[Fic] Just Desserts, Part 1 of 2 (Ariadne/Cobb, NC-17)
Title: Just Desserts, part 1 of 2
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Ariadne/Dom
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Summary: Written for this prompt over at inception_kink :
Cobb gets his Julia Child on.
Having had to face up to the fact that he can't cook anything that's more complicated than flapjacks, and not wanting his kids to forever have to live on take-away, Cobb decides to take a cooking class. And if he's going to learn to cook, he really wants to learn.
Boeuf bourguignon, boiled lobster, soufflés - the works.
He tries out his newly learned culinary skills on Ariadne, who finds MasterChef!Cobb sexy as hell.
Many, many thanks to helenvalentine for doing a lovely job beta'ing this for me - I gave her hell with all my tense shifting >.<
Just Desserts
"Daddy, I thought Jell-O was supposed to jiggle. Just like on TV!"
Dom wasn't really sure how things had gone quite this wrong in what should be a fairly simple operation. He stared at the remains of his once-pristine kitchen in bewilderment. "This is just special Jell-O, Phillipa honey," he said desperately, but he had the sneaking suspicion his seven year old wasn't buying it.
She looked at it, hands on her little hips, and frowned in concentration. "It's sort of … melting. I think it needs to go back in the fridge."
"Why does the Jell-O smell like campfire?" James had clambered up on a chair to get a better view of the proceedings
It seemed like such a logical idea at the time; the damned powder wouldn't dissolve no matter how much he stirred it, so it only made sense to heat it at that point, right? How was he to know that the non-dissolving powder that was apparently also non-melting, was most definitely pro-burning?
"Billy's daddy doesn't make Jell-O on the stove," James added, sounding as sage as a five-year old could manage.
Dom gave up at that point. "Hey guys, how do you feel about Dairy Queen?"
-..-
"Daddy!" James immediately dropped the Tonka he'd been playing with into the sandbox, and launched himself what looked to Dom to be super-hero distances to hit his father's midsection at something approaching light speed. Dom couldn't help reflecting that for such a small body, James had a surprisingly solid feel when he hit you.
"You're home!" Phillipa was far daintier in her approach, and Dom had time to shift James onto his shoulders before he bent down to catch her in a bear hug. "Grand-maman said you wouldn't be home until after supper."
"Yeah, well, it's far too nice a day to be in meetings." In truth, the company he was currently in discussions with, a bank that was interested in new fascia designs for their corporate headquarters in New York, wasn't terribly happy about his decision to cut the concept meeting short, but when he'd looked outside and saw the first really perfect summer day this year, he knew this was where he had to be. "How about we head over to the park before dinner?"
"Yeah!" James squealed, and immediately began scrambling down his father's shoulders.
Phillipa, on the other hand, was old enough to look wary. "What are we having for dinner?"
Dom winced, remembering last-night's chicken fiasco that had set off the fire alarm. "How about pancakes?"
"We had pancakes for breakfast, Daddy. You remember? You made mine with chocolate-chips." James looked concerned that his dad would forget something he considered to be a highlight of his day.
Dom sighed in defeat. "What do you guys want to order on your pizza tonight?"
-..-
"I can't tell you how much I appreciate this, Ariadne. I mean, you're only in the country for what, five days? I really feel guilty asking you to spend two of them looking after my kids."
"You know it's not a problem. I love the kids, and it's great being here - seeing you with them. It gives real meaning to everything we did."
"Ariadne-"
She was uncomfortable with his gratitude, even though she always felt her stomach fluttering when he looked at her like that. His grey-blue eyes gave her his trademark squint from across the room, but even ten feet away, she could still feel it like a physical caress. Instead of courting the possibility of the situation becoming awkward, she brushed him off. "Where are my favourite monsters?"
The look Dom shot her was almost comic, in that he looked apologetic, frustrated and thankful at the same time.
"Ariadne!" Phillipa shouted while rounding the corner of the living room as fast as her short legs could carry her. "Are you staying with us while Daddy's at his meeting? I have a new Barbie movie! Can we watch it?"
