With Good Company
Title: With Good Company
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Rating: G
Pairing: Genfic!
Disclaimer: Everyone here belongs to Christopher Nolan and not to me. His toys are fun to play with!
Spoilers/Warnings: Set somewhat before the events of the movie. For the inception_kink meme prompt in round 17: After her mother died and father left, Philippa becomes very lonely and withdrawn. She is teased at school and her grandmother is always busy looking after James. Full prompt at the link. Also fills the "broken bones" box on my hc_bingo card.
Summary: Philippa knew that you couldn't keep things the same forever. Even she knew that things had to change.
Letter writing is the only device for combining solitude with good company.
George Gordon, Lord Byron
Philippa Cobb sat alone at the playground, trying not to look resentful at the other children playing. She had told her grandmother that she hadn't felt well, but she was occupied with James. He was too little to understand what was going on, and Philippa was just old enough to know something was wrong but not exactly what it was. She was turning eight this year and James was five. He didn't remember their mother, and Mallorie Cobb was nothing more than a collection of photos on the wall. Their grandfather was in Paris, teaching, and their grandmother had arrived to help take care of them after their father left. James didn't remember that part, and while Marie Miles didn't care for Dominic Cobb in the slightest, she didn't say anything obviously resentful around James.
If Philippa was quiet, Marie didn't really look deeper. She didn't go out on weekends anymore, didn't play with her old friends. And now that she had a broken leg, there wasn't even dance class to distract her. She was lonely and alone and her grandmother didn't see it. Her parents were gone, something was deeply wrong and somehow no one seemed to see that. Why was she the only one?
She hated school and the screaming children all around her. None of them had to deal with knowing there were holes in their lives. Someone was lying to her, and Philippa knew it even if she couldn't tell what the lies were. Her mother wasn't coming back; she knew what death was, but her mother hadn't been sick the way that Savannah Carlton's mother had been, and her mother had been acting strangely before she disappeared. Mallorie had looked through both of the children as if they weren't there, as if they were ghosts, then moved around the house as if looking for something. Philippa didn't know what to call it, but there had been a look in Mallorie's eyes if Philippa got too close to her, if she tried to call her Maman as usual or ask when Dad was coming home. It was wild somehow, as if Philippa was a stranger, and no one else had seen it. None of those silly children around her knew what that was like, to have a parent stare down at her as if she wasn't real, as if she didn't matter. Mallorie always used to brush her blonde hair and say she was a perfect princess, her French accent somehow making everything more ethereal.
These children didn't know what pain was. The teachers didn't know what silence was. They thought she sat there because of her stupid broken leg and not being able to run or play or dance anymore. They thought her eyes were down on the ground to make sure that she didn't fall again.
Stupid, stupid people. The ground was the only thing that stayed the same.
Marie was in the backyard with James later that afternoon, listening to him chatter about the first day in kindergarten. Marie didn't seem to care how Philippa was doing, even if she was sitting there silent and sullen. How was third grade supposed to be any fun? It was stupid math and stupid reading and stupid social studies and none of it mattered. Marie didn't see her, and it was almost as bad as having Mallorie back.
Philippa hobbled on her crutches into her father's office. Marie had forbidden the children from going inside of it, but Marie was busy with James. She didn't care about Philippa. James was more like Mallorie, everyone said so. And Marie hated their father, that much Philippa could already tell. Maybe if she hated Dominic, too, Marie would like her more. But she couldn't quite hate her father, just as she couldn't quite love him, either. Didn't she matter enough to make him stay?
The office was dark and still smelled like Dominic. Things were exactly how he had left them, which was eerie and sad. Even Philippa knew that you couldn't keep things the same forever. Even she knew that things had to change.
She sat in his chair, feeling tiny and useless and stupid. Kicking out with her good leg, she thought about taking her crutches and breaking everything in the room. It wasn't as if Dominic needed it anymore. He was gone and he wasn't coming back.
It took her a moment to realize that the snuffling sounds she was hearing was coming from her. She was crying, fat and stupid useless tears rolling down her cheeks. She was staring at the picture of the four of them from before Mallorie died, before everything fell apart and a stranger's eyes had been looking out at her. Philippa knew that it wasn't real, that there was no way to get back the time captured in the photograph.
She was swinging her crutch before she could stop herself, and it caught the corner of the desk. It was too awkward to do much damage, but it did make the old Rolodex topple off of the edge of the desk. Marie would recognize the difference if she ever came in here, and Philippa let out a huff of frustration. She couldn't quite maneuver herself around the desk with her broken leg, but she managed to get to the floor to pick up the fallen item and the scattered cards that had been within it.
Philippa pushed the cards back into the Rolodex, but some of the names seemed interesting. She didn't really remember them, but there were titles beneath some of them. She picked out some names and kept those cards, hobbling to her room to write letters to them. Maybe some of them knew of her family, and would be able to tell her what had happened to her parents. Maybe one of them would want to be a friend. Using her best handwriting, she painstakingly wrote the same letter to the five names, feeling better than she had in weeks.
My name is Philippa Cobb. I found your name in my father's address thing, and I want to be friends. I am eight years old and have a broken leg. I can't do much right now and the other kids at school are stupid and don't understand what it's like not to have parents around or only a younger brother that doesn't know how to do anything. My grandmother is here, but she doesn't understand either. I hope that you can, and that you won't mind writing back to me. The third grade started today, but they're all stupid and don't know anything.
Please write back. Thank you.
Proud of herself, Philippa addressed five envelopes and tucked them into Marie's outgoing mail pile. The thank you at the end ought to be polite enough to get some responses.
If Marie didn't notice her calmer demeanor, Philippa expected that. James was her priority. That was fine. Philippa was working on being someone's priority.
***
The letter was addressed to Lawrence Rutherford and had been forwarded five times before reaching Alexandria. The man opening the letter didn't recognize the handwriting or the name, but was curious regarding its author, as the script was a childish scrawl and he had never received one of those before. The man was going by Eames now; the names changed depending on the lists of contacts he needed at the time, and Eames was a clean slate for dream share.
He blinked in surprise at the letter, not sure at first what to do. He knew of a Dominic Cobb, rumors about a driven man and some nastiness with a wife that he had never really followed up on. He had never actually worked with the man at this point, but he had referred others in Cobb's direction when he hadn't been able to do the job himself.
Eames found himself pulling notepaper close before he had even consciously made the decision to respond to her. She was lucky the forwarding services were still in place and that he was still there to receive them. He was half writing a reply before he could stop himself, treating the letter with utmost care.
Dear Philippa,
I move around a lot, so please forgive the delay in my reply. Let me give you my current address.
I remember having a broken leg when I was little. You have crutches, don't you? Awful things, those crutches. They hurt under the arms and make it easier for bullies to pick on you since they know you won't run after them. If you have a good wooden set, they sting badly if you give them a good smack. If you have to, of course. That's not the sort of thing a polite young lady does, but bullies don't often wait to be tattled on, in my experience.
I don't know how useful it would be to be friends, since I don't believe we've met. I do know what it's like to be near people that don't understand you, however. Sometimes people just don't listen. Sometimes they do, but they completely miss the point. When I was a young boy, I read a lot. Fantastic stories, nothing real. Sometimes it helped to imagine that I was the hero of one of those stories, and that I knew something those idiot children around me didn't understand. Sometimes it didn't help at all. You can't ever really tell until you try it, though. What kind of stories do you like? I still haven't figured out if I'm the hero in any story, but the point is to keep trying.
