Fic: this famine that carries me - Inception/RED, Arthur/Eames, PG-13
title: this famine that carries me
fandom(s): Inception/R.E.D.
pairing: Arthur/Eames
rating: pg-13
summary: For tigriswolf's prompt at comment_fic. Frank Moses is Arthur's father. Here are three times Arthur's crazy-ass family scared the crap out of Eames (and one time when he didn't mind so much).
i.
He's lying in bed, minding his own business - well, minding his Arthur's business (namely, the business of Arthur's lying on his belly, tangled up in well-mussed sheets, and looking supremely fuckable) because Arthur never lets him stare properly when the sexy little bastard's awake. And the muzzle of a gun presses, cold and steady, against his temple.
There's a man standing beside their bed, tall and lean where he isn't thick with muscle, sixty-something years old if Eames is a day, and Eames would have sworn that the apartment was empty - save for him and Arthur - just a second ago.
"What the fuck is this?" the man asks. He looks entirely open to blowing Eames's brains out and all over the pricey artwork Arthur hung on the wall behind the bed if Eames doesn't answer satisfactorily.
Arthur doesn't even move. He's turned towards the opposite wall, his arms curled up beneath his head and his pillow.
"I've been out since high school, Dad. You know exactly what this is," he says.
There are so many things Eames's mind wants to do with that. Chuckle at the thought, perhaps, of Arthur in high school; obviously Eames is aware that Arthur is a man like any other man - with origins including such minutia as a childhood, schooling, and family. It's just funny picturing Arthur dealing with things as mundane and ordinary and... well human as all that.
But-
Dad? This is Arthur's father? This cool-eyed sociopath who's snuck into their bedroom to threaten their naked persons in the middle of the night...
Of course. On second thought, Eames wonders why he wasn't expecting something similar to happen even sooner.
The snick of a gun cocking breaks the silence.
Arthur rolls over and faces his father, arms still under his pillow - and sees the glock pointed at his lover's head. Sees the elder Moses narrow his eyes in the direction of Arthur's hidden gunhand even as one corner of his mouth quirks upwards.
"So it's like that, huh?" Arthur's dad asks calmly. "This guy's worth pulling a piece on your old man?"
Arthur doesn't blink. "Of course not."
Eames holds a moment longer, then - because he's more or less sure Arthur thinks he's worth not letting the "old man" ruin their duvet with blood splatter - he slowly straightens his legs, sliding the sheet covering him - nipples to naughty bits - down just enough to reveal the pistol he's got pointed at the Moses family jewels, one generation removed from the cache Eames worships on a daily basis.
Eames grins, adrenaline pumping.
Moses senior actually looks surprised for a minute.
Arthur rolls his eyes. "If either of you shoots the other, I'll beat the shit out of whoever lives."
Eames only lowers his weapon (and his heart rate) when Arthur's father does the same.
"Fine. But tell your boytoy to put some pants on. There's shit to eat in the kitchen. I'm taking you out for breakfast." And with that, the old man turns and leaves the room.
"Son of a bitch," Eames mutters. If he sounds a little breathless it isn't because he's just been scared shitless by a fucking senior citizen. It's not.
"Hey. That's my Grandma Moses you're talking about," Arthur says lightly, rolling out of bed.
Whatever else Eames might say catches in his throat at the look of simple happiness on his lover's face. He's rarely seen Arthur smile so openly.
He's ready to smile back until the leg of a pair of trousers catches him on the chin.
"Come on. Frank doesn't like to wait," Arthur cautions.
Eames almost wises off but then he remembers the feel of Frank's glock against his skin.
He puts on his pants.
ii.
"No way."
"We need his help. It'll be alright."
"You're dreaming, love. I'll be shot before we've left the compound."
Arthur scowls. "Now, why do you think that?"
"Because, darling," Eames explains - quite patiently, he believes, "Your old man seems rather fond of the idea of shooting me. He threatens to do it every time I see him, and you don't think he's off his rocker."
Arthur's still working on the rope mooring the watercraft he wants them to take out to "Uncle Marvin's place" to the rickety pier they're standing on.
Which is contrary, because - as Eames has communicated more than clearly - he's not going to see Arthur's "Uncle Marvin" - or anybody else in Arthur's trigger-happy, schizophrenic family. Which means neither is Arthur, because Eames'll be damned if he's leaving his lover alone with those people, however much Arthur loves them.
"First of all," Arthur is saying, "Marvin's not "off his rocker". He's just a little... sensitive."
Eames scoffs, grim. A sensitive ex-spook. Even better than a schizophrenic. Not.