"I left the number for their grand-maman, Marie, on the fridge, along with the number for the hotel I'm at in New York, and my cell," he reminded, sounding every inch the anxious parent, and not a bit like the cool and collected Extractor Ariadne had first met. She smiled in amusement at the changes two years and happiness had wrought. Dom gave her a quizzical look, but shrugged it off. "My flight should be in by four tomorrow afternoon."
"We'll be here. Go. Show those stuffy bankers what you can do."
And with a flurry of hugs and kisses, he finally made it out the door. Once they had finished waving from the front windows as their father drove out of sight, Ariadne looked down at the two gleaming blond heads, hands on her hips. "So, who's up for an afternoon at the beach?"
It was that perfect mix between bright sun and light breeze. There were small waves coming up on the sand for the children to play in, though nothing big enough to give her cause for concern. Ariadne rather thought that Phillipa might take after her father as she watched the little girl build a sandcastle, very carefully surveying the entire area of the beach that they had claimed by the simple expedient of laying out their bright towels. With a serious mien, she examined, and discarded half a dozen potential plots, before finally settling on her choice, and when she built her castle, she'd managed to place it so that the incoming waves would feed the moat, a feat Ariadne considered impressive for the seven-year old. James contented himself with collecting vast quantities of rocks and pebbles, and any other detritus washed up on shore, to be claimed as part of his treasures, and Ariadne helped him build a sand-bank to keep them in. By late afternoon, Ariadne was taking them home. Phillipa chatted animatedly the entire ride home about their adventures, and James, despite having gotten a bit too much sun, chimed in every now and then with his earnest comments.
The front yard of the Cobb home was that peculiar mix of well-maintained and disaster that signalled to the entire neighbourhood that children lived here, and somehow the whole place managed to exude a real feeling of home. She was glad that Dom had decided to move his little clan when he finally got back to the States, feeling, she was sure, that it was time to let go of the house that he and Mal had called home, and find a fresh start for all of them. Somehow, she couldn't have imagined the same laughing, teasing man in the dark, haunted atmosphere she remembered from the house in his dreams.
"So, what has your Dad planned for us for dinner?"
Phillipa, being Ariadne's shadow all afternoon, was eager to show her the routines. She took off for the kitchen, with Ariadne and a very tired James following in her wake, but she didn't head to the walk-in pantry, like Ariadne was expecting, or even to the fridge. Instead, she was up on her tiptoes, rummaging through the drawer by the phone.
"Phil, what are you after, honey?"
She looked over at Ariadne, blankly. "Dinner," she said, and to Ariadne's complete surprise, pulled out a small, well-worn brown leather binder.
Her surprise quickly turned to bemusement when she began flipping through, and noted the shear variety of take-away and delivery Dom Cobb had managed to source. He can't honestly have tried more than a fraction of these. It's not like he orders out every day.
"I think pizza is number one on the phone," Phillipa chimed in helpfully from somewhere down near Ariadne's elbow.
"Mr. Steve delivers pizza on Thursdays," said James added, not to be outdone. "I like Mr. Tony better. He brings us stickers."
Then again, maybe he does. "Oh dear," was all she could think to say.
In the end, a quick rummage through the kitchen cupboards turned up… well, nothing very edible, so an emergency whip 'round to the store saw Ariadne and her two helpers (one of whom felt much better after conking out in the back seat for ten minutes) industriously making a turkey & broccoli casserole. Ariadne unobtrusively watched the two children interact to finish their masterpiece while she quietly finished up the dishes. Phillipa was very studiously assessing the overall pattern of the turkey to broccoli ratios, trying to make sure there were no broccoli knots, or turkey clubs going on, while James stood by, with chubby hands full, to enthusiastically drop clumps of cheese and croutons over the sections that Phillipa deemed were ready.
Dinner was in the oven with forty-five minutes on the timer, so Ariadne suggested a movie. James, showing chivalry far beyond his years (though Ariadne supposed she would expect nothing else from a young man who had both Dominic Cobb and Arthur Hamilton for guidance), gave into watching Barbie with only token protests.
