“I’ve met a fair few-”
“Where, Atlantic City and Vegas?”
“Well, aren’t we snippy? No, there are you and Cobb; that architect who introduced us, Hannah I think? And Mal was French; it’s practically ingrained in their DNA coding. Bet she had a garden out back that she grew herself too, hm?” Arthur’s silent and Eames nods. “Good ol’ European upbringing.” He takes a long pull of beer and makes a face as it reacts with the taste of carrot.
“Please, you would eat at McDonald’s every night if you could,” Arthur grumbles. He sets aside the knife as he begins to peel one of the large white onions.
“Bless their salty chips,” Eames sighs. Arthur’s cell rings from the table and Eames grins. “I’ll get it!” he exclaims. Arthur glances over his shoulder to see him try to imitate Phillipa’s skipping. Eames winks at him, earns a dimpled smile in reward, and grabs the phone. “You’ve reached Arthur Stick-in-the-mud’s phone, this is the imaginative Eames speaking!”
“Idiot!” Arthur scolds. Eames ducks and the onion hits the wall, rattles the painting hanging there.
Eames ignores him, cradles the phone against his ear. “Yes? Everything all right or do you need us to watch the ankle-biters once more?”
Arthur watches as Eames suddenly frowns. He glances at Arthur fingers and hands suddenly forming the words Cobb-house-dinner, his eyebrows rising to illustrate the question mark that should be at the end. Arthur nods slowly and Eames’s face cracks into a smile. “Alright, Cobb. We’ll be there, six sharp. Shall we bring anything?”
“Everything okay?” Arthur questions as Eames hangs up.
“Seems to be. Mal’s mother is in and wants to see you. We’re to bring the wine.” He finishes his beer. “Ah, a marvelous night to get drunk.”
Arthur glares at him as he puts the vegetables away.
--
Arthur fidgets with his cuffs as they wait at the door. Despite Eames’ reassurances that Cobb sounded fine over the phone he couldn’t stop the feeling of fear welling up in his stomach. Eames nudges him with his shoulder and Arthur glowers at him. “Relax,” Eames murmurs.
“What did Cobb say again?”
Eames knocks loudly on the door. “Come for dinner, bring wine.” Arthur sends him a shifty look, eyes calculating. “I’m paraphrasing of course. Now relax and put on a cheerful look.”
The door opens and Eames has to do a double take. There’s a woman in the doorway, her blue eyes bright and piercing behind a few strands of fly away brown curls. “Oui?” she questions. Her eyes find Arthur and her grim face turns bright. “Ah, Arthur!” she exclaims. She pulls him into a hug and kisses his cheeks. “So good to see you, ça va?”
“Marie,” Arthur greets. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Her eyes change colors to that of a stormy sea and she nods as her lips thin. “Yes,” she replies. “We are all sorry. Mallorie was a wonderful girl. It is a, comment dit ton? A real shock.” She straightens her shoulders and smiles again as her eyes flick to Eames. “You did not introduce your friend, Arthur.”
“Oh, right. Marie, this is Eames. Eames, this is Marie, Mal’s mother.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Eames says quickly. He reaches out the hand not holding the bottle of wine but she grasps his shoulders and kisses both his cheeks as she had done to Arthur.
“You too,” Marie murmurs. “I just wish it was better circumstances.”
“Yes, of course.”
She steps aside and gestures for them to enter. “Please, come in.” She closes the door behind them. “The children are in back. Dom is making the final arrangements in the office. Can I get you anything?”
“No, we’re good,” Arthur answers.
“Just tell me where to put the bottle, or should we open it now?” Arthur suppresses a groan and Marie laughs.
--
James holds up a jar with fingers caked in black dirt. The setting sun catches on the glass, shines in their eyes. Inside a worm wriggles in a handful of dirt. “See, Uncle Arthur? I got him all by myself.”
“I see,” Arthur responds. He smiles as Phillipa trots over to examine the find.
“Jamie,” she whines, “you’re supposed to help me find lady bugs, not worms.”
“I like worms.” His eyes turn to Arthur. “You think Daddy’ll take us fishing again, Uncle Arthur? I could use Fred to catch a big fish.”
“You can’t name them if you’re going to kill them,” Phillipa responds.
Arthur crouches on the grass next to the two children. He looks over James’ head at the back patio and sees Eames disappearing inside the house. Marie sips at lemonade while she flips pages in a photo album. “I think you’ll need to ask him, James.” He ruffles the boy’s hair.
“Uncle Arthur?” Phillipa asks. She wraps her fingers around his wrist and tugs until he looks at her. “Will you help me find lady bugs?”
“Those are the red ones with the black spots?”
She nods eagerly. “Yeah. Mommy used to help me find them.” James looks up at that, jar nestled on the ground between his folded knees. “They like the garden.”
Arthur looks them both over. James sucks in his bottom lip, face smudged with finger-sized smears of dirt. Phillipa has a leaf tangled in the ends of her hair and her eyes are distant. “Okay, sounds good.” He gets to his feet and squeezes Phillipa’s hand when she grabs his. “But what if I find one that’s black with red spots?”
Phillipa laughs as she pulls him toward the small garden.
--
“Ah, the mastermind in his natural habitat.” He smiles, fingernails scraping against the totem hidden in his pocket. Cobb sits behind his desk, Mal’s top twirls on the tabletop before him. They both watch until it topples to the side.
“Eames,” Cobb greets. He doesn’t stand, just stares at the top lying among the scattered papers and stacked books. “Close the door, please.”
Eames does as told, nudging it shut with his foot. “Should I lock it too?” he jokes. The laughter fades from his voice when he sees the contemplative look on Cobb’s face.
“No,” Cobb says a beat too late. “If someone looked for us it might raise questions.”
“What kind of questions?” He drops into one of the leather chairs in the room, angles himself to look at Cobb. “What do you want, Cobb?”
“Papers,” he says finally.
Eames’ face is carefully blank. He picks at a loose thread on his corduroys. “What type of papers?”
Cobb’s expression doesn’t change. He picks the top up and pockets it. Eames pretends not to notice. “The kind that’s a particular specialty to you,” he replies. “I need them as a back-up plan.”
“Sounds drastic.” He settles back into the chair, left foot tapping on the rug. “What exactly do you need?”
“Passport, driver’s license, birth certificate-”
“A completely new identity then, hm?” Cobb nods. “For you and the children?”
“Just for me.”
Eames doesn’t let the surprise show on his face. He sits up, elbows on his knees as he stares at Cobb. “I thought this was a back-up plan. What about the children?”
“Mal’s mother will be their guardian if something happens. I can’t put them through a chase.”
“This is sounding an awful lot like a front plan, not a back-up plan.” He waits a beat but Cobb doesn’t respond. “All right. To do all that? Three days, is that alright?”
Cobb hesitates. “I might only have one.”