"And Frank's just messing around. If he really wanted to shoot you, he would have done it already," Arthur continues.
"Well. That's immensely comforting, darling. Thank you."
Perfectly straight-faced, Arthur says, "You're welcome," and stands up, next to the unmoored skimmer.
Eames takes a deep breath. Goddamnit, but he knows that look on Arthur's face. It's the look Arthur gets when he wants to follow Cobb off on another wild adventure and Eames says no. It's the look he got when Ariadne asked them to be best men at her and Cobb's wedding and Eames wasn't sure he could do it. It's the look Arthur got when Dom found out about them and told Arthur he was making a mistake.
Eames loved it, that one time. This time... not so much.
But they've got enough problems right now. And they've probably wasted too much time already.
"Okay. I'm going to fucking regret this, I just know it, but- Okay. I'll go."
The cool edges of Arthur's face smooth into grateful lines and he steps close to Eames - kiss quick and hot as a bullet.
"Thank you," it's Arthur's turn to say, and Eames hears how he means it.
By the time they reach Marvin's little swampland hidey hole, Eames has almost forgotten that he's afraid.
Then they climb off the skimmer and see Frank approaching from the house up on stilts a short distance away, a shorter, grayer man - with wild hair, dressed in full-body camo - walking warily by his side.
Arthur whispers quickly, "Okay. So, there are a few things you shouldn't do around Marvin."
Eames's eyes widen. "Now you warn me about-"
"Don't make any fast movements. Don't talk about cell phones or satellites." Arthur looks dead serious. "And if he says he's going for the pig... Run."
"Fuck."
iii.
Under other circumstances, Eames is sure he'd object to this. He can't quite remember why he should be objecting at the moment - blood loss can do that to a person - but both Frank and Marvin talk softly around this Victoria woman, and Eames feels like that should mean something...
Oh, yes - now Eames remembers. It means that he is being sewn up by a truly scary individual. Eames knows (despite her lovely face and fine clothing, the way she'd hugged Arthur as they entered her home and called Arthur "Artie") that she is scary because Arthur's family acts like she's scary. And Arthur's family is fucking terrifying.
Artie's family is terrifying, Eames rethinks. And giggles.
Above him, Arthur's face goes slack and his eyes look better suited to some wild thing. Eames can't fathom why. Frank - the bastard - came out of that little broohaha they got caught up in virtually without a scratch. Eames flashes back to the moment Arthur rushed into the melee - guns blazing, heedless of the bullets flying at him from every direction, desperate to get to his dad - and stops giggling. His heart had stopped in that moment.
So of course he'd rushed in after Arthur.
He hadn't come out quite so lucky as the Moses men.
The Moseses. Even Victoria's looking over at him in concern now, finishing the sutures holding his right side together, but Eames laughs again. Whatever the old girl gave him, he wants cases of the stuff to take home with him.
He feels something jostle his leg and realizes Frank's kicked him.
He realizes it because Victoria gasps and reaches over Eames to hit Frank back, in the kneecap.
Frank curses and falls on his ass on the floor next to the low chaise on which Eames is lying, his head in Arthur's lap.
"Did you just kick my patient?" Victoria demands, in a voice that Eames would take seriously if it were directed at him.
"He's scaring the kid!"
"I'm not a kid, Dad." Only Arthur sounds like one as he says it; answering in rote, distracted.
Victoria clucks, swabbing at Eames's now-sealed wound with alcohol. "Well. When Joe told me our Artie had shacked up with a boy who reminded him a bit of a young you, Frances, I thought I might need to scare the young gentleman off." She puts a hand on Eames's cheek and smiles. She doesn't look scary when she does stuff like that.
But Arthur stiffens, and his hand - which had been soothingly running through Eames's hair - fists, when Victoria laughs and says, "But I see that it's a bit too late for that. Oh, Arthur, dear, I didn't mean it like that. Your man will be just fine. I just mean, I think it's too late to scare him off, if the wonderful fool's already rushing into the line of fire for you."
Eames isn't following, but he supposes whatever Victoria's said is in his favor. Arthur takes a shuddering breath and resumes stroking Eames's hair. Frank curses again.
"Jesus! Could everybody please stop scaring the k-"
"Don't call me a kid again, Frank."
Eames can't resist. "Don't you mean Frances, darling?"
Oh, the old man is going to regret Eames's having heard that.
At least until the pain meds cycle out of Eames's system and his survival instincts kick back in.
Frank sighs.
+ i.
It seems incredibly unfair. The baby was Arthur's idea, initially - yet another attempt to please Daddy.