By the time the movie was done, dinner cleaned up, a goodnight phone call made to Dad, and the munchkins in bed, Ariadne felt like she'd performed Inception itself; she was absolutely exhausted. She took the opportunity for a few minutes of quiet, and if she were quite honest with herself, a few minutes to be nosy. She grabbed a glass of the wine in the fridge, and began lazily meandering the house, checking out pictures on the walls (almost all were of the two smiling kids, though there was one portrait-style picture of Mal hanging in the hallway), poking aimlessly in drawers in the family-room end-tables (deck of cards; 4H pencil worn down to a stub; a Ted Bell novel, spine completely un-cracked; a copy of The Little Prince, spine bent nearly flat; two Highlights magazines; and what looked suspiciously like forgotten Cheerios), examined one aquarium (one extremely well-fed goldfish; lots of algae), and a junk bowl on the foyer table ($3.50 in loose change; two keys; three Barbie shoes, non-matching; and a snail shell, thankfully unoccupied).
The image of Dom Cobb settled so thoroughly into family life was appealing in a way Ariadne had been trying to ignore for a while now. He brought his family to Paris to see Miles at least every few months, and in the two years since the Fischer job, she'd watched him change, shedding the hollow grief and guilt that had defined him, and she began to see the man that Arthur must have known, the one before the tragedy. His smile, a prize rarely earned while on the job, was now always lurking, his gentleness, a thing she would hardly have believed he had in him that first day of dreaming, was evident in every interaction with his children. And sometimes, she thought maybe, with her. It would be in a touch, held just a fraction too long, or an awareness he seemed to have of exactly where she was in his space at any given moment, so that he could, without even seeming to look, be able to have an arm exactly where she needed it. Whether she was in danger of dropping one of the too-many books she was carrying, reaching absently for an object that wasn't actually there, or tripping over her own goddamned feet, he always seemed to know.
It was those rare moments that kept her up at night, wondering.
If she wanted to be completely honest, which she most definitely didn't, it was those moments that had brought her here. With her graduation a few months behind her, she now needed to complete many gruelling hours of internship before she could become licensed. Somehow, for reasons she didn't really want to examine too closely, most of her top choices were here, within a hundred mile radius of this house. She most emphatically didn't look for implications in the fact that it had been Dom who had suggested a large number of the firms to her.
Firmly not thinking any of these things, she drained her glass and headed up to bed, wondering if it would be so very wrong to masturbate in his guest bed.
She did it anyway.
He was exhausted. The meeting had gone well, and Dom was confident that the Directors were completely on board with his designs. He enjoyed being back in New York, but was even happier to be home, though he thought that maybe in a year or two, he might take the kids for a week around Christmas, because no-one did the holiday quite like The Big Apple.
"You could stay - I can call for Chinese, or something -" Dom felt rumpled and a bit fuzzy after his flight. He really felt though, that with all Ariadne had done he should be offering something better than dinner out of a cardboard box, but somehow couldn't coax his brain into coming up with any better ideas to tempt her to stay for a bit longer.
She had one hand on the doorknob already, but she smiled up at him warmly at his offer. "Actually, I've got to head out. I got a call-back from one of the firms for a possible intern position, and they want to make it a dinner meeting."
"Then by all means, don't keep your future waiting." He was fairly sure he was looking at her a little more intently than such a light topic warranted, but wasn't sure he cared anymore. If she had given the slightest indication that she wanted his help, he could have made phone calls to any one of a half dozen firms in the area who owed him, or would like him to owe them. He knew, though, that Ariadne would never, ever forgive him if she thought for one moment that he tried to coddle her.
He'd come to terms awhile ago with how she made him feel. It was a comfortable thing, the warm feeling that had grown in his chest, and the way she fit into his life. He knows he makes up excuses to go to France, and Miles is rapidly becoming one of the most-visited trans-Atlantic grandfathers in existence, but some mornings, when he would wake up and the sheets beside him were cold, he would think that maybe it isn't enough any longer. And then he would remember how very much better off she is if he puts a lid on those particular musings. One of these days, he thought he might not bother to remember those reasons anymore.
