052
Title: Yellow
Chapter: 9/11
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don’t own Inception.
Pairing/Characters: Arthur/Eames, Phillipa, Mal, James, Cobb
Summary: In which Eames is a bad influence, James is supposed to entertain, Phillipa is still sick, Cobb is upset, and Arthur is very annoyed.
Author’s Note: Can I just curl up and die? School is evil. Eviiiiil. Other than that, there should only be one more chapter but since this fic has a habbit of getting a mind of it's own I'm leaving the "?" mark. Meh. Enjoy! And thank you all for such lovely comments!
Previous Part(s): One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight
--
“How’s Mal?” he asks as soon as the connection takes.
“She’s regained consciousness. We’re waiting on a psychologist to come down and speak with her. After he declares her sane we can leave.” He sounds relieved. Arthur ignores the way his stomach clenches.
“Are you sure he will?” Arthur asks softly.
He hears Cobb’s breathing become harsher before evening out again. “How can you ask that?” His voice is scratchy and raw and Arthur’s stomach tightens some more. “It’s Mal, Arthur. She wouldn’t…she’s had trouble with sleeping and dreaming.”
“I thought she couldn’t dream anymore,” Arthur pushes. “Cobb…Dom, are you sure it was an accident. I saw her after her accident with the knife.”
“How are the kids?” Cobb asks and Arthur knows he pushed too far.
“Phillipa’s sick now. I’ve got her resting in bed. Eames is probably corrupting James as we speak.” There’s a long stretch of silence and Arthur frowns. “That was a joke, Cobb.”
“Huh? Oh, I know. I was just wondering what Eames was doing there, meant to ask earlier. I thought you weren’t speaking to him after the last job.” Arthur frowns, memories of the bad forgery leading to Eames' disappearing act for eight months with no word. Not that he’d expected word or anything. “Not that you two ever spoke much before.” His voice is becoming lighter now, losing the edge as he settles into something safer.
“I thought you sent him.”
“No.”
“Well, he won’t tell me,” Arthur grumbles. “And we did speak, we do speak.”
Cobb laughs; it’s a strange sound after the past day - has it really only been a day? “You two fight like dogs, all bark and some bite. Always bickering and snapping at each other.” Arthur starts to protest. “I’ve got to go, the doctor’s coming. Tell the kids hi and I hope they feel better. I’ll call you later.”
“Yeah, okay. Tell Mal hi.”
Arthur starts to flip the phone shut when he hears Cobb’s voice again. “Arthur?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you,” Cobb says quietly.
He wants to say something in response but can’t. Arthur disconnects and shoves the phone into his pocket.
--
“If I see another talking animal it’ll be too soon,” Eames growls. Arthur pauses in unpacking the groceries and looks at him, eyebrow quirked. “What took you so long? I thought you were just going for a couple things, even though I went yesterday and got everything on your bloody list.”
“Stop whining, there was a line.” Arthur shoves the potatoes into his arms. “How are the children, dear?”
Eames narrows his eyes. “Very funny. Ha-ha-ha. You’re a right riot all of a sudden, huh?”
“Always,” Arthur deadpans. He points to the sink. “Wash them, please.”
“The children are the same as you left them. Phillipa’s in bed, bored. I gave her those disgusting crackers you had in the cupboard and then she was in the bathroom. Still no spots though. James and I watched that dinosaur movie again, I put more lotion on him, and we played with some remote car Cobb packed in that bag.” He stops and flips on the faucet.
Arthur frowns and looks at him. He’s crouched down looking for the correct size pot for the stove. “What did you just mumble?”
“I owe you a new vase.” Eames can feel the glare on the back of his neck. “You know the one that, uh, used to be on the coffee table? It might have been crystal-”
“I know the vase, what the hell happened to it?”
“Two year olds and remote control cars are not conducive?” Eames suggests weakly. He scrubs at the potato in hand. “Tell me where you got it and I’ll replace it.”
“It was my great-grandmother’s.”
“Oh,” Eames mumbles. “I’m sorry.”
“Where’s James now?”
“Trying to play with Phillipa in the office.” Arthur sets the pot on the counter and nudges Eames out of the way. “Can I help?”
“Did you clean the broken glass?”
“Yes.”
“Then no.” He finishes washing the potatoes and starts on the leeks.
--
The soup is boiling on the stove and Eames has James out on the small balcony. When Arthur checks on them he sees they’re tossing water balloons over the edge to the ground below. He hopes they check to make sure no one’s walking beneath before letting go. By the way Eames says “duck” and pulls James off the chair, he doesn’t think so.
James and Eames trip over each other as well as themselves as they hurry inside. Arthur presses his lips together to hide the smile and focuses on the soup. “Have fun soaking my neighbors?” he calls.
