Title: Nearly Shakespearean
Inspiration: A fic in which Phillipa and James called Eames "Uncle Eames" and another one in which Eames show a picture of his two daughters in Glasgow
Disclaimer: I merely bow before Christopher Nolan, who owns all.
Notes: Ack. Not really happy with this at all, thinking on it. Feel I could have done so much more with it. As it is, it's just pointless. Absolutely pointless. This was supposed to be at least pseudo-clever with Eames being a Forger and all but I'm not sure if I restrained it to subtext or just missed it entirely from laze... Either way, I hope you enjoyed wasting a few moments on Arthur/Eames fluff. ^^
His hands pull a wallet (a billfold in fact, surprisingly elegant) from the inside pocket of that atrocious jacket. Nimble fingers (skimming his jaw, tracing his lips, undoing buttons faster than dream-magic) dip inside. Then a thin, worn photograph appears, gripped between index and middle finger. Twirling it, Eames displays the picture for Arthur to see: two little girls -one about eight and the other about three- with dark blonde curls and Eames' blue-green eyes.
Arthur's throat falls closed. What... This doesn't happen. Arthur is never caught off-guard or unawares. He always has the information, is always prepared. Especially in the case of team members. "Beyond thorough" is his motto. So how in God's name did he miss...this? "They're your..." He trails, "daughters" dying premature on his tongue. Seventh grade math comes back to him; the transitive property. Eames with kids means Eames with a woman. Eames with a woman means Eames not with... Well, not exclusively. But two kids seem to indicate something more than a passing fancy or a willingness to experiment.
"Nieces," Eames says neatly and Arthur pretends it's not relief pushing a gentle sigh from his lips. Eames noticed Arthur's odd panic but ignores it in favor of gazing down at his two best girls. "Older one is Bethany," he states with soft affection, "younger is Louisa. My sister Vanessa's kids."
Arthur spares a smile, suddenly feeling much fonder toward the two little angels. He watches as Eames retrieves the photograph, giving it one last look before sliding it away again. "They're adorable," he tells the older man, somehow letting a true smile pass his securities and lips. And then a moment later its blossoming even into a genuine laugh. (Were Eames not so shocked, he would have mused that it was a rather lovely sound and that he should like to hear it more often.) "I'll bet they just adore their Uncle-" Arthur pauses then, a strange look passing over his face. He knows Eames' first name, of course; standard point of investigation. But he had never, not once in their four-or-so-years' acquaintance, called the man by it.
"Sean," Eames provides, something of a smirk on his lips, or perhaps it's just a smile. "My name is Sean, darling."
"I know that," Arthur replies, all at once indignant and irritated and embarrassed. Though he can't exactly say why he's irritated or embarrassed. Just from that grin on those lips with those eyes... And that man... He scoffs suddenly and rises from the table. "'A rose by any other name,'" he quips not quite apropos.
"'Would smell as sweet,'" Eames -not Sean, certainly not Sean- finishes, flashy smile in place.
It's Arthur's turn to smirk then. "'Still possesses thorns' is where I was going," he amended, leaving Eames behind him to give that smoky chuckle of his.
AN: Why Sean? Honestly, lack of ambition. Could have gone for something meaningful, as "Ariadne" and "Yusuf" are... Instead, Eames just struck me as a "Sean." And I suppose, stretching it, I could call "Sean" Ireland's "John" and "John" an everyman's name and justify that with Eames' role as becoming every man but in all honesty that was just a coincidence. XD