"You know," she started, and her eyes, which had been warm and light, narrowed. The smile turned to pursed lips, and one raised eyebrow that gave her face a hint of sternness, the one that told him she wasn't about to take any of his shit, and frankly gave him a bit of a hard-on. "Those kids have a frighteningly large friends-pool of delivery men."
Dom felt himself flush, and leaned against the wall, arms crossed casually, and trying to look less inept than he suddenly felt. "It's just that by the time I get home from work, I don't have a lot of time…," he offered, not really wanting to admit that even with all the world of time, it probably still wouldn't be enough to help him produce an edible meal
She reached up and gave his arm a gentle squeeze. Ariadne, he'd learned, was a very contact-oriented person, and was absolutely not hesitant to reach out and touch him whenever she felt he needed it; whether to kick his ass or offer support. Somehow, he was glad. "Spaghetti wouldn't take any longer than waiting for a delivery guy to show up," she chided gently. "You could even get the kids to help you - it's simple enough, and they'd enjoy helping dad make dinner."
His smile was slightly sheepish, and his arm was warm. "They probably would. Thanks." She's right. Spaghetti - I can handle spaghetti.
-..-
University life agreed with Miles. He had tenure to give him security. He could partake in quiet and erudite discussions with fellows of like minds, often accompanied by glasses of austere wine, crusty baguettes, course country pâté, salty olive paste or creamy brie. He also was given time and funding to pursue pet research papers and inquiries. In fact, in the twenty-odd years that he had been lecturing in his adoptive country, teaching thousands of young men and women and watching them grown and achieve their goals, Miles had come to understand one fundamental thing about himself-
Frankly, he hated grading.
Summer courses at the university were in full swing, though, and he had drawn the proverbial short straw for his department this year; and so, this beautiful Parisian evening had found him shut up in his study, painfully going through the stack of work he'd been putting off for two weeks. He had been sitting down to a well-deserved glass of port when the phone suddenly shattered the silence of his sanctuary. He wasn't entirely surprised to hear the voice of his former student.
"Dom? What is that you're saying?" The line continued to crackle and hiss in his ear, and he really had to concentrate to make out the voice of his normally unflappable son-in-law. Good Lord, what had Dom sounding so frustrated?
"…the kids helped…ceiling…spaghetti...blueprints absolutely trashed…. …Airport?"
Miles took the receiver away from his ear and stared at it for a moment, before putting it back against his head. "The connection's terrible. Are you saying you're taking your family on a nine-hour flight, to come for dinner?"
-..-
Ariadne liked the building she lived in. It was an old, three-floor walk-up with lots of the original facade still intact. Inside was like stepping into a time warp, with its gleaming brass rails, old-fashioned lights and colour palettes. Mrs. Lebeau, the landlord's wife, always made sure there were fresh flowers on the tables by the doors, and twice every week, Mondays and Thursdays, there was a tray left there of fresh-baked croissants from the bakery down the street.
That Thursday afternoon, there was also Dominic Cobb waiting there, both children in tow. He'd called her last night, so she was expecting him, but expecting him didn't take away from his impact, it seemed. Somehow, he looked like he belonged here, in this bygone era, the way he looked in his navy blue suit and crisp shirt, sitting casually relaxed in a wingback chair. Ariadne had to resist the urge to stick her tongue out.
"You like my babysitting skills so much, you're following me home now?"
He put down the paper he'd been reading and looked up at her with just the hint of a smile. "Obviously, we can't let you out of our lives."
Yes, please. She didn't even bother slowing down, but jerked her head to indicate they should follow her up. "So, tell me again why you've come all the way to Paris, just to decide you need cooking classes?"
"Because I'm tired of burning water. Because if I'm going to learn, I'm going to blo- darn well learn," he glanced down at James, who was listening avidly, as his dad caught himself, "and where better to learn than France?"
"Can't stand doing it, if you're not going to be the best?"