“Lots!” James announces. “Eames hit one with a big balloon.”
“Lovely,” Arthur mutters. He stiffens as Eames drapes an arm around his shoulders. “What do you want?”
“In a bit of a tiff, are we now?” Eames leans over to sniff at the soup. “Smells great,” he says.
“James, will you go and entertain your sister for a bit,” Arthur asks. James looks at them with squinty eyes, eerily reminiscent of Cobb’s own look. He shrugs and scampers off to the office, scratching at his arm. Arthur turns slowly to face Eames. “What do you want, Eames? What are you doing here? No jokes, no jibes, no vague truths. Just tell me.”
Eames leans back slightly and studies Arthur for a moment. “Maybe I want to know more about these siblings of yours.”
“You didn’t even know I had siblings before last night!” Arthur hisses. He runs a hand through his hair and the gel he uses to subdue the curls makes it stick up like the quills on a porcupine. Eames smiles and reaches out to touch it, he isn’t sure if he means to mess it up further or smooth it down. Arthur doesn’t give him the chance to find out as he bats away Eames’ hands. “Why are you here?”
Eames pushes into him then, pins him against the oven. The door handle presses sharply against Arthur’s back. “I missed you, idiot,” he whispers. “There isn’t a job, I’m not on the run - except maybe from your neighbor two floors down, and believe it or not I’m not trying to ransack your apartment. Despite prior incidents.”
“Now is not the time to bring up what you’ve done to the apartment,” Arthur very nearly growls. His hands move to Eames’ shoulders. They fist in the orange material, uncertain of what action to take. “You’ll need something good to make up for the ceiling alone.” His eyes dart to the spot beyond Eames’ head.
“Forget the damn ceiling!” He leans in closer. “I thought you would understand by now but maybe I should speak a little slower? My father always said Americans were awful dense when -”
Arthur’s mouth presses against his, stopping the flow of words. Eames grins and kisses back, harsh and warm with a clash of tongues and the nip of teeth. “Always know how to shut me up, huh, Darling?” Eames teases.
Arthur snorts and kisses him again, softer this time. “Why change what works?”
“Does this mean I’m off the hook for the ceiling?” he murmurs against Arthur’s mouth.
“No. Now move, the soup’s boiling over.” He pushes Eames back and there’s a curl of a smile on his face. “I missed you too,” he whispers as he moves toward the stove. Eames grins triumphantly when Arthur’s back is turned.
Chapter: 9/11
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don’t own Inception.
Pairing/Characters: Arthur/Eames, Phillipa, Mal, James, Cobb
Summary: In which Eames is a bad influence, James is supposed to entertain, Phillipa is still sick, Cobb is upset, and Arthur is very annoyed.
Author’s Note: Can I just curl up and die? School is evil. Eviiiiil. Other than that, there should only be one more chapter but since this fic has a habbit of getting a mind of it's own I'm leaving the "?" mark. Meh. Enjoy! And thank you all for such lovely comments!
Previous Part(s): One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight
--
“How’s Mal?” he asks as soon as the connection takes.
“She’s regained consciousness. We’re waiting on a psychologist to come down and speak with her. After he declares her sane we can leave.” He sounds relieved. Arthur ignores the way his stomach clenches.
“Are you sure he will?” Arthur asks softly.
He hears Cobb’s breathing become harsher before evening out again. “How can you ask that?” His voice is scratchy and raw and Arthur’s stomach tightens some more. “It’s Mal, Arthur. She wouldn’t…she’s had trouble with sleeping and dreaming.”
“I thought she couldn’t dream anymore,” Arthur pushes. “Cobb…Dom, are you sure it was an accident. I saw her after her accident with the knife.”
“How are the kids?” Cobb asks and Arthur knows he pushed too far.
“Phillipa’s sick now. I’ve got her resting in bed. Eames is probably corrupting James as we speak.” There’s a long stretch of silence and Arthur frowns. “That was a joke, Cobb.”
“Huh? Oh, I know. I was just wondering what Eames was doing there, meant to ask earlier. I thought you weren’t speaking to him after the last job.” Arthur frowns, memories of the bad forgery leading to Eames' disappearing act for eight months with no word. Not that he’d expected word or anything. “Not that you two ever spoke much before.” His voice is becoming lighter now, losing the edge as he settles into something safer.
“I thought you sent him.”
“No.”
“Well, he won’t tell me,” Arthur grumbles. “And we did speak, we do speak.”
Cobb laughs; it’s a strange sound after the past day - has it really only been a day? “You two fight like dogs, all bark and some bite. Always bickering and snapping at each other.” Arthur starts to protest. “I’ve got to go, the doctor’s coming. Tell the kids hi and I hope they feel better. I’ll call you later.”
“Yeah, okay. Tell Mal hi.”