Hopefully the cast is off when you receive this letter!
Eames looked it over, finding himself warming to the idea of writing to little Philippa Cobb. He considered it his one good deed for the year. Maybe a drop in the positive side of his karma would help him. Smiling, he sent off the letter and promptly forgot about it.
***
Four letters had come back, and only two said anything more than "Why are you writing to me, little girl?" in annoyed script. One was from Curtis Arthur and listed generic things for her to do. He didn't seem all that opposed to being pen pals, but didn't seem to know how an eight year old thought either. Lawrence Rutherford was more personable, and she grinned as she read that letter. She immediately penned a reply.
Thank you for the reply. Still in the cast. I kicked my brother with that foot, and I broke it and hurt my leg, so the doctor said that would be another two weeks. Grandma was mad at me because James was crying so much. I was more mad that my leg hurt again. I haven't needed to smack anyone at school. The only one that teases me is my brother. Even Aaron Hintz doesn't tease me, and he's the biggest bully in the entire grade. I think he feels sorry for me, since I can't get around well at school. They're supposed to be handicapped accessable, but it's really hard to get up and down stairs and walk around the halls. The crutches do hurt a lot.
If it counts, you can be a hero for me! Your letter really made day. I like chapter books and mysteries, and I can't figure out sometimes why people just don't see what's right in front of them. Maybe they don't want to. I don't know. It's stupid. People are really stupid sometimes, aren't they? Well, not you. You sound really really smart. We're going to do magnetism for our science class now. I bet you know all about that kind of stuff. Write back soon please. Everyone else in my grade is useless.
Smiling, Philippa wrote a quick reply to Mr. Arthur, which wasn't nearly as informative or personal as the one she wrote in reply to Mr. Rutherford's letter.
***
Over time, the cast came off of Philippa's leg. For about a day or two Marie seemed to feel sorry for her and pay more attention to her than to James. She still had to deal with physical therapy and it was hard to climb stairs at school or participate in gym. Mr. Rutherford told her about different tricks to get through the tougher exercises, as well as a few of his favorite jokes when he was a boy. They made her laugh out loud, and she felt better for a little while after reading those letters. He described the British boarding school system as it had existed when he was a boy, and she told him about what it was like being in her grade at school and what she knew about the system and state testing. She described her favorite TV shows and movies, and Mr. Rutherford talked about "telly," which made her laugh, too. It made her feel almost sad to hear that he didn't have many friends in school either, that he had only one friend through all his forms.
Sometimes I still think of those days. I remember what it was like not to trust anyone with secrets, to sit alone all day and go home and have nothing to look forward to. It's difficult being lonely, Philippa. I wish I could say it definitely gets better, but sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes it does. I hope for the best for you, and that you find that one friend that can keep your secrets safe.
Reading that part of his letter made her heart ache for him, and she had the sense that he had never told anyone else about that. What kind of adult would want to admit that they got lonely, too? What adult would admit to being teased or having only one friend? She knew her mother had been popular in school, and there were pictures of her father surrounded by friends in his old high school yearbooks. Her parents wouldn't have been able to understand this kind of loneliness even if they had been around to notice it.
I'm your friend! I can be your one friend if you like, because I don't have anyone I'd want to share any of your secrets with. It is horrible feeling so lonely sometimes, but knowing you're out there in the world somewhere and can write back to me helps. I'm not lonely because I have you. And you're not lonely because you have me. We're friends, and that's what friends are for!
She had drawn a huge smiley face at the bottom of that letter and enclosed a copy of her recent book report on the Loch Ness monster myths, which she had gotten an A on. She had really liked that report and had worked hard on it, remembering Mr. Rutherford's stories about running around the English countryside and seeing ponds, wondering what treasures or creatures had been lurking in the bottoms of them. He would definitely appreciate it much more than her grandmother would.
***
Settled in Mombasa again, Eames collected his post from his usual drop. He went through the bills that his various aliases had collected, as well as packages from a contact that he had gotten to give to Yusuf in exchange for sedatives and somnacin. There was the letter from Philippa Cobb that he had come to look forward to receiving. Amazing how writing to a young child could brighten up his day. This had to be why people insisted on having the little creatures.
He saw her letter and sat down heavily in a chair. It was humbling to see her childish print declaring him a friend, even if that was the truth at this point. Not only that, but she clearly valued his input and thought of him fondly. Giving him her book report seemed to bring it home to him; that was the sort of thing her grandmother should have been proud of, but Philippa didn't value her opinion. She valued his. "This is damn sad," he muttered, then felt almost foolish for talking to himself aloud when he was alone in his flat.
I'm very proud of this report! There are good many facts in it I hadn't known about before, and you know how much I appreciate monster movies. I'll try to look up the book you did this report on the next time I'm near a library. I travel a lot, so I don't often have the chance to see ordinary things like libraries or schools. I know you like the postcards I've sent you, so I'll put in a few photographs that you can keep as well. These are from when I visited China while working a job. I can send you coins and stamps and little mementos from faraway places if you like. I did enjoy visiting China, and will go back at some point just for a vacation. I didn't get a chance to sight see much while I was working there. It's a very interesting but very grown up kind of tale, so you'll have to remind me to tell you about it when you're older. Mostly so your grandmother won't ground you for hearing about very grown up things before your time. Haha.
Yes, I suppose we're really good friends, Philippa. There are some folks I would count as associates or acquaintances, but they're not exactly good friends. There are certain things that I would trust them with, but not everything. Think of what I do as something like a secret agent, and you'll understand why I can't go about trusting everyone. I do trust you. I do my best to protect you, too.
Stay safe.
It might have been a bit overdone and maudlin to warn her to stay safe. How much trouble could a third grader get into, after all?
***
Philippa enjoyed show and tell now. She had coins and stamps and photographs of faraway places, as well as a genuine death mask, a dried scorpion and a withered claw that had once belonged to a Komodo dragon. Mr. Arthur always told her to study and listen to her teacher and grandmother, but Mr. Rutherford always sent her fun things to brighten her day. It annoyed James that he didn't have all these fun things, and Marie didn't seem to mind the gifts as long as they weren't "offensive" in nature and her pen pal didn't suggest any horrible things. It had felt like breaking his trust, but Philippa had shown Marie the letter where Mr. Rutherford recalled being lonely in school. It had made Marie relent to see how much Philippa really enjoyed getting the letters, and that he seemed to be a conscientious sort of businessman.
And honestly, who didn't think having part of a Komodo dragon was cool? Well, if Marie didn't, Philippa certainly didn't agree.
Aaron Hintz stopped being a bully because of her broken leg, but even after she didn't have to hobble around the school in crutches he was still nice to her. His friend Matthew Welch wanted to see her more unusual trinkets after show and tell, and was ecstatic to find out that she liked volleyball and soccer as much as he did. His twin sister Marina was in their class and talked to her about the coin collection and postcards, since she collected postcards from all of their family trips. Philippa found out that their father was in the military, and was away all the time. They lived with their mother and grandmother, so the two girls often laughed at how silly their grandmothers could be while being so overprotective for no reason. Marina wasn't exactly popular in the same way that Mallorie had been, but she had a few friends that liked Philippa when they met, and they didn't think she was strange for liking sports or dried bugs or traveling overseas. They thought it was cool she had a pen pal that traveled a lot, and they talked about all those places they wanted to visit someday.