He shrugged, accepting this assessment. "Something like that, maybe." They reached her apartment door, and she unlocked it, letting the kids inside. She propped herself up against the doorframe and let her heavy purse drop to the floor with a relieved little groan.
The soft glow of the hall lights came on as it neared five o'clock, old drop-lights rescued from the original 40's decor. And Ariadne reflected how it was true that incandescent lighting was more flattering than florescent, and how little Dom Cobb needed it. "Thanks again, Ariadne. It seems you're beginning to make a habit out of saving me."
She grinned up at him, impishly. "I consider it my good deed. Your children will remember me in their dreams when they no longer know every delivery man in a fifty-kilometre radius."
He shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the other side of the doorframe, facing her. "Miles will be busy most Thursdays, actually," he hinted, with a shameless grin.
"Well, how fortunate for you that I no longer have his Thursday evening lecture. I expect to be paid in crepes when this is all done. You shall be locked in my kitchen for a month straight, just cooking for me."
He looked startled for a moment at her teasing. His eyes shot up to meet hers, before a calculating look entered them. Ariadne felt herself blush, and tried to backpedal. "Of course, you could always just do my laundry, or be my coffee-bearing slave - you know what, never mind."
The look on his face was positively wicked. Where were the kids? He'd never look at her like that if they were anywhere around... "You know, Ariadne, you're really not doing much to help yourself."
"Get out of my apartment," she said calmly, trying not to lose any more dignity tonight. "You're going to be late, oh Master Chef-man."
He gave her another devilish smirk as he left her standing there, debating if hitting her forehead on the door frame would help at all.
Part 2
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Ariadne/Dom
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Summary: Written for this prompt over at inception_kink :
Cobb gets his Julia Child on.
Having had to face up to the fact that he can't cook anything that's more complicated than flapjacks, and not wanting his kids to forever have to live on take-away, Cobb decides to take a cooking class. And if he's going to learn to cook, he really wants to learn.
Boeuf bourguignon, boiled lobster, soufflés - the works.
He tries out his newly learned culinary skills on Ariadne, who finds MasterChef!Cobb sexy as hell.
Many, many thanks to helenvalentine for doing a lovely job beta'ing this for me - I gave her hell with all my tense shifting >.<
Just Desserts
"Daddy, I thought Jell-O was supposed to jiggle. Just like on TV!"
Dom wasn't really sure how things had gone quite this wrong in what should be a fairly simple operation. He stared at the remains of his once-pristine kitchen in bewilderment. "This is just special Jell-O, Phillipa honey," he said desperately, but he had the sneaking suspicion his seven year old wasn't buying it.
She looked at it, hands on her little hips, and frowned in concentration. "It's sort of … melting. I think it needs to go back in the fridge."
"Why does the Jell-O smell like campfire?" James had clambered up on a chair to get a better view of the proceedings
It seemed like such a logical idea at the time; the damned powder wouldn't dissolve no matter how much he stirred it, so it only made sense to heat it at that point, right? How was he to know that the non-dissolving powder that was apparently also non-melting, was most definitely pro-burning?
"Billy's daddy doesn't make Jell-O on the stove," James added, sounding as sage as a five-year old could manage.
Dom gave up at that point. "Hey guys, how do you feel about Dairy Queen?"
-..-
"Daddy!" James immediately dropped the Tonka he'd been playing with into the sandbox, and launched himself what looked to Dom to be super-hero distances to hit his father's midsection at something approaching light speed. Dom couldn't help reflecting that for such a small body, James had a surprisingly solid feel when he hit you.
"You're home!" Phillipa was far daintier in her approach, and Dom had time to shift James onto his shoulders before he bent down to catch her in a bear hug. "Grand-maman said you wouldn't be home until after supper."
"Yeah, well, it's far too nice a day to be in meetings." In truth, the company he was currently in discussions with, a bank that was interested in new fascia designs for their corporate headquarters in New York, wasn't terribly happy about his decision to cut the concept meeting short, but when he'd looked outside and saw the first really perfect summer day this year, he knew this was where he had to be. "How about we head over to the park before dinner?"