Eames is an asshole to even think such a thing, but that's just tough. He reserves the right to be an asshole until he is no longer tied to a chair and bleeding; not to mention until he is sure that his darling husband - with all of his ill-thought out plans to start a family in the midst of the crazy life he and Eames live - is safe and sound, as well.
Oh. And he'll be pretty much the biggest asshole on the planet until his little princess is out of the clutches of these second-rate amateurs and every last one of them is dead for so much as considering bringing harm to his baby girl.
"Okay. So I get why you had to grab the bodyguard with the baby... But why haven't you killed him since then?"
"He's not the bodyguard, boss. He's the baby's father. The other father."
"No, shit? Moses's son is a fag. Go figure."
Eames tests the strength of the rope keeping him bound and cracks his knuckles. Yeah. He's definitely got to kill these fuckers.
"What about Moses's son? Did you-"
Eames waits to hear the answer also. He's long ago ceased pretending that the mere thought of losing Arthur doesn't stop his blood cold, but that doesn't help temper the chill that sets in when the possibility of that loss presents itself.
"Nah. Couldn't get a bead on him. You think that'll be a p-"
"Of course it'll be a problem!" one of the other goons says. "You telling me there are two Moseses out there, pissed off cause we took these two?"
"Calm down," says "the boss". "Moses is old now. And his boy's a pansy. How big a problem could they be?"
Eames can't help it - even if it'll give away the fact that he's conscious and listening in on his captors' conversation. He laughs aloud.
Oh. Oh, his Arthur is going to bring a world of enlightenment to these poor, stupid bastards.
And that's before Frank goes to town on them.
Add to that, it's bloody Thanksgiving for the Yanks in the family. Marvin and Joe are in town; even Victoria and Ivan were supposed to show this evening (any excuse to cue over "their" new baby). Arthur's no doubt called Dom by now, and he's probably called Saito.
Eames almost pities these punters. Almost.
Then one of the goons is pulling the blindfold off of his eyes, and when one of them punches him, his head jerks to the side, and he sees something odd sitting on top of a high stack of crates some distance away in this dusty, old warehouse that he and his daughter are apparently being kept in.
Eames squints. He thinks… Yes. Yes, it is small, pink, and fuzzy. And has a snout. It’s a small bag fashioned to look like a little pig, with eyes and ears and a curled tail and everything.
Now Eames does pity his abductors.
Marvin went for the pig.
Eames sits back and waits for the show.
[end.]
fandom(s): Inception/R.E.D.
pairing: Arthur/Eames
rating: pg-13
summary: For tigriswolf's prompt at comment_fic. Frank Moses is Arthur's father. Here are three times Arthur's crazy-ass family scared the crap out of Eames (and one time when he didn't mind so much).
i.
He's lying in bed, minding his own business - well, minding his Arthur's business (namely, the business of Arthur's lying on his belly, tangled up in well-mussed sheets, and looking supremely fuckable) because Arthur never lets him stare properly when the sexy little bastard's awake. And the muzzle of a gun presses, cold and steady, against his temple.
There's a man standing beside their bed, tall and lean where he isn't thick with muscle, sixty-something years old if Eames is a day, and Eames would have sworn that the apartment was empty - save for him and Arthur - just a second ago.
"What the fuck is this?" the man asks. He looks entirely open to blowing Eames's brains out and all over the pricey artwork Arthur hung on the wall behind the bed if Eames doesn't answer satisfactorily.
Arthur doesn't even move. He's turned towards the opposite wall, his arms curled up beneath his head and his pillow.
"I've been out since high school, Dad. You know exactly what this is," he says.
There are so many things Eames's mind wants to do with that. Chuckle at the thought, perhaps, of Arthur in high school; obviously Eames is aware that Arthur is a man like any other man - with origins including such minutia as a childhood, schooling, and family. It's just funny picturing Arthur dealing with things as mundane and ordinary and... well human as all that.
But-
Dad? This is Arthur's father? This cool-eyed sociopath who's snuck into their bedroom to threaten their naked persons in the middle of the night...
Of course. On second thought, Eames wonders why he wasn't expecting something similar to happen even sooner.
The snick of a gun cocking breaks the silence.
Arthur rolls over and faces his father, arms still under his pillow - and sees the glock pointed at his lover's head. Sees the elder Moses narrow his eyes in the direction of Arthur's hidden gunhand even as one corner of his mouth quirks upwards.
"So it's like that, huh?" Arthur's dad asks calmly. "This guy's worth pulling a piece on your old man?"
Arthur doesn't blink. "Of course not."