Philippa wrote to Mr. Arthur and Mr. Rutherford about her grades and burgeoning friendships, though Mr. Rutherford was much more enthusiastic about that. She advised him to find a more local friend, and he wrote back that he was doing favors for a chemist he knew that seemed like a nice enough person to get to know. He had moved to a new city but did like it there, and he was hoping to stay a while. He was actually growing tired of traveling every few weeks. Philippa urged him to get a houseplant, which she thought made a house a home. He promptly sent her a picture of a cactus and a fern sitting in a sunny spot in his kitchen. He also reported that he was getting to know more people, and was feeling comfortable where he was living. It almost feels safe, he had written, which made her feel a little bit better about him.
By the time winter break rolled around, Philippa had her holiday postcards from Mr. Rutherford and a savings bond as a gift. Her grandmother appreciated that one, though it was a boring gift. She had invited Mr. Rutherford to visit California the next time he was in the US, but he had politely declined. Though he had no family, he was spending time with the friends he had made, who were doing some kind of event for the New Year. Apparently there was a casino near where he lived, and he went there a lot to relax. He joked about the free air conditioning when Philippa warned him not to lose all his money, since Aaron's father was a gambler.
The letters slowed down a little after the New Year; Mr. Rutherford apologized profusely the following spring, explaining that he had been moving back and forth due to work and hadn't been able to send the letters he had written. Philippa forgave him, of course, and told him that it was probably better for him to pick one place he liked and stick there. Perhaps the city with the friends he made? That suggestion led to a roundabout discussion of many different cities in Europe and Northern Africa that he liked, all of which sounded fascinating. By the end of the third grade, Philippa had a map on her wall stuck with pins where Mr. Rutherford had lived or visited. His favorite ones were in red, the ones he was indifferent to were white, the ones that had some nice things but overall he didn't want to go back to were in yellow and ones he hated were in black. Marie and James didn't understand why she would find it so fascinating, but left it alone when she said she was interested in traveling. Collecting travel brochures and reading books at the library was an innocuous enough hobby that Marie wasn't too bothered by it. Staying in the library kept Philippa out of trouble.
He appreciated her stories about her inability to learn ballet in the fourth grade and how she requested to learn how to play a trumpet for orchestra but Marie nixed it and told her to learn to play the flute, which had been Mallorie's instrument of choice. Mr. Rutherford managed to send her a trumpet, which almost sent Marie into hysterics. She wound up locking it in the closet, and Philippa compromised on the clarinet for orchestra. James got a drum set for Christmas that year, which was entirely unfair, and Philippa's scowls finally made Marie relent, as long as Philippa continued to learn the clarinet. Her orchestra teacher was delighted to have the versatility in the classroom, and so she had after school trumpet lessons the following spring. Mr. Rutherford cheered her on and sent her sheet music. Philippa sent him tapes of her recitals and the class concerts, as well as packages of books she thought he might like based on their conversations. A lot of them were monster books, but when he admitted he'd never read the Harry Potter books, she sent those along. The school librarian suggested a few other books along that line, and when Mr. Rutherford told her that he enjoyed the Harry Potter series, Philippa sent those, too.
They talked about their favorite parts of the books, and Philippa complained over the summer that the delays between letters were too long. Mr. Rutherford sent her a detailed description to set up a free e-mail account if her grandmother would allow it, and Marie reluctantly agreed to try that as long as she could check on the messages sent or received whenever she wanted to. Messages flew back and forth much more quickly after that, and Philippa thought she had to be the coolest girl going into fifth grade because she had an e-mail account and someone to write to. Marina Welch didn't even know how to do that, and Aaron Hintz declared that she was the smartest girl he knew. Philippa decided not to tell him about Wikipedia and the other archive sites that Mr. Rutherford told her about.
Partway through the fifth grade, Mr. Rutherford sent her an e-mail that was worrisome, even more so than his prior letters had been. I'm off on a grand adventure. Very dangerous, no post office box. If it all goes well, you'll have a much better gift than I could ever give you.
Marie didn't know what to make of that message, either.
Days slid past, and there was no e-mail from Mr. Rutherford. Letters from Mr. Arthur had dried up the year before, and now she was left with no one to write to. Well, there was always the internet, but there were creepy people out there. Both her grandmother and Mr. Rutherford agreed on that point, and she was smart enough to trust news reports.
At least she had music lessons and school to keep her busy. Otherwise, she would have worried about him nonstop.
***
Eames had wanted to say something in his e-mail to Philippa, but decided to err on the side of caution. He had never mentioned the other times he had worked with Dominic Cobb, who was a selfish bastard and often rude when requesting help. Eames didn't understand why Arthur was so damn loyal to the man, but there had to be something about him compelling enough to inspire that loyalty. Eames still gave Cobb a hard time on occasion, if only to try to suss out any good qualities for himself. He did choose to stay in Mombasa and set up his base of operations there, as Philippa suggested. He didn't know many people very well, and certainly not nearly as well as he had told Philippa, but he was at least safe there. It was rather nice to have someplace to call home, with his plants in the kitchen and the mail coming in regularly. There were books on the shelves, some of them from Philippa or at her suggestion.
As much as he had grown to like Philippa, he wasn't her father. He must have become something of a replacement for Dom Cobb in the girl's mind, especially since any contact with the children by necessity was brief and sporadic. Philippa didn't mention her father other than in the first letter, but Eames could only assume that the relationship (or lack thereof) weighed heavily in her mind.
So when Dominic Cobb came to the casino in Mombasa, Eames didn't dismiss the man out of hand. He thought of Philippa's careful writing, the pictures of her wide smiles and the pride in the letters she had sent along with her A's and reports. Those were all things that Dominic should have been experiencing. Those were things a father should know about and be proud of, all things a father should show off to his friends.
Philippa deserved a father again, even if he was Dominic Cobb.
***
Eames waited until Dominic Cobb settled into the role of civilian and father to check in and have a visit with his young friend. He pulled a con in San Francisco, then made his way back to LA to let the heat die down. It was a few months after the Fischer job was completed, so he was sure that this would be a surprise. Cobb wasn't in dream share anymore, on that Arthur was clear. Eames would cheerfully throttle the man if he thought about leaving those children again, especially after all the dangers they had put their minds through to get him back to them.
Sure enough, Cobb was startled to see the forger on his doorstep. "Eames. Oh. Come in."
He entered the house he had seen some pictures of, and he had to admit that it was a much nicer home than he had originally thought. "Are you terribly busy?" Eames asked Cobb, looking around the living room. There were pictures of the children everywhere, and a few of Marie. He'd had a few messages exchanged with her, and she had at least been convinced that he didn't mean Philippa harm. It felt almost odd to be in the house that he'd heard about when he knew Marie wasn't there anymore. She had flown back to Paris with Stephen Miles once Cobb convinced her that he was going to stay in the United States for good.
Cobb actually looked sheepish. "It's a bit of a transition, I'll admit," he said. He rubbed the back of his head, and Eames finally noticed the dark circles under the former extractor's eyes, the rumpled shirt over jeans. "I've been away a long time, and they don't quite know what to make of me."
