066
Title: Lelow
Chapter: 12/?
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don’t own Inception.
Pairing/Characters: Arthur/Eames, Phillipa, James, Cobb, Mal's mother, Miles
Summary: In which Arthur is resigned, James is enthralled, Phillipa argues with Miles, Eames is Harry Potter (but cooler), and Cobb has a reminder.
Author’s Note: Omg, I am so, so, so sorry to the two months since I last updated. I honestly don't know where the time went. ::sigh:: Anyway, here's the next part. I hope everyone had a good holiday. Happy New Year!
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 11
--
Eames reappears just as Phillipa is twisting the cap shut on her jar of lady bugs. He is laughing as he holds the door open for Marie and follows her onto the porch. Arthur looks up at him curiously as Eames takes a seat on the patio chair. Marie descends the stairs and hands him the pair of scissors he had sent her in for. Eames doesn’t meet his eye or even look in toward him. Arthur frowns as he pokes holes in the lid with the scissors.
“Here you go,” he says.
“Thanks!” Phillipa exclaims. James looks up from where he’s digging with an orange plastic shovel. “Uncle Eames, look what we found!” Phillipa calls. She jumps to her feet and dashes off toward him. James trails his sister to the porch, presses against the railings as Eames chuckles and leans forward on the chair, twists the jar of ladybugs thrust into his hands.
Marie crouches to pick up the bucket and digging tools littered on the ground. Her smile turns down at the corners, wavers just a bit. Arthur jumps as her hand lands on his shoulder. “The children like him, oui?”
“Oui,” he agrees. “It seems.” His voice is fonder than he had intended.
Marie nods. “He is anglais, oui?” Marie questions. Arthur hides a smile at her tone of voice. He catches Eames’ eye across the yard.
“Yes, he’s English.” Eames offers him a slight lip quirk and then his head is tilted back down. The jar is set on the worn wooden planks and he reaches out a hand to tuck Phillipa’s hair back. Arthur can see his lips moving but can’t make out the words from the angle and distance.
“He is good with the children, like you, Arthur.” He looks back to the older woman beside him. Her eyes are fixed on James kicking the jasmine bush and Phillipa’s waving hands. “A man who is good with children is a good man, like you, like Monsieur Eames, like Dom,” she adds. “I told Mallorie that after I saw Dom with my great-nieces. He is a good man; he has not done what the police have said.”
“They still think he killed her.”
“My daughter was not well at the end of her life.” Her eyes meet Arthur’s and her mouth is a thin line and colorless. “She had strange ideas in her head. I begged her to come back home but she would not take the kids and leave Dom and Dom would not leave America. He is a good man, Arthur, but he is a man and men are foolish.”
Arthur’s lips quick in a smile. He finishes helping her gather the plastic toys. “I think I should be offended.”
Marie laughs and three heads lift and turn to look at them. “No, no, Cher,” she laughs. Her hand pats his cheek. “You are different, you are sensible, reliable.”
The patio door opens and Cobb appears. He takes in the sight of Eames and the children talking in hushed voices, Arthur covered in dirt and leaves, Marie getting slowly to her feet clutching dirty toys, and shakes his head. “Kids, go wash up,” a smile twitches, “and show Uncle Arthur the downstairs bathroom please. Marie, let me help you.” He doesn’t look at Eames and Eames doesn’t look at Cobb.
Arthur frowns as he wipes his hands on his trousers.
--
Miles arrives as they are just sitting down. He has a bag under each arm and he smiles at them as he passes into the kitchen. Marie gets up and follows him into the kitchen. They speak quietly, accents lilting occasionally.
“Guests, I see,” he greets as they return. He sets a baguette on the table and pours himself a generous glass of wine. “Arthur,” he nods at him. “Evans, was it?”
“Eames, dear,” Marie murmurs. She clicks her tongue at Miles and fixes her napkin.
Phillipa fiddles with the silverware. Her fingers trace the serrated steak knife, over and over again. Eames watches her while she watches Cobb who’s watching Miles. Something different in each of their faces. He wishes he hadn’t agreed to come here. Arthur sips his wine and says something to James which makes him laugh.
“Right, Eames,” Miles repeats. He smiles. “You’re an, an associate of Dom’s?”