"Yeah!" James squealed, and immediately began scrambling down his father's shoulders.
Phillipa, on the other hand, was old enough to look wary. "What are we having for dinner?"
Dom winced, remembering last-night's chicken fiasco that had set off the fire alarm. "How about pancakes?"
"We had pancakes for breakfast, Daddy. You remember? You made mine with chocolate-chips." James looked concerned that his dad would forget something he considered to be a highlight of his day.
Dom sighed in defeat. "What do you guys want to order on your pizza tonight?"
-..-
"I can't tell you how much I appreciate this, Ariadne. I mean, you're only in the country for what, five days? I really feel guilty asking you to spend two of them looking after my kids."
"You know it's not a problem. I love the kids, and it's great being here - seeing you with them. It gives real meaning to everything we did."
"Ariadne-"
She was uncomfortable with his gratitude, even though she always felt her stomach fluttering when he looked at her like that. His grey-blue eyes gave her his trademark squint from across the room, but even ten feet away, she could still feel it like a physical caress. Instead of courting the possibility of the situation becoming awkward, she brushed him off. "Where are my favourite monsters?"
The look Dom shot her was almost comic, in that he looked apologetic, frustrated and thankful at the same time.
"Ariadne!" Phillipa shouted while rounding the corner of the living room as fast as her short legs could carry her. "Are you staying with us while Daddy's at his meeting? I have a new Barbie movie! Can we watch it?"
"I left the number for their grand-maman, Marie, on the fridge, along with the number for the hotel I'm at in New York, and my cell," he reminded, sounding every inch the anxious parent, and not a bit like the cool and collected Extractor Ariadne had first met. She smiled in amusement at the changes two years and happiness had wrought. Dom gave her a quizzical look, but shrugged it off. "My flight should be in by four tomorrow afternoon."
"We'll be here. Go. Show those stuffy bankers what you can do."
And with a flurry of hugs and kisses, he finally made it out the door. Once they had finished waving from the front windows as their father drove out of sight, Ariadne looked down at the two gleaming blond heads, hands on her hips. "So, who's up for an afternoon at the beach?"
It was that perfect mix between bright sun and light breeze. There were small waves coming up on the sand for the children to play in, though nothing big enough to give her cause for concern. Ariadne rather thought that Phillipa might take after her father as she watched the little girl build a sandcastle, very carefully surveying the entire area of the beach that they had claimed by the simple expedient of laying out their bright towels. With a serious mien, she examined, and discarded half a dozen potential plots, before finally settling on her choice, and when she built her castle, she'd managed to place it so that the incoming waves would feed the moat, a feat Ariadne considered impressive for the seven-year old. James contented himself with collecting vast quantities of rocks and pebbles, and any other detritus washed up on shore, to be claimed as part of his treasures, and Ariadne helped him build a sand-bank to keep them in. By late afternoon, Ariadne was taking them home. Phillipa chatted animatedly the entire ride home about their adventures, and James, despite having gotten a bit too much sun, chimed in every now and then with his earnest comments.
The front yard of the Cobb home was that peculiar mix of well-maintained and disaster that signalled to the entire neighbourhood that children lived here, and somehow the whole place managed to exude a real feeling of home. She was glad that Dom had decided to move his little clan when he finally got back to the States, feeling, she was sure, that it was time to let go of the house that he and Mal had called home, and find a fresh start for all of them. Somehow, she couldn't have imagined the same laughing, teasing man in the dark, haunted atmosphere she remembered from the house in his dreams.
"So, what has your Dad planned for us for dinner?"
Phillipa, being Ariadne's shadow all afternoon, was eager to show her the routines. She took off for the kitchen, with Ariadne and a very tired James following in her wake, but she didn't head to the walk-in pantry, like Ariadne was expecting, or even to the fridge. Instead, she was up on her tiptoes, rummaging through the drawer by the phone.
"Phil, what are you after, honey?"
She looked over at Ariadne, blankly. "Dinner," she said, and to Ariadne's complete surprise, pulled out a small, well-worn brown leather binder.