"You likely don't know what to make of them either," Eames commented. "Have you gone to the Winter Festival?" he asked, seeing pictures on the wall of Philippa with Marie and James while holding the trumpet. Good for you, he thought, pleased that she had found a way to practice the instrument she had wanted.
Startled, Cobb watched Eames look at all the pictures on the walls. "How did you know about that?"
Eames was distracted by the sound of laughter in the backyard. It made sense that Philippa would be playing on a sunny day like this. Her broken leg had healed long ago, and she had friends to spend time with now. She was getting to be quite the young lady, he could tell from the photographs on the wall. He turned and looked at Cobb. "There is always something around hols, yeah? So? Did you go?"
"Of course. I had to go. Philippa had a trumpet solo and she's second clarinet." Cobb sounded affronted. "I'm her father. What do you take me for?"
"You worked hard to get back here, Cobb," Eames told him in an icy tone of voice. "I wanted to be sure the risks we all took were worth it."
Chastened, Cobb nodded and couldn't quite meet his eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, about that... I'm sorry. I should've said something. I shouldn't have risked everyone else the way that I did."
"No, you shouldn't have," Eames agreed. He glared at the former extractor until he turned away. It didn't make him feel any better, really, but he was glad that at least Cobb had learned his lesson. "But you're here, and by God you're going to do a good job by them."
Cobb looked like he had just swallowed a lemon whole. "Eames..."
"I know I'm not their father and I'm not related to them. But you will do right by your children."
"I will. Of course I will."
His voice sounded off somehow, and Eames narrowed his eyes at Cobb. "Out with it."
Startled, Cobb merely looked at Eames for a moment. Then he sighed, shaking his head. "I'm out of the game. But I miss it. I miss being out there, finding the jobs, getting in there and doing what I did best. I was a better extractor than architect, and I was a damn good architect once upon a time."
Horrified, Eames could only stare at Cobb. "Did you learn nothing by what you put your family through?"
"Listen," Cobb began, and Eames recognized it as the same tone he had once used to try to wheedle the team into pushing through the Fischer job.
"No, you listen. You chose this life. You asked us all to do the impossible and risk our minds for you so that you could come back here and be a father to your children again. You don't get to take it all back because this life isn't exciting enough for you. Their lives are important, you self-centered bloody wanker. Do you know anything about your children? You've been here for months, and it's spring now. What's James' favorite color? What is Philippa's favorite book? Who does she have a crush on? Do you know she broke her leg in third grade and was miserable for months as a result? Do you know anything about them? Are they even real to you or just a symbol for you to chase."
"What the hell has gotten into you?" Cobb demanded, confusion at the edge of his tone. There was also guilt, becuase he really didn't know any of those things.
"We risked everything so you could return here," Eames said, barely repressing a snarl. "You don't throw it all away because the shiny has worn off of fatherhood."
"Listen, Eames. I appreciate the concern, I do." Eames grit his teeth at Cobb's tone, which was vaguely condescending. "I would never go out into the field anymore. A little consulting or architecture work would be just fine..."
"Did you talk to Arthur about that plan?" Eames asked him, a half smile on his face. Cobb's lips smacked shut immediately. "I thought not. He would never go for that kind of half baked plan, and you know that. You're many things, Cobb, but you're not willfully stupid." He leveled the other man with a glare. "I'm going to put the word out in the community that you're damaged goods," he said, his own half baked plan forming even as his lips were moving. He was responding based on instinct at this point, and his instincts were screaming that if Cobb returned to dream share, he was never going to be a good enough father for his children. "You'll be blackballed if you try to reach out and get work."
"You can't do that!" Cobb shouted.
"Can't I? That murderous shade that nearly sent us all to limbo? And succeeded in sending our mark there because you couldn't take her out? That ruined how many jobs? That somehow knew every nook and cranny of each level and knew just how to take us all out? Oh, there's plenty of reason why others shouldn't trust you, Cobb. All I have to do to is enumerate them."
Cobb's eyes widened. "Why would you do that to me?"
Eames jabbed the other man's chest with a finger. "You're a father, Cobb. Time to bloody well act like one. You moved heaven and earth in the dream share world to get back to these children, and you damn well will stay with them."
"But why would it matter to you?" Cobb asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'd still be here. There isn't any danger in consulting..."
Whatever Cobb would have said was cut off at the sound of the back door banging shut. "Dad!" shouted Philippa. "Do we have any more juice? Marina's out and won't drink mine..." She stopped short at the sight of Eames and Cobb standing there. Eames immediately relaxed his posture from its almost aggressive stance the moment he heard her voice, so she didn't understand why Cobb seemed angry with Eames. "Who's this?"
"I'm Lawrence Rutherford," Eames said, turning to face Philippa before Cobb could introduce him as Eames. No need to confuse the poor girl, after all.
Philippa's eyes immediately widened as she grinned. "Ohmigosh! A double surprise!" she chortled as she launched herself at Eames to give him a double hug. "Dad said he had business friends that helped him finish early and get home." She laughed as Eames returned the hug. "I should've realized this was the surprise you were talking about."
Eames laughed in return and saw Cobb's confusion. He smiled widely at them both. "Well, of course, Philippa. We've been corresponding for some time now. When I heard your father needed help, I did what I could to make sure it went well." Philippa stepped back, still grinning at him. "You've certainly grown from the last pictures you've sent me. Still friends with Marina, then?"
"Oh, yeah. Turns out she thinks Aaron's a jerk."
Eames couldn't help but laugh at her relieved tone. "Well, then. Didn't I tell you these things will all work themselves out?"
"Yes, you did!" she said, pleased. "And things worked out for you in Mombasa, too, right?"
"Oh, yes. That little tiff got worked out as well," Eames told her gravely. "I couldn't have done it without your advice."
Philippa preened a bit, and she turned to her father with a happy expression. "Mr. Laurie and I are good friends, Dad. You've got a lot of great coworkers. Definitely better than Emily's or Aaron's dads. We have more juice, right?"
Cobb seemed to come back to himself with the question at the end. "There's a whole other container of fruit punch, and we have some iced tea, too."
She gave Eames another quick squeeze of a hug. "You're staying a while, right? Too bad Grandmère already went back to Paris with Granddad. She would've wanted to meet you, too."
"Perhaps this will be a great excuse to visit Paris," Eames told her indulgently.
"Oooh! You'll send me more francs, right?"
"They use Euros now," he reminded her.
"Yeah, but I like how the francs look better," she said loftily. "Oh! Marina will want to meet you, too! This is so cool!" Juice forgotten, she ran back out into the yard to fetch her friend.
Eames merely smirked at Cobb's stunned expression. "Philippa and I have been friends for years," Eames said with a half smile. "So I agreed to the inception for her sake as well as getting in on a job like that. As I told you," he said mildly, picking a nonexistent piece of lint from his sleeve. "You came here to be a father to the children, and that's what you're going to do. It'll be a rough go of it, but I'm sure you'll take to it. You'll have plenty of excitement in your ordinary life, you know. There's nothing quite so terrifying as a teenage girl about to date."
Cobb blanched at the subtle dig, and Eames allowed himself a mild bit of schadenfreude. After all, Cobb had only offered a backward apology, and Philippa was his friend.
Everything worked itself out in the end. He would definitely see to that. That's what friends were for, after all.
