“Rivera is an idiot,” Eames says, taking another sip of his Earl Grey. “Even if the level holds up, Fiedler’s going to figure out she’s dreaming within a minute, and then we’re never going to get the combination out of her. I don’t understand why Rivera bothered to hire a forger if he’s not going to let me do my job. He must think I’m a one trick pony if I can’t hold up forges in two levels.”
Arthur nods quietly, picking at the last few bites of his scone. Eames bites all his instincts to drag Arthur back to the hotel and away from this job.
“Anyway, that is, if she doesn’t try to shoot herself out of the dream, and then wake up on the next level with a bunch of us still asleep around her. Then we’re going to have even bigger problems to worry about,” Eames comments as he leans over the table to steal the last bit of Arthur’s scone. “Not that I don’t trust you, even in your current state,” he sniped good-naturedly.
When Arthur doesn’t respond to his jab immediately, Eames looks up. Arthur’s head is turned to the side, looking distractedly across the street.
“Arthur?” Eames asks, voice soft.
Arthur’s eyes snap towards him then darts back quickly, once, before dropping his head with eyes on his espresso cup, slightly embarrassed. “Sorry,” he mutters.
Eames cocks his head, then turns to see what Arthur was staring at.
A handsome beta couple, walking down the street. There’s nothing particularly special, and yet—
The woman is pushing a cheery red stroller, and the man is holding a little girl’s hand – their daughter, undoubtedly – no more than six years old with pink ribbons in her hair, polka dots and ruffles on her dress, and shiny, black shoes.
Ah, children, Eames thinks.
Once upon a time, there was nothing more Eames wanted than to be a father, to have his own band of snotty-nosed, loud and weepy children to call his own.
But then Eames had met Arthur. Arthur, who is wonderful and clever and beautiful and perfect and everything Eames never knew he was looking in a mate, but is the only thing Eames wants.
They’d never talked about children, but Eames know it’s not something suited to their lifestyle or Arthur’s plans. Arthur, who is strong and fiercely independent and won't even step down from a job when his own heat started three weeks early. There’s no place for a family or settling down for someone like that.
Eames turns back to look at Arthur, whose eyes were again trailing after the beta couple, expression wistful. He could ask now, ask when Arthur is as emotionally and physically vulnerable as he is.
But Eames could never be that selfish. Because as much as he wants children, nothing even comes close to how much he wants – needs – Arthur to be happy.
Eames down the last big of his Earl Grey and stands up. “Darling, it’s time for us to get to work,” he says and walks away before he can see any more of Arthur’s expression.
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Re: Inception, Arthur/Eames (2/?)
Date: 2012-08-27 04:43 am (UTC)Arthur nods quietly, picking at the last few bites of his scone. Eames bites all his instincts to drag Arthur back to the hotel and away from this job.
“Anyway, that is, if she doesn’t try to shoot herself out of the dream, and then wake up on the next level with a bunch of us still asleep around her. Then we’re going to have even bigger problems to worry about,” Eames comments as he leans over the table to steal the last bit of Arthur’s scone. “Not that I don’t trust you, even in your current state,” he sniped good-naturedly.
When Arthur doesn’t respond to his jab immediately, Eames looks up. Arthur’s head is turned to the side, looking distractedly across the street.
“Arthur?” Eames asks, voice soft.
Arthur’s eyes snap towards him then darts back quickly, once, before dropping his head with eyes on his espresso cup, slightly embarrassed. “Sorry,” he mutters.
Eames cocks his head, then turns to see what Arthur was staring at.
A handsome beta couple, walking down the street. There’s nothing particularly special, and yet—
The woman is pushing a cheery red stroller, and the man is holding a little girl’s hand – their daughter, undoubtedly – no more than six years old with pink ribbons in her hair, polka dots and ruffles on her dress, and shiny, black shoes.
Ah, children, Eames thinks.
Once upon a time, there was nothing more Eames wanted than to be a father, to have his own band of snotty-nosed, loud and weepy children to call his own.
But then Eames had met Arthur. Arthur, who is wonderful and clever and beautiful and perfect and everything Eames never knew he was looking in a mate, but is the only thing Eames wants.
They’d never talked about children, but Eames know it’s not something suited to their lifestyle or Arthur’s plans. Arthur, who is strong and fiercely independent and won't even step down from a job when his own heat started three weeks early. There’s no place for a family or settling down for someone like that.
Eames turns back to look at Arthur, whose eyes were again trailing after the beta couple, expression wistful. He could ask now, ask when Arthur is as emotionally and physically vulnerable as he is.
But Eames could never be that selfish. Because as much as he wants children, nothing even comes close to how much he wants – needs – Arthur to be happy.
Eames down the last big of his Earl Grey and stands up. “Darling, it’s time for us to get to work,” he says and walks away before he can see any more of Arthur’s expression.
MOAR 2 COM ... eventually.