Her surprise quickly turned to bemusement when she began flipping through, and noted the shear variety of take-away and delivery Dom Cobb had managed to source. He can't honestly have tried more than a fraction of these. It's not like he orders out every day.
"I think pizza is number one on the phone," Phillipa chimed in helpfully from somewhere down near Ariadne's elbow.
"Mr. Steve delivers pizza on Thursdays," said James added, not to be outdone. "I like Mr. Tony better. He brings us stickers."
Then again, maybe he does. "Oh dear," was all she could think to say.
In the end, a quick rummage through the kitchen cupboards turned up… well, nothing very edible, so an emergency whip 'round to the store saw Ariadne and her two helpers (one of whom felt much better after conking out in the back seat for ten minutes) industriously making a turkey & broccoli casserole. Ariadne unobtrusively watched the two children interact to finish their masterpiece while she quietly finished up the dishes. Phillipa was very studiously assessing the overall pattern of the turkey to broccoli ratios, trying to make sure there were no broccoli knots, or turkey clubs going on, while James stood by, with chubby hands full, to enthusiastically drop clumps of cheese and croutons over the sections that Phillipa deemed were ready.
Dinner was in the oven with forty-five minutes on the timer, so Ariadne suggested a movie. James, showing chivalry far beyond his years (though Ariadne supposed she would expect nothing else from a young man who had both Dominic Cobb and Arthur Hamilton for guidance), gave into watching Barbie with only token protests.
By the time the movie was done, dinner cleaned up, a goodnight phone call made to Dad, and the munchkins in bed, Ariadne felt like she'd performed Inception itself; she was absolutely exhausted. She took the opportunity for a few minutes of quiet, and if she were quite honest with herself, a few minutes to be nosy. She grabbed a glass of the wine in the fridge, and began lazily meandering the house, checking out pictures on the walls (almost all were of the two smiling kids, though there was one portrait-style picture of Mal hanging in the hallway), poking aimlessly in drawers in the family-room end-tables (deck of cards; 4H pencil worn down to a stub; a Ted Bell novel, spine completely un-cracked; a copy of The Little Prince, spine bent nearly flat; two Highlights magazines; and what looked suspiciously like forgotten Cheerios), examined one aquarium (one extremely well-fed goldfish; lots of algae), and a junk bowl on the foyer table ($3.50 in loose change; two keys; three Barbie shoes, non-matching; and a snail shell, thankfully unoccupied).
The image of Dom Cobb settled so thoroughly into family life was appealing in a way Ariadne had been trying to ignore for a while now. He brought his family to Paris to see Miles at least every few months, and in the two years since the Fischer job, she'd watched him change, shedding the hollow grief and guilt that had defined him, and she began to see the man that Arthur must have known, the one before the tragedy. His smile, a prize rarely earned while on the job, was now always lurking, his gentleness, a thing she would hardly have believed he had in him that first day of dreaming, was evident in every interaction with his children. And sometimes, she thought maybe, with her. It would be in a touch, held just a fraction too long, or an awareness he seemed to have of exactly where she was in his space at any given moment, so that he could, without even seeming to look, be able to have an arm exactly where she needed it. Whether she was in danger of dropping one of the too-many books she was carrying, reaching absently for an object that wasn't actually there, or tripping over her own goddamned feet, he always seemed to know.
It was those rare moments that kept her up at night, wondering.
If she wanted to be completely honest, which she most definitely didn't, it was those moments that had brought her here. With her graduation a few months behind her, she now needed to complete many gruelling hours of internship before she could become licensed. Somehow, for reasons she didn't really want to examine too closely, most of her top choices were here, within a hundred mile radius of this house. She most emphatically didn't look for implications in the fact that it had been Dom who had suggested a large number of the firms to her.
Firmly not thinking any of these things, she drained her glass and headed up to bed, wondering if it would be so very wrong to masturbate in his guest bed.
She did it anyway.
He was exhausted. The meeting had gone well, and Dom was confident that the Directors were completely on board with his designs. He enjoyed being back in New York, but was even happier to be home, though he thought that maybe in a year or two, he might take the kids for a week around Christmas, because no-one did the holiday quite like The Big Apple.