The End
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Rating: G
Pairing: Genfic!
Disclaimer: Everyone here belongs to Christopher Nolan and not to me. His toys are fun to play with!
Spoilers/Warnings: Set somewhat before the events of the movie. For the inception_kink meme prompt in round 17: After her mother died and father left, Philippa becomes very lonely and withdrawn. She is teased at school and her grandmother is always busy looking after James. Full prompt at the link. Also fills the "broken bones" box on my hc_bingo card.
Summary: Philippa knew that you couldn't keep things the same forever. Even she knew that things had to change.
Letter writing is the only device for combining solitude with good company.
George Gordon, Lord Byron
Philippa Cobb sat alone at the playground, trying not to look resentful at the other children playing. She had told her grandmother that she hadn't felt well, but she was occupied with James. He was too little to understand what was going on, and Philippa was just old enough to know something was wrong but not exactly what it was. She was turning eight this year and James was five. He didn't remember their mother, and Mallorie Cobb was nothing more than a collection of photos on the wall. Their grandfather was in Paris, teaching, and their grandmother had arrived to help take care of them after their father left. James didn't remember that part, and while Marie Miles didn't care for Dominic Cobb in the slightest, she didn't say anything obviously resentful around James.
If Philippa was quiet, Marie didn't really look deeper. She didn't go out on weekends anymore, didn't play with her old friends. And now that she had a broken leg, there wasn't even dance class to distract her. She was lonely and alone and her grandmother didn't see it. Her parents were gone, something was deeply wrong and somehow no one seemed to see that. Why was she the only one?
She hated school and the screaming children all around her. None of them had to deal with knowing there were holes in their lives. Someone was lying to her, and Philippa knew it even if she couldn't tell what the lies were. Her mother wasn't coming back; she knew what death was, but her mother hadn't been sick the way that Savannah Carlton's mother had been, and her mother had been acting strangely before she disappeared. Mallorie had looked through both of the children as if they weren't there, as if they were ghosts, then moved around the house as if looking for something. Philippa didn't know what to call it, but there had been a look in Mallorie's eyes if Philippa got too close to her, if she tried to call her Maman as usual or ask when Dad was coming home. It was wild somehow, as if Philippa was a stranger, and no one else had seen it. None of those silly children around her knew what that was like, to have a parent stare down at her as if she wasn't real, as if she didn't matter. Mallorie always used to brush her blonde hair and say she was a perfect princess, her French accent somehow making everything more ethereal.
These children didn't know what pain was. The teachers didn't know what silence was. They thought she sat there because of her stupid broken leg and not being able to run or play or dance anymore. They thought her eyes were down on the ground to make sure that she didn't fall again.
Stupid, stupid people. The ground was the only thing that stayed the same.
Marie was in the backyard with James later that afternoon, listening to him chatter about the first day in kindergarten. Marie didn't seem to care how Philippa was doing, even if she was sitting there silent and sullen. How was third grade supposed to be any fun? It was stupid math and stupid reading and stupid social studies and none of it mattered. Marie didn't see her, and it was almost as bad as having Mallorie back.
Philippa hobbled on her crutches into her father's office. Marie had forbidden the children from going inside of it, but Marie was busy with James. She didn't care about Philippa. James was more like Mallorie, everyone said so. And Marie hated their father, that much Philippa could already tell. Maybe if she hated Dominic, too, Marie would like her more. But she couldn't quite hate her father, just as she couldn't quite love him, either. Didn't she matter enough to make him stay?
The office was dark and still smelled like Dominic. Things were exactly how he had left them, which was eerie and sad. Even Philippa knew that you couldn't keep things the same forever. Even she knew that things had to change.
She sat in his chair, feeling tiny and useless and stupid. Kicking out with her good leg, she thought about taking her crutches and breaking everything in the room. It wasn't as if Dominic needed it anymore. He was gone and he wasn't coming back.
It took her a moment to realize that the snuffling sounds she was hearing was coming from her. She was crying, fat and stupid useless tears rolling down her cheeks. She was staring at the picture of the four of them from before Mallorie died, before everything fell apart and a stranger's eyes had been looking out at her. Philippa knew that it wasn't real, that there was no way to get back the time captured in the photograph.
She was swinging her crutch before she could stop herself, and it caught the corner of the desk. It was too awkward to do much damage, but it did make the old Rolodex topple off of the edge of the desk. Marie would recognize the difference if she ever came in here, and Philippa let out a huff of frustration. She couldn't quite maneuver herself around the desk with her broken leg, but she managed to get to the floor to pick up the fallen item and the scattered cards that had been within it.
Philippa pushed the cards back into the Rolodex, but some of the names seemed interesting. She didn't really remember them, but there were titles beneath some of them. She picked out some names and kept those cards, hobbling to her room to write letters to them. Maybe some of them knew of her family, and would be able to tell her what had happened to her parents. Maybe one of them would want to be a friend. Using her best handwriting, she painstakingly wrote the same letter to the five names, feeling better than she had in weeks.
My name is Philippa Cobb. I found your name in my father's address thing, and I want to be friends. I am eight years old and have a broken leg. I can't do much right now and the other kids at school are stupid and don't understand what it's like not to have parents around or only a younger brother that doesn't know how to do anything. My grandmother is here, but she doesn't understand either. I hope that you can, and that you won't mind writing back to me. The third grade started today, but they're all stupid and don't know anything.
Please write back. Thank you.
Proud of herself, Philippa addressed five envelopes and tucked them into Marie's outgoing mail pile. The thank you at the end ought to be polite enough to get some responses.
If Marie didn't notice her calmer demeanor, Philippa expected that. James was her priority. That was fine. Philippa was working on being someone's priority.
***
The letter was addressed to Lawrence Rutherford and had been forwarded five times before reaching Alexandria. The man opening the letter didn't recognize the handwriting or the name, but was curious regarding its author, as the script was a childish scrawl and he had never received one of those before. The man was going by Eames now; the names changed depending on the lists of contacts he needed at the time, and Eames was a clean slate for dream share.
He blinked in surprise at the letter, not sure at first what to do. He knew of a Dominic Cobb, rumors about a driven man and some nastiness with a wife that he had never really followed up on. He had never actually worked with the man at this point, but he had referred others in Cobb's direction when he hadn't been able to do the job himself.
Eames found himself pulling notepaper close before he had even consciously made the decision to respond to her. She was lucky the forwarding services were still in place and that he was still there to receive them. He was half writing a reply before he could stop himself, treating the letter with utmost care.
Dear Philippa,
I move around a lot, so please forgive the delay in my reply. Let me give you my current address.
I remember having a broken leg when I was little. You have crutches, don't you? Awful things, those crutches. They hurt under the arms and make it easier for bullies to pick on you since they know you won't run after them. If you have a good wooden set, they sting badly if you give them a good smack. If you have to, of course. That's not the sort of thing a polite young lady does, but bullies don't often wait to be tattled on, in my experience.
I don't know how useful it would be to be friends, since I don't believe we've met. I do know what it's like to be near people that don't understand you, however. Sometimes people just don't listen. Sometimes they do, but they completely miss the point. When I was a young boy, I read a lot. Fantastic stories, nothing real. Sometimes it helped to imagine that I was the hero of one of those stories, and that I knew something those idiot children around me didn't understand. Sometimes it didn't help at all. You can't ever really tell until you try it, though. What kind of stories do you like? I still haven't figured out if I'm the hero in any story, but the point is to keep trying.