Eames holds a moment longer, then - because he's more or less sure Arthur thinks he's worth not letting the "old man" ruin their duvet with blood splatter - he slowly straightens his legs, sliding the sheet covering him - nipples to naughty bits - down just enough to reveal the pistol he's got pointed at the Moses family jewels, one generation removed from the cache Eames worships on a daily basis.
Eames grins, adrenaline pumping.
Moses senior actually looks surprised for a minute.
Arthur rolls his eyes. "If either of you shoots the other, I'll beat the shit out of whoever lives."
Eames only lowers his weapon (and his heart rate) when Arthur's father does the same.
"Fine. But tell your boytoy to put some pants on. There's shit to eat in the kitchen. I'm taking you out for breakfast." And with that, the old man turns and leaves the room.
"Son of a bitch," Eames mutters. If he sounds a little breathless it isn't because he's just been scared shitless by a fucking senior citizen. It's not.
"Hey. That's my Grandma Moses you're talking about," Arthur says lightly, rolling out of bed.
Whatever else Eames might say catches in his throat at the look of simple happiness on his lover's face. He's rarely seen Arthur smile so openly.
He's ready to smile back until the leg of a pair of trousers catches him on the chin.
"Come on. Frank doesn't like to wait," Arthur cautions.
Eames almost wises off but then he remembers the feel of Frank's glock against his skin.
He puts on his pants.
ii.
"No way."
"We need his help. It'll be alright."
"You're dreaming, love. I'll be shot before we've left the compound."
Arthur scowls. "Now, why do you think that?"
"Because, darling," Eames explains - quite patiently, he believes, "Your old man seems rather fond of the idea of shooting me. He threatens to do it every time I see him, and you don't think he's off his rocker."
Arthur's still working on the rope mooring the watercraft he wants them to take out to "Uncle Marvin's place" to the rickety pier they're standing on.
Which is contrary, because - as Eames has communicated more than clearly - he's not going to see Arthur's "Uncle Marvin" - or anybody else in Arthur's trigger-happy, schizophrenic family. Which means neither is Arthur, because Eames'll be damned if he's leaving his lover alone with those people, however much Arthur loves them.
"First of all," Arthur is saying, "Marvin's not "off his rocker". He's just a little... sensitive."
Eames scoffs, grim. A sensitive ex-spook. Even better than a schizophrenic. Not.
"And Frank's just messing around. If he really wanted to shoot you, he would have done it already," Arthur continues.
"Well. That's immensely comforting, darling. Thank you."
Perfectly straight-faced, Arthur says, "You're welcome," and stands up, next to the unmoored skimmer.
Eames takes a deep breath. Goddamnit, but he knows that look on Arthur's face. It's the look Arthur gets when he wants to follow Cobb off on another wild adventure and Eames says no. It's the look he got when Ariadne asked them to be best men at her and Cobb's wedding and Eames wasn't sure he could do it. It's the look Arthur got when Dom found out about them and told Arthur he was making a mistake.
Eames loved it, that one time. This time... not so much.
But they've got enough problems right now. And they've probably wasted too much time already.
"Okay. I'm going to fucking regret this, I just know it, but- Okay. I'll go."
The cool edges of Arthur's face smooth into grateful lines and he steps close to Eames - kiss quick and hot as a bullet.
"Thank you," it's Arthur's turn to say, and Eames hears how he means it.
By the time they reach Marvin's little swampland hidey hole, Eames has almost forgotten that he's afraid.
Then they climb off the skimmer and see Frank approaching from the house up on stilts a short distance away, a shorter, grayer man - with wild hair, dressed in full-body camo - walking warily by his side.
Arthur whispers quickly, "Okay. So, there are a few things you shouldn't do around Marvin."
Eames's eyes widen. "Now you warn me about-"
"Don't make any fast movements. Don't talk about cell phones or satellites." Arthur looks dead serious. "And if he says he's going for the pig... Run."
"Fuck."
iii.
Under other circumstances, Eames is sure he'd object to this. He can't quite remember why he should be objecting at the moment - blood loss can do that to a person - but both Frank and Marvin talk softly around this Victoria woman, and Eames feels like that should mean something...
Oh, yes - now Eames remembers. It means that he is being sewn up by a truly scary individual. Eames knows (despite her lovely face and fine clothing, the way she'd hugged Arthur as they entered her home and called Arthur "Artie") that she is scary because Arthur's family acts like she's scary. And Arthur's family is fucking terrifying.
Artie's family is terrifying, Eames rethinks. And giggles.
Above him, Arthur's face goes slack and his eyes look better suited to some wild thing. Eames can't fathom why. Frank - the bastard - came out of that little broohaha they got caught up in virtually without a scratch. Eames flashes back to the moment Arthur rushed into the melee - guns blazing, heedless of the bullets flying at him from every direction, desperate to get to his dad - and stops giggling. His heart had stopped in that moment.