“Right,” Eames replies. He looks up as Cobb grabs the baguette and the bread knife. Phillipa’s face goes pale under her blonde hair. He uses the distraction to grab her knife and flips it back and forth over his fingers. “Jamie, be a mate and hand me your spoon.”
James slides it across the table. The other adults stare at him while the children watch curiously. He smiles as he shoves his plate aside. Arthur is widening his eyes at him and making signs that he ignores. “Bet I can make your spoon turn into Pippa’s knife,” he says. James’ eyes widen.
“Magic?” he asks.
“’Course,” Eames replies. Arthur makes a sound while Cobb starts to try to rein him in.
“Like Harry Potter?” Phillipa asks cautiously.
“Bloody hell,” Miles mutters, “not this again.”
“Miles!” Marie admonishes. She swats him on the arm and gives him a stern look he ignores.
Eames stops the knife mid-flip and sets it down. “Nah,” he replies. “I’m much cooler than old Harry.” He winks at her and then slides her his knife. He takes his napkin, fluffs it and within seconds has the spoon at a diagonal under it. James kneels on his seat to watch.
“Eames, please,” Cobb calls down the table.
“Ah, have some fun,” Eames calls back. His voice drops slightly as he tells the children their father is almost as unimaginative as Uncle Arthur. While they laugh he rolls up the napkin, spoon slipping down to land in his lap. His free hand moves it to Phillipa’s plate and retrieves his knife while Cobb sputters in an appropriately distracting way. “And there you go,” he says as he flaps the napkin. The knife sits there glittering.
James’ face lights up like it’s Christmas come early. “Do it again, do it again!” he orders. Phillipa checks the spoon and the knife and stares at him with wide eyes.
“Grandpa you said Hogwarts wasn’t real!” she exclaims. “I told you it was. I told you there was magic in England!”
Arthur looks stern but Eames can see the smile twitching at his mouth. Marie gives him an indulgent smile and taps Cobb on the arm. “I would like some bread now, yes?”
“Yes,” Cobb replies. “James, it’s time for dinner. Eames can do magic later.” James’ face falls, lips protruding into a pout as he falls back into his chair while Miles attempts damage control with Phillipa.
--
“Phillipa, ma Cherie, do not play with your hair at the table.” Arthur watches as Phillipa’s hands fall into her lap, eyes downcast to the floral printed plate. He had helped Mal pick them out three years ago when she had been pregnant with James. “James, you have hardly touched your cake.”
He eyes the slice of chocolate as though he expects it to climb up the fork and attack. “Mommy made it better,” he says.
“James,” Cobb admonishes. “Grandma’s cake is very good. You love chocolate.” James pouts and pushes the chocolate cake about. Arthur suspects he’s still mad about the magic interruption.
Miles smiles at them from across the table. “Come on children, let’s leave the grown-ups alone,” he says. “That is, if it’s all right with Daddy.”
Cobb sighs and waves a hand in a shooing motion. “Go on, brush your teeth and get changed for bed.” The children are gone before he finishes his sentence. Miles trails behind them, pats Cobb’s shoulder as he passes him. Cobb smiles tiredly at Marie. “I’m sorry.”
“Bah, it is nothing. The children miss their mother, that is all.” She nods as she stands to collect the dishes. Cobb and Arthur start to stand to help her but she waves them back down. “I am old but I am not an invalid. You three talk now.”
“Dom-”
They can hear the children’s voices carrying from upstairs. Miles’ voice drifts down the stairs and there’s an outburst of laughter. Phillipa’s voice carries down the stairs, something about magic and three headed dogs. Marie sings softly in French in the kitchen and a pained look crosses Cobb’s face. He settles back in his chair, spins the tiny top on the cleared space in front of him. Arthur’s eyes dart to it while Eames sips at his glass of wine.
“Dom,” Arthur tries again. His eyes fix on the top spinning around and around. It catches on a fold in the table cloth and topples onto its side. “That was…should you be using…”
“I’m not,” Cobb replies. “It’s just a reminder.”
Eames snorts something that sounds suspiciously like “rubbish” into his wine glass. The other two men look at him but he doesn’t pay them any mind.
--
“Where did you go, when I was with the kids?” Arthur questions. They’re lying in bed together, Arthur’s head on Eames’ shoulder. Arthur can feel Eames tense slightly beneath his ear. “Eames?”