Hopefully the cast is off when you receive this letter!
Eames looked it over, finding himself warming to the idea of writing to little Philippa Cobb. He considered it his one good deed for the year. Maybe a drop in the positive side of his karma would help him. Smiling, he sent off the letter and promptly forgot about it.
***
Four letters had come back, and only two said anything more than "Why are you writing to me, little girl?" in annoyed script. One was from Curtis Arthur and listed generic things for her to do. He didn't seem all that opposed to being pen pals, but didn't seem to know how an eight year old thought either. Lawrence Rutherford was more personable, and she grinned as she read that letter. She immediately penned a reply.
Thank you for the reply. Still in the cast. I kicked my brother with that foot, and I broke it and hurt my leg, so the doctor said that would be another two weeks. Grandma was mad at me because James was crying so much. I was more mad that my leg hurt again. I haven't needed to smack anyone at school. The only one that teases me is my brother. Even Aaron Hintz doesn't tease me, and he's the biggest bully in the entire grade. I think he feels sorry for me, since I can't get around well at school. They're supposed to be handicapped accessable, but it's really hard to get up and down stairs and walk around the halls. The crutches do hurt a lot.
If it counts, you can be a hero for me! Your letter really made day. I like chapter books and mysteries, and I can't figure out sometimes why people just don't see what's right in front of them. Maybe they don't want to. I don't know. It's stupid. People are really stupid sometimes, aren't they? Well, not you. You sound really really smart. We're going to do magnetism for our science class now. I bet you know all about that kind of stuff. Write back soon please. Everyone else in my grade is useless.
Smiling, Philippa wrote a quick reply to Mr. Arthur, which wasn't nearly as informative or personal as the one she wrote in reply to Mr. Rutherford's letter.
***
Over time, the cast came off of Philippa's leg. For about a day or two Marie seemed to feel sorry for her and pay more attention to her than to James. She still had to deal with physical therapy and it was hard to climb stairs at school or participate in gym. Mr. Rutherford told her about different tricks to get through the tougher exercises, as well as a few of his favorite jokes when he was a boy. They made her laugh out loud, and she felt better for a little while after reading those letters. He described the British boarding school system as it had existed when he was a boy, and she told him about what it was like being in her grade at school and what she knew about the system and state testing. She described her favorite TV shows and movies, and Mr. Rutherford talked about "telly," which made her laugh, too. It made her feel almost sad to hear that he didn't have many friends in school either, that he had only one friend through all his forms.
Sometimes I still think of those days. I remember what it was like not to trust anyone with secrets, to sit alone all day and go home and have nothing to look forward to. It's difficult being lonely, Philippa. I wish I could say it definitely gets better, but sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes it does. I hope for the best for you, and that you find that one friend that can keep your secrets safe.
Reading that part of his letter made her heart ache for him, and she had the sense that he had never told anyone else about that. What kind of adult would want to admit that they got lonely, too? What adult would admit to being teased or having only one friend? She knew her mother had been popular in school, and there were pictures of her father surrounded by friends in his old high school yearbooks. Her parents wouldn't have been able to understand this kind of loneliness even if they had been around to notice it.
I'm your friend! I can be your one friend if you like, because I don't have anyone I'd want to share any of your secrets with. It is horrible feeling so lonely sometimes, but knowing you're out there in the world somewhere and can write back to me helps. I'm not lonely because I have you. And you're not lonely because you have me. We're friends, and that's what friends are for!
She had drawn a huge smiley face at the bottom of that letter and enclosed a copy of her recent book report on the Loch Ness monster myths, which she had gotten an A on. She had really liked that report and had worked hard on it, remembering Mr. Rutherford's stories about running around the English countryside and seeing ponds, wondering what treasures or creatures had been lurking in the bottoms of them. He would definitely appreciate it much more than her grandmother would.
***
Settled in Mombasa again, Eames collected his post from his usual drop. He went through the bills that his various aliases had collected, as well as packages from a contact that he had gotten to give to Yusuf in exchange for sedatives and somnacin. There was the letter from Philippa Cobb that he had come to look forward to receiving. Amazing how writing to a young child could brighten up his day. This had to be why people insisted on having the little creatures.
He saw her letter and sat down heavily in a chair. It was humbling to see her childish print declaring him a friend, even if that was the truth at this point. Not only that, but she clearly valued his input and thought of him fondly. Giving him her book report seemed to bring it home to him; that was the sort of thing her grandmother should have been proud of, but Philippa didn't value her opinion. She valued his. "This is damn sad," he muttered, then felt almost foolish for talking to himself aloud when he was alone in his flat.
I'm very proud of this report! There are good many facts in it I hadn't known about before, and you know how much I appreciate monster movies. I'll try to look up the book you did this report on the next time I'm near a library. I travel a lot, so I don't often have the chance to see ordinary things like libraries or schools. I know you like the postcards I've sent you, so I'll put in a few photographs that you can keep as well. These are from when I visited China while working a job. I can send you coins and stamps and little mementos from faraway places if you like. I did enjoy visiting China, and will go back at some point just for a vacation. I didn't get a chance to sight see much while I was working there. It's a very interesting but very grown up kind of tale, so you'll have to remind me to tell you about it when you're older. Mostly so your grandmother won't ground you for hearing about very grown up things before your time. Haha.
Yes, I suppose we're really good friends, Philippa. There are some folks I would count as associates or acquaintances, but they're not exactly good friends. There are certain things that I would trust them with, but not everything. Think of what I do as something like a secret agent, and you'll understand why I can't go about trusting everyone. I do trust you. I do my best to protect you, too.
Stay safe.
It might have been a bit overdone and maudlin to warn her to stay safe. How much trouble could a third grader get into, after all?
***
Philippa enjoyed show and tell now. She had coins and stamps and photographs of faraway places, as well as a genuine death mask, a dried scorpion and a withered claw that had once belonged to a Komodo dragon. Mr. Arthur always told her to study and listen to her teacher and grandmother, but Mr. Rutherford always sent her fun things to brighten her day. It annoyed James that he didn't have all these fun things, and Marie didn't seem to mind the gifts as long as they weren't "offensive" in nature and her pen pal didn't suggest any horrible things. It had felt like breaking his trust, but Philippa had shown Marie the letter where Mr. Rutherford recalled being lonely in school. It had made Marie relent to see how much Philippa really enjoyed getting the letters, and that he seemed to be a conscientious sort of businessman.
And honestly, who didn't think having part of a Komodo dragon was cool? Well, if Marie didn't, Philippa certainly didn't agree.
Aaron Hintz stopped being a bully because of her broken leg, but even after she didn't have to hobble around the school in crutches he was still nice to her. His friend Matthew Welch wanted to see her more unusual trinkets after show and tell, and was ecstatic to find out that she liked volleyball and soccer as much as he did. His twin sister Marina was in their class and talked to her about the coin collection and postcards, since she collected postcards from all of their family trips. Philippa found out that their father was in the military, and was away all the time. They lived with their mother and grandmother, so the two girls often laughed at how silly their grandmothers could be while being so overprotective for no reason. Marina wasn't exactly popular in the same way that Mallorie had been, but she had a few friends that liked Philippa when they met, and they didn't think she was strange for liking sports or dried bugs or traveling overseas. They thought it was cool she had a pen pal that traveled a lot, and they talked about all those places they wanted to visit someday.