Arthur starts to flip the phone shut when he hears Cobb’s voice again. “Arthur?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you,” Cobb says quietly.
He wants to say something in response but can’t. Arthur disconnects and shoves the phone into his pocket.
--
“If I see another talking animal it’ll be too soon,” Eames growls. Arthur pauses in unpacking the groceries and looks at him, eyebrow quirked. “What took you so long? I thought you were just going for a couple things, even though I went yesterday and got everything on your bloody list.”
“Stop whining, there was a line.” Arthur shoves the potatoes into his arms. “How are the children, dear?”
Eames narrows his eyes. “Very funny. Ha-ha-ha. You’re a right riot all of a sudden, huh?”
“Always,” Arthur deadpans. He points to the sink. “Wash them, please.”
“The children are the same as you left them. Phillipa’s in bed, bored. I gave her those disgusting crackers you had in the cupboard and then she was in the bathroom. Still no spots though. James and I watched that dinosaur movie again, I put more lotion on him, and we played with some remote car Cobb packed in that bag.” He stops and flips on the faucet.
Arthur frowns and looks at him. He’s crouched down looking for the correct size pot for the stove. “What did you just mumble?”
“I owe you a new vase.” Eames can feel the glare on the back of his neck. “You know the one that, uh, used to be on the coffee table? It might have been crystal-”
“I know the vase, what the hell happened to it?”
“Two year olds and remote control cars are not conducive?” Eames suggests weakly. He scrubs at the potato in hand. “Tell me where you got it and I’ll replace it.”
“It was my great-grandmother’s.”
“Oh,” Eames mumbles. “I’m sorry.”
“Where’s James now?”
“Trying to play with Phillipa in the office.” Arthur sets the pot on the counter and nudges Eames out of the way. “Can I help?”
“Did you clean the broken glass?”
“Yes.”
“Then no.” He finishes washing the potatoes and starts on the leeks.
--
The soup is boiling on the stove and Eames has James out on the small balcony. When Arthur checks on them he sees they’re tossing water balloons over the edge to the ground below. He hopes they check to make sure no one’s walking beneath before letting go. By the way Eames says “duck” and pulls James off the chair, he doesn’t think so.
James and Eames trip over each other as well as themselves as they hurry inside. Arthur presses his lips together to hide the smile and focuses on the soup. “Have fun soaking my neighbors?” he calls.
“Lots!” James announces. “Eames hit one with a big balloon.”
“Lovely,” Arthur mutters. He stiffens as Eames drapes an arm around his shoulders. “What do you want?”
“In a bit of a tiff, are we now?” Eames leans over to sniff at the soup. “Smells great,” he says.
“James, will you go and entertain your sister for a bit,” Arthur asks. James looks at them with squinty eyes, eerily reminiscent of Cobb’s own look. He shrugs and scampers off to the office, scratching at his arm. Arthur turns slowly to face Eames. “What do you want, Eames? What are you doing here? No jokes, no jibes, no vague truths. Just tell me.”
Eames leans back slightly and studies Arthur for a moment. “Maybe I want to know more about these siblings of yours.”
“You didn’t even know I had siblings before last night!” Arthur hisses. He runs a hand through his hair and the gel he uses to subdue the curls makes it stick up like the quills on a porcupine. Eames smiles and reaches out to touch it, he isn’t sure if he means to mess it up further or smooth it down. Arthur doesn’t give him the chance to find out as he bats away Eames’ hands. “Why are you here?”
Eames pushes into him then, pins him against the oven. The door handle presses sharply against Arthur’s back. “I missed you, idiot,” he whispers. “There isn’t a job, I’m not on the run - except maybe from your neighbor two floors down, and believe it or not I’m not trying to ransack your apartment. Despite prior incidents.”
“Now is not the time to bring up what you’ve done to the apartment,” Arthur very nearly growls. His hands move to Eames’ shoulders. They fist in the orange material, uncertain of what action to take. “You’ll need something good to make up for the ceiling alone.” His eyes dart to the spot beyond Eames’ head.
“Forget the damn ceiling!” He leans in closer. “I thought you would understand by now but maybe I should speak a little slower? My father always said Americans were awful dense when -”
Arthur’s mouth presses against his, stopping the flow of words. Eames grins and kisses back, harsh and warm with a clash of tongues and the nip of teeth. “Always know how to shut me up, huh, Darling?” Eames teases.
Arthur snorts and kisses him again, softer this time. “Why change what works?”
“Does this mean I’m off the hook for the ceiling?” he murmurs against Arthur’s mouth.
“No. Now move, the soup’s boiling over.” He pushes Eames back and there’s a curl of a smile on his face. “I missed you too,” he whispers as he moves toward the stove. Eames grins triumphantly when Arthur’s back is turned.