“When?” He yawns. “We were downstairs all night; I remember you and Marie talking about the theater in French.”
“Not after dinner.” He shifts and tries to angle his head to see Eames’ face. “Before, when we were outside and you went in.”
“Oh. I went to see Cobb.” His tone is casual and it sets off Arthur’s warning bells immediately even though he can’t figure out why.
He pokes Eames in the ribs. “About?”
“Condolences,” Eames replies. He hesitates and his hand comes up to run through Arthur’s hair. “Actually, I’ll be needing to shove off soon.” It’s Arthur’s turn to tense. “Tomorrow morning most likely, for a couple of days.”
“Another job?” There’s a sneer in Arthur’s voice that he doesn’t mean to be there. Eames shrugs and tightens his grip on a lock of hair. “Who for?” He knows, he knows but he wants to hear Eames say it.
“A business acquaintance.”
“And talking about Cobb just reminded you of that?” Eames is silent and Arthur bats his hands away from his hair as through he’s shooing away a fly. “Will you be back for the funeral?” Eames is silent and Arthur props himself up to stare at him. “Eames?”
“Don’t know,” he answers. “I hope to be but you know our work…”
“Yeah, I know.” Arthur’s eyes narrow at him, dares Eames to call him on it. Eames meets them carefully and quirks his eyebrows up in perfect confusion, puts any doubt aside of his acting capabilities. Without another word Arthur lies down, back to the forger and doesn’t speak for the rest of the night.
When he wakes in the morning the apartment is quiet, the other half of the bed empty and chilled. Arthur lies there for a long while, listening to the sounds of the street carrying up through the closed window. At half past nine he finally rolls out of bed. He doesn’t check the closet because he knows the suitcase will be gone.
There’s a piece of paper taped to the fridge when he finally wanders into the kitchen. A fresh brewed pot of coffee waits on the counter as well. Despite himself he smiles and checks the paper after he’s poured himself a cup. A phone number followed by Emergencies only scrawled pristinely across the yellow paper.
Arthur sighs and pours the coffee down the drain before heading back to bed.
Chapter: 12/?
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don’t own Inception.
Pairing/Characters: Arthur/Eames, Phillipa, James, Cobb, Mal's mother, Miles
Summary: In which Arthur is resigned, James is enthralled, Phillipa argues with Miles, Eames is Harry Potter (but cooler), and Cobb has a reminder.
Author’s Note: Omg, I am so, so, so sorry to the two months since I last updated. I honestly don't know where the time went. ::sigh:: Anyway, here's the next part. I hope everyone had a good holiday. Happy New Year!
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 11
--
Eames reappears just as Phillipa is twisting the cap shut on her jar of lady bugs. He is laughing as he holds the door open for Marie and follows her onto the porch. Arthur looks up at him curiously as Eames takes a seat on the patio chair. Marie descends the stairs and hands him the pair of scissors he had sent her in for. Eames doesn’t meet his eye or even look in toward him. Arthur frowns as he pokes holes in the lid with the scissors.
“Here you go,” he says.
“Thanks!” Phillipa exclaims. James looks up from where he’s digging with an orange plastic shovel. “Uncle Eames, look what we found!” Phillipa calls. She jumps to her feet and dashes off toward him. James trails his sister to the porch, presses against the railings as Eames chuckles and leans forward on the chair, twists the jar of ladybugs thrust into his hands.
Marie crouches to pick up the bucket and digging tools littered on the ground. Her smile turns down at the corners, wavers just a bit. Arthur jumps as her hand lands on his shoulder. “The children like him, oui?”
“Oui,” he agrees. “It seems.” His voice is fonder than he had intended.
Marie nods. “He is anglais, oui?” Marie questions. Arthur hides a smile at her tone of voice. He catches Eames’ eye across the yard.
“Yes, he’s English.” Eames offers him a slight lip quirk and then his head is tilted back down. The jar is set on the worn wooden planks and he reaches out a hand to tuck Phillipa’s hair back. Arthur can see his lips moving but can’t make out the words from the angle and distance.