Philippa wrote to Mr. Arthur and Mr. Rutherford about her grades and burgeoning friendships, though Mr. Rutherford was much more enthusiastic about that. She advised him to find a more local friend, and he wrote back that he was doing favors for a chemist he knew that seemed like a nice enough person to get to know. He had moved to a new city but did like it there, and he was hoping to stay a while. He was actually growing tired of traveling every few weeks. Philippa urged him to get a houseplant, which she thought made a house a home. He promptly sent her a picture of a cactus and a fern sitting in a sunny spot in his kitchen. He also reported that he was getting to know more people, and was feeling comfortable where he was living. It almost feels safe, he had written, which made her feel a little bit better about him.
By the time winter break rolled around, Philippa had her holiday postcards from Mr. Rutherford and a savings bond as a gift. Her grandmother appreciated that one, though it was a boring gift. She had invited Mr. Rutherford to visit California the next time he was in the US, but he had politely declined. Though he had no family, he was spending time with the friends he had made, who were doing some kind of event for the New Year. Apparently there was a casino near where he lived, and he went there a lot to relax. He joked about the free air conditioning when Philippa warned him not to lose all his money, since Aaron's father was a gambler.
The letters slowed down a little after the New Year; Mr. Rutherford apologized profusely the following spring, explaining that he had been moving back and forth due to work and hadn't been able to send the letters he had written. Philippa forgave him, of course, and told him that it was probably better for him to pick one place he liked and stick there. Perhaps the city with the friends he made? That suggestion led to a roundabout discussion of many different cities in Europe and Northern Africa that he liked, all of which sounded fascinating. By the end of the third grade, Philippa had a map on her wall stuck with pins where Mr. Rutherford had lived or visited. His favorite ones were in red, the ones he was indifferent to were white, the ones that had some nice things but overall he didn't want to go back to were in yellow and ones he hated were in black. Marie and James didn't understand why she would find it so fascinating, but left it alone when she said she was interested in traveling. Collecting travel brochures and reading books at the library was an innocuous enough hobby that Marie wasn't too bothered by it. Staying in the library kept Philippa out of trouble.
He appreciated her stories about her inability to learn ballet in the fourth grade and how she requested to learn how to play a trumpet for orchestra but Marie nixed it and told her to learn to play the flute, which had been Mallorie's instrument of choice. Mr. Rutherford managed to send her a trumpet, which almost sent Marie into hysterics. She wound up locking it in the closet, and Philippa compromised on the clarinet for orchestra. James got a drum set for Christmas that year, which was entirely unfair, and Philippa's scowls finally made Marie relent, as long as Philippa continued to learn the clarinet. Her orchestra teacher was delighted to have the versatility in the classroom, and so she had after school trumpet lessons the following spring. Mr. Rutherford cheered her on and sent her sheet music. Philippa sent him tapes of her recitals and the class concerts, as well as packages of books she thought he might like based on their conversations. A lot of them were monster books, but when he admitted he'd never read the Harry Potter books, she sent those along. The school librarian suggested a few other books along that line, and when Mr. Rutherford told her that he enjoyed the Harry Potter series, Philippa sent those, too.
They talked about their favorite parts of the books, and Philippa complained over the summer that the delays between letters were too long. Mr. Rutherford sent her a detailed description to set up a free e-mail account if her grandmother would allow it, and Marie reluctantly agreed to try that as long as she could check on the messages sent or received whenever she wanted to. Messages flew back and forth much more quickly after that, and Philippa thought she had to be the coolest girl going into fifth grade because she had an e-mail account and someone to write to. Marina Welch didn't even know how to do that, and Aaron Hintz declared that she was the smartest girl he knew. Philippa decided not to tell him about Wikipedia and the other archive sites that Mr. Rutherford told her about.
Partway through the fifth grade, Mr. Rutherford sent her an e-mail that was worrisome, even more so than his prior letters had been. I'm off on a grand adventure. Very dangerous, no post office box. If it all goes well, you'll have a much better gift than I could ever give you.
Marie didn't know what to make of that message, either.
Days slid past, and there was no e-mail from Mr. Rutherford. Letters from Mr. Arthur had dried up the year before, and now she was left with no one to write to. Well, there was always the internet, but there were creepy people out there. Both her grandmother and Mr. Rutherford agreed on that point, and she was smart enough to trust news reports.
At least she had music lessons and school to keep her busy. Otherwise, she would have worried about him nonstop.
***
Eames had wanted to say something in his e-mail to Philippa, but decided to err on the side of caution. He had never mentioned the other times he had worked with Dominic Cobb, who was a selfish bastard and often rude when requesting help. Eames didn't understand why Arthur was so damn loyal to the man, but there had to be something about him compelling enough to inspire that loyalty. Eames still gave Cobb a hard time on occasion, if only to try to suss out any good qualities for himself. He did choose to stay in Mombasa and set up his base of operations there, as Philippa suggested. He didn't know many people very well, and certainly not nearly as well as he had told Philippa, but he was at least safe there. It was rather nice to have someplace to call home, with his plants in the kitchen and the mail coming in regularly. There were books on the shelves, some of them from Philippa or at her suggestion.
As much as he had grown to like Philippa, he wasn't her father. He must have become something of a replacement for Dom Cobb in the girl's mind, especially since any contact with the children by necessity was brief and sporadic. Philippa didn't mention her father other than in the first letter, but Eames could only assume that the relationship (or lack thereof) weighed heavily in her mind.
So when Dominic Cobb came to the casino in Mombasa, Eames didn't dismiss the man out of hand. He thought of Philippa's careful writing, the pictures of her wide smiles and the pride in the letters she had sent along with her A's and reports. Those were all things that Dominic should have been experiencing. Those were things a father should know about and be proud of, all things a father should show off to his friends.
Philippa deserved a father again, even if he was Dominic Cobb.
***
Eames waited until Dominic Cobb settled into the role of civilian and father to check in and have a visit with his young friend. He pulled a con in San Francisco, then made his way back to LA to let the heat die down. It was a few months after the Fischer job was completed, so he was sure that this would be a surprise. Cobb wasn't in dream share anymore, on that Arthur was clear. Eames would cheerfully throttle the man if he thought about leaving those children again, especially after all the dangers they had put their minds through to get him back to them.
Sure enough, Cobb was startled to see the forger on his doorstep. "Eames. Oh. Come in."
He entered the house he had seen some pictures of, and he had to admit that it was a much nicer home than he had originally thought. "Are you terribly busy?" Eames asked Cobb, looking around the living room. There were pictures of the children everywhere, and a few of Marie. He'd had a few messages exchanged with her, and she had at least been convinced that he didn't mean Philippa harm. It felt almost odd to be in the house that he'd heard about when he knew Marie wasn't there anymore. She had flown back to Paris with Stephen Miles once Cobb convinced her that he was going to stay in the United States for good.
Cobb actually looked sheepish. "It's a bit of a transition, I'll admit," he said. He rubbed the back of his head, and Eames finally noticed the dark circles under the former extractor's eyes, the rumpled shirt over jeans. "I've been away a long time, and they don't quite know what to make of me."