So of course he'd rushed in after Arthur.
He hadn't come out quite so lucky as the Moses men.
The Moseses. Even Victoria's looking over at him in concern now, finishing the sutures holding his right side together, but Eames laughs again. Whatever the old girl gave him, he wants cases of the stuff to take home with him.
He feels something jostle his leg and realizes Frank's kicked him.
He realizes it because Victoria gasps and reaches over Eames to hit Frank back, in the kneecap.
Frank curses and falls on his ass on the floor next to the low chaise on which Eames is lying, his head in Arthur's lap.
"Did you just kick my patient?" Victoria demands, in a voice that Eames would take seriously if it were directed at him.
"He's scaring the kid!"
"I'm not a kid, Dad." Only Arthur sounds like one as he says it; answering in rote, distracted.
Victoria clucks, swabbing at Eames's now-sealed wound with alcohol. "Well. When Joe told me our Artie had shacked up with a boy who reminded him a bit of a young you, Frances, I thought I might need to scare the young gentleman off." She puts a hand on Eames's cheek and smiles. She doesn't look scary when she does stuff like that.
But Arthur stiffens, and his hand - which had been soothingly running through Eames's hair - fists, when Victoria laughs and says, "But I see that it's a bit too late for that. Oh, Arthur, dear, I didn't mean it like that. Your man will be just fine. I just mean, I think it's too late to scare him off, if the wonderful fool's already rushing into the line of fire for you."
Eames isn't following, but he supposes whatever Victoria's said is in his favor. Arthur takes a shuddering breath and resumes stroking Eames's hair. Frank curses again.
"Jesus! Could everybody please stop scaring the k-"
"Don't call me a kid again, Frank."
Eames can't resist. "Don't you mean Frances, darling?"
Oh, the old man is going to regret Eames's having heard that.
At least until the pain meds cycle out of Eames's system and his survival instincts kick back in.
Frank sighs.
+ i.
It seems incredibly unfair. The baby was Arthur's idea, initially - yet another attempt to please Daddy.
Eames is an asshole to even think such a thing, but that's just tough. He reserves the right to be an asshole until he is no longer tied to a chair and bleeding; not to mention until he is sure that his darling husband - with all of his ill-thought out plans to start a family in the midst of the crazy life he and Eames live - is safe and sound, as well.
Oh. And he'll be pretty much the biggest asshole on the planet until his little princess is out of the clutches of these second-rate amateurs and every last one of them is dead for so much as considering bringing harm to his baby girl.
"Okay. So I get why you had to grab the bodyguard with the baby... But why haven't you killed him since then?"
"He's not the bodyguard, boss. He's the baby's father. The other father."
"No, shit? Moses's son is a fag. Go figure."
Eames tests the strength of the rope keeping him bound and cracks his knuckles. Yeah. He's definitely got to kill these fuckers.
"What about Moses's son? Did you-"
Eames waits to hear the answer also. He's long ago ceased pretending that the mere thought of losing Arthur doesn't stop his blood cold, but that doesn't help temper the chill that sets in when the possibility of that loss presents itself.
"Nah. Couldn't get a bead on him. You think that'll be a p-"
"Of course it'll be a problem!" one of the other goons says. "You telling me there are two Moseses out there, pissed off cause we took these two?"
"Calm down," says "the boss". "Moses is old now. And his boy's a pansy. How big a problem could they be?"
Eames can't help it - even if it'll give away the fact that he's conscious and listening in on his captors' conversation. He laughs aloud.
Oh. Oh, his Arthur is going to bring a world of enlightenment to these poor, stupid bastards.
And that's before Frank goes to town on them.
Add to that, it's bloody Thanksgiving for the Yanks in the family. Marvin and Joe are in town; even Victoria and Ivan were supposed to show this evening (any excuse to cue over "their" new baby). Arthur's no doubt called Dom by now, and he's probably called Saito.
Eames almost pities these punters. Almost.
Then one of the goons is pulling the blindfold off of his eyes, and when one of them punches him, his head jerks to the side, and he sees something odd sitting on top of a high stack of crates some distance away in this dusty, old warehouse that he and his daughter are apparently being kept in.
Eames squints. He thinks… Yes. Yes, it is small, pink, and fuzzy. And has a snout. It’s a small bag fashioned to look like a little pig, with eyes and ears and a curled tail and everything.
Now Eames does pity his abductors.
Marvin went for the pig.
Eames sits back and waits for the show.
[end.]