“He is good with the children, like you, Arthur.” He looks back to the older woman beside him. Her eyes are fixed on James kicking the jasmine bush and Phillipa’s waving hands. “A man who is good with children is a good man, like you, like Monsieur Eames, like Dom,” she adds. “I told Mallorie that after I saw Dom with my great-nieces. He is a good man; he has not done what the police have said.”
“They still think he killed her.”
“My daughter was not well at the end of her life.” Her eyes meet Arthur’s and her mouth is a thin line and colorless. “She had strange ideas in her head. I begged her to come back home but she would not take the kids and leave Dom and Dom would not leave America. He is a good man, Arthur, but he is a man and men are foolish.”
Arthur’s lips quick in a smile. He finishes helping her gather the plastic toys. “I think I should be offended.”
Marie laughs and three heads lift and turn to look at them. “No, no, Cher,” she laughs. Her hand pats his cheek. “You are different, you are sensible, reliable.”
The patio door opens and Cobb appears. He takes in the sight of Eames and the children talking in hushed voices, Arthur covered in dirt and leaves, Marie getting slowly to her feet clutching dirty toys, and shakes his head. “Kids, go wash up,” a smile twitches, “and show Uncle Arthur the downstairs bathroom please. Marie, let me help you.” He doesn’t look at Eames and Eames doesn’t look at Cobb.
Arthur frowns as he wipes his hands on his trousers.
--
Miles arrives as they are just sitting down. He has a bag under each arm and he smiles at them as he passes into the kitchen. Marie gets up and follows him into the kitchen. They speak quietly, accents lilting occasionally.
“Guests, I see,” he greets as they return. He sets a baguette on the table and pours himself a generous glass of wine. “Arthur,” he nods at him. “Evans, was it?”
“Eames, dear,” Marie murmurs. She clicks her tongue at Miles and fixes her napkin.
Phillipa fiddles with the silverware. Her fingers trace the serrated steak knife, over and over again. Eames watches her while she watches Cobb who’s watching Miles. Something different in each of their faces. He wishes he hadn’t agreed to come here. Arthur sips his wine and says something to James which makes him laugh.
“Right, Eames,” Miles repeats. He smiles. “You’re an, an associate of Dom’s?”
“Right,” Eames replies. He looks up as Cobb grabs the baguette and the bread knife. Phillipa’s face goes pale under her blonde hair. He uses the distraction to grab her knife and flips it back and forth over his fingers. “Jamie, be a mate and hand me your spoon.”
James slides it across the table. The other adults stare at him while the children watch curiously. He smiles as he shoves his plate aside. Arthur is widening his eyes at him and making signs that he ignores. “Bet I can make your spoon turn into Pippa’s knife,” he says. James’ eyes widen.
“Magic?” he asks.
“’Course,” Eames replies. Arthur makes a sound while Cobb starts to try to rein him in.
“Like Harry Potter?” Phillipa asks cautiously.
“Bloody hell,” Miles mutters, “not this again.”
“Miles!” Marie admonishes. She swats him on the arm and gives him a stern look he ignores.
Eames stops the knife mid-flip and sets it down. “Nah,” he replies. “I’m much cooler than old Harry.” He winks at her and then slides her his knife. He takes his napkin, fluffs it and within seconds has the spoon at a diagonal under it. James kneels on his seat to watch.
“Eames, please,” Cobb calls down the table.
“Ah, have some fun,” Eames calls back. His voice drops slightly as he tells the children their father is almost as unimaginative as Uncle Arthur. While they laugh he rolls up the napkin, spoon slipping down to land in his lap. His free hand moves it to Phillipa’s plate and retrieves his knife while Cobb sputters in an appropriately distracting way. “And there you go,” he says as he flaps the napkin. The knife sits there glittering.
James’ face lights up like it’s Christmas come early. “Do it again, do it again!” he orders. Phillipa checks the spoon and the knife and stares at him with wide eyes.
“Grandpa you said Hogwarts wasn’t real!” she exclaims. “I told you it was. I told you there was magic in England!”
Arthur looks stern but Eames can see the smile twitching at his mouth. Marie gives him an indulgent smile and taps Cobb on the arm. “I would like some bread now, yes?”
“Yes,” Cobb replies. “James, it’s time for dinner. Eames can do magic later.” James’ face falls, lips protruding into a pout as he falls back into his chair while Miles attempts damage control with Phillipa.