"You likely don't know what to make of them either," Eames commented. "Have you gone to the Winter Festival?" he asked, seeing pictures on the wall of Philippa with Marie and James while holding the trumpet. Good for you, he thought, pleased that she had found a way to practice the instrument she had wanted.
Startled, Cobb watched Eames look at all the pictures on the walls. "How did you know about that?"
Eames was distracted by the sound of laughter in the backyard. It made sense that Philippa would be playing on a sunny day like this. Her broken leg had healed long ago, and she had friends to spend time with now. She was getting to be quite the young lady, he could tell from the photographs on the wall. He turned and looked at Cobb. "There is always something around hols, yeah? So? Did you go?"
"Of course. I had to go. Philippa had a trumpet solo and she's second clarinet." Cobb sounded affronted. "I'm her father. What do you take me for?"
"You worked hard to get back here, Cobb," Eames told him in an icy tone of voice. "I wanted to be sure the risks we all took were worth it."
Chastened, Cobb nodded and couldn't quite meet his eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, about that... I'm sorry. I should've said something. I shouldn't have risked everyone else the way that I did."
"No, you shouldn't have," Eames agreed. He glared at the former extractor until he turned away. It didn't make him feel any better, really, but he was glad that at least Cobb had learned his lesson. "But you're here, and by God you're going to do a good job by them."
Cobb looked like he had just swallowed a lemon whole. "Eames..."
"I know I'm not their father and I'm not related to them. But you will do right by your children."
"I will. Of course I will."
His voice sounded off somehow, and Eames narrowed his eyes at Cobb. "Out with it."
Startled, Cobb merely looked at Eames for a moment. Then he sighed, shaking his head. "I'm out of the game. But I miss it. I miss being out there, finding the jobs, getting in there and doing what I did best. I was a better extractor than architect, and I was a damn good architect once upon a time."
Horrified, Eames could only stare at Cobb. "Did you learn nothing by what you put your family through?"
"Listen," Cobb began, and Eames recognized it as the same tone he had once used to try to wheedle the team into pushing through the Fischer job.
"No, you listen. You chose this life. You asked us all to do the impossible and risk our minds for you so that you could come back here and be a father to your children again. You don't get to take it all back because this life isn't exciting enough for you. Their lives are important, you self-centered bloody wanker. Do you know anything about your children? You've been here for months, and it's spring now. What's James' favorite color? What is Philippa's favorite book? Who does she have a crush on? Do you know she broke her leg in third grade and was miserable for months as a result? Do you know anything about them? Are they even real to you or just a symbol for you to chase."
"What the hell has gotten into you?" Cobb demanded, confusion at the edge of his tone. There was also guilt, becuase he really didn't know any of those things.
"We risked everything so you could return here," Eames said, barely repressing a snarl. "You don't throw it all away because the shiny has worn off of fatherhood."
"Listen, Eames. I appreciate the concern, I do." Eames grit his teeth at Cobb's tone, which was vaguely condescending. "I would never go out into the field anymore. A little consulting or architecture work would be just fine..."
"Did you talk to Arthur about that plan?" Eames asked him, a half smile on his face. Cobb's lips smacked shut immediately. "I thought not. He would never go for that kind of half baked plan, and you know that. You're many things, Cobb, but you're not willfully stupid." He leveled the other man with a glare. "I'm going to put the word out in the community that you're damaged goods," he said, his own half baked plan forming even as his lips were moving. He was responding based on instinct at this point, and his instincts were screaming that if Cobb returned to dream share, he was never going to be a good enough father for his children. "You'll be blackballed if you try to reach out and get work."
"You can't do that!" Cobb shouted.
"Can't I? That murderous shade that nearly sent us all to limbo? And succeeded in sending our mark there because you couldn't take her out? That ruined how many jobs? That somehow knew every nook and cranny of each level and knew just how to take us all out? Oh, there's plenty of reason why others shouldn't trust you, Cobb. All I have to do to is enumerate them."
Cobb's eyes widened. "Why would you do that to me?"
Eames jabbed the other man's chest with a finger. "You're a father, Cobb. Time to bloody well act like one. You moved heaven and earth in the dream share world to get back to these children, and you damn well will stay with them."
"But why would it matter to you?" Cobb asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'd still be here. There isn't any danger in consulting..."
Whatever Cobb would have said was cut off at the sound of the back door banging shut. "Dad!" shouted Philippa. "Do we have any more juice? Marina's out and won't drink mine..." She stopped short at the sight of Eames and Cobb standing there. Eames immediately relaxed his posture from its almost aggressive stance the moment he heard her voice, so she didn't understand why Cobb seemed angry with Eames. "Who's this?"
"I'm Lawrence Rutherford," Eames said, turning to face Philippa before Cobb could introduce him as Eames. No need to confuse the poor girl, after all.
Philippa's eyes immediately widened as she grinned. "Ohmigosh! A double surprise!" she chortled as she launched herself at Eames to give him a double hug. "Dad said he had business friends that helped him finish early and get home." She laughed as Eames returned the hug. "I should've realized this was the surprise you were talking about."
Eames laughed in return and saw Cobb's confusion. He smiled widely at them both. "Well, of course, Philippa. We've been corresponding for some time now. When I heard your father needed help, I did what I could to make sure it went well." Philippa stepped back, still grinning at him. "You've certainly grown from the last pictures you've sent me. Still friends with Marina, then?"
"Oh, yeah. Turns out she thinks Aaron's a jerk."
Eames couldn't help but laugh at her relieved tone. "Well, then. Didn't I tell you these things will all work themselves out?"
"Yes, you did!" she said, pleased. "And things worked out for you in Mombasa, too, right?"
"Oh, yes. That little tiff got worked out as well," Eames told her gravely. "I couldn't have done it without your advice."
Philippa preened a bit, and she turned to her father with a happy expression. "Mr. Laurie and I are good friends, Dad. You've got a lot of great coworkers. Definitely better than Emily's or Aaron's dads. We have more juice, right?"
Cobb seemed to come back to himself with the question at the end. "There's a whole other container of fruit punch, and we have some iced tea, too."
She gave Eames another quick squeeze of a hug. "You're staying a while, right? Too bad Grandmère already went back to Paris with Granddad. She would've wanted to meet you, too."
"Perhaps this will be a great excuse to visit Paris," Eames told her indulgently.
"Oooh! You'll send me more francs, right?"
"They use Euros now," he reminded her.
"Yeah, but I like how the francs look better," she said loftily. "Oh! Marina will want to meet you, too! This is so cool!" Juice forgotten, she ran back out into the yard to fetch her friend.
Eames merely smirked at Cobb's stunned expression. "Philippa and I have been friends for years," Eames said with a half smile. "So I agreed to the inception for her sake as well as getting in on a job like that. As I told you," he said mildly, picking a nonexistent piece of lint from his sleeve. "You came here to be a father to the children, and that's what you're going to do. It'll be a rough go of it, but I'm sure you'll take to it. You'll have plenty of excitement in your ordinary life, you know. There's nothing quite so terrifying as a teenage girl about to date."
Cobb blanched at the subtle dig, and Eames allowed himself a mild bit of schadenfreude. After all, Cobb had only offered a backward apology, and Philippa was his friend.
Everything worked itself out in the end. He would definitely see to that. That's what friends were for, after all.
The End