--
“Phillipa, ma Cherie, do not play with your hair at the table.” Arthur watches as Phillipa’s hands fall into her lap, eyes downcast to the floral printed plate. He had helped Mal pick them out three years ago when she had been pregnant with James. “James, you have hardly touched your cake.”
He eyes the slice of chocolate as though he expects it to climb up the fork and attack. “Mommy made it better,” he says.
“James,” Cobb admonishes. “Grandma’s cake is very good. You love chocolate.” James pouts and pushes the chocolate cake about. Arthur suspects he’s still mad about the magic interruption.
Miles smiles at them from across the table. “Come on children, let’s leave the grown-ups alone,” he says. “That is, if it’s all right with Daddy.”
Cobb sighs and waves a hand in a shooing motion. “Go on, brush your teeth and get changed for bed.” The children are gone before he finishes his sentence. Miles trails behind them, pats Cobb’s shoulder as he passes him. Cobb smiles tiredly at Marie. “I’m sorry.”
“Bah, it is nothing. The children miss their mother, that is all.” She nods as she stands to collect the dishes. Cobb and Arthur start to stand to help her but she waves them back down. “I am old but I am not an invalid. You three talk now.”
“Dom-”
They can hear the children’s voices carrying from upstairs. Miles’ voice drifts down the stairs and there’s an outburst of laughter. Phillipa’s voice carries down the stairs, something about magic and three headed dogs. Marie sings softly in French in the kitchen and a pained look crosses Cobb’s face. He settles back in his chair, spins the tiny top on the cleared space in front of him. Arthur’s eyes dart to it while Eames sips at his glass of wine.
“Dom,” Arthur tries again. His eyes fix on the top spinning around and around. It catches on a fold in the table cloth and topples onto its side. “That was…should you be using…”
“I’m not,” Cobb replies. “It’s just a reminder.”
Eames snorts something that sounds suspiciously like “rubbish” into his wine glass. The other two men look at him but he doesn’t pay them any mind.
--
“Where did you go, when I was with the kids?” Arthur questions. They’re lying in bed together, Arthur’s head on Eames’ shoulder. Arthur can feel Eames tense slightly beneath his ear. “Eames?”
“When?” He yawns. “We were downstairs all night; I remember you and Marie talking about the theater in French.”
“Not after dinner.” He shifts and tries to angle his head to see Eames’ face. “Before, when we were outside and you went in.”
“Oh. I went to see Cobb.” His tone is casual and it sets off Arthur’s warning bells immediately even though he can’t figure out why.
He pokes Eames in the ribs. “About?”
“Condolences,” Eames replies. He hesitates and his hand comes up to run through Arthur’s hair. “Actually, I’ll be needing to shove off soon.” It’s Arthur’s turn to tense. “Tomorrow morning most likely, for a couple of days.”
“Another job?” There’s a sneer in Arthur’s voice that he doesn’t mean to be there. Eames shrugs and tightens his grip on a lock of hair. “Who for?” He knows, he knows but he wants to hear Eames say it.
“A business acquaintance.”
“And talking about Cobb just reminded you of that?” Eames is silent and Arthur bats his hands away from his hair as through he’s shooing away a fly. “Will you be back for the funeral?” Eames is silent and Arthur props himself up to stare at him. “Eames?”
“Don’t know,” he answers. “I hope to be but you know our work…”
“Yeah, I know.” Arthur’s eyes narrow at him, dares Eames to call him on it. Eames meets them carefully and quirks his eyebrows up in perfect confusion, puts any doubt aside of his acting capabilities. Without another word Arthur lies down, back to the forger and doesn’t speak for the rest of the night.
When he wakes in the morning the apartment is quiet, the other half of the bed empty and chilled. Arthur lies there for a long while, listening to the sounds of the street carrying up through the closed window. At half past nine he finally rolls out of bed. He doesn’t check the closet because he knows the suitcase will be gone.
There’s a piece of paper taped to the fridge when he finally wanders into the kitchen. A fresh brewed pot of coffee waits on the counter as well. Despite himself he smiles and checks the paper after he’s poured himself a cup. A phone number followed by Emergencies only scrawled pristinely across the yellow paper.
Arthur sighs and pours the coffee down the drain before heading back to bed.