"You could stay - I can call for Chinese, or something -" Dom felt rumpled and a bit fuzzy after his flight. He really felt though, that with all Ariadne had done he should be offering something better than dinner out of a cardboard box, but somehow couldn't coax his brain into coming up with any better ideas to tempt her to stay for a bit longer.
She had one hand on the doorknob already, but she smiled up at him warmly at his offer. "Actually, I've got to head out. I got a call-back from one of the firms for a possible intern position, and they want to make it a dinner meeting."
"Then by all means, don't keep your future waiting." He was fairly sure he was looking at her a little more intently than such a light topic warranted, but wasn't sure he cared anymore. If she had given the slightest indication that she wanted his help, he could have made phone calls to any one of a half dozen firms in the area who owed him, or would like him to owe them. He knew, though, that Ariadne would never, ever forgive him if she thought for one moment that he tried to coddle her.
He'd come to terms awhile ago with how she made him feel. It was a comfortable thing, the warm feeling that had grown in his chest, and the way she fit into his life. He knows he makes up excuses to go to France, and Miles is rapidly becoming one of the most-visited trans-Atlantic grandfathers in existence, but some mornings, when he would wake up and the sheets beside him were cold, he would think that maybe it isn't enough any longer. And then he would remember how very much better off she is if he puts a lid on those particular musings. One of these days, he thought he might not bother to remember those reasons anymore.
"You know," she started, and her eyes, which had been warm and light, narrowed. The smile turned to pursed lips, and one raised eyebrow that gave her face a hint of sternness, the one that told him she wasn't about to take any of his shit, and frankly gave him a bit of a hard-on. "Those kids have a frighteningly large friends-pool of delivery men."
Dom felt himself flush, and leaned against the wall, arms crossed casually, and trying to look less inept than he suddenly felt. "It's just that by the time I get home from work, I don't have a lot of time…," he offered, not really wanting to admit that even with all the world of time, it probably still wouldn't be enough to help him produce an edible meal
She reached up and gave his arm a gentle squeeze. Ariadne, he'd learned, was a very contact-oriented person, and was absolutely not hesitant to reach out and touch him whenever she felt he needed it; whether to kick his ass or offer support. Somehow, he was glad. "Spaghetti wouldn't take any longer than waiting for a delivery guy to show up," she chided gently. "You could even get the kids to help you - it's simple enough, and they'd enjoy helping dad make dinner."
His smile was slightly sheepish, and his arm was warm. "They probably would. Thanks." She's right. Spaghetti - I can handle spaghetti.
-..-
University life agreed with Miles. He had tenure to give him security. He could partake in quiet and erudite discussions with fellows of like minds, often accompanied by glasses of austere wine, crusty baguettes, course country pâté, salty olive paste or creamy brie. He also was given time and funding to pursue pet research papers and inquiries. In fact, in the twenty-odd years that he had been lecturing in his adoptive country, teaching thousands of young men and women and watching them grown and achieve their goals, Miles had come to understand one fundamental thing about himself-
Frankly, he hated grading.
Summer courses at the university were in full swing, though, and he had drawn the proverbial short straw for his department this year; and so, this beautiful Parisian evening had found him shut up in his study, painfully going through the stack of work he'd been putting off for two weeks. He had been sitting down to a well-deserved glass of port when the phone suddenly shattered the silence of his sanctuary. He wasn't entirely surprised to hear the voice of his former student.
"Dom? What is that you're saying?" The line continued to crackle and hiss in his ear, and he really had to concentrate to make out the voice of his normally unflappable son-in-law. Good Lord, what had Dom sounding so frustrated?
"…the kids helped…ceiling…spaghetti...blueprints absolutely trashed…. …Airport?"
Miles took the receiver away from his ear and stared at it for a moment, before putting it back against his head. "The connection's terrible. Are you saying you're taking your family on a nine-hour flight, to come for dinner?"
-..-
Ariadne liked the building she lived in. It was an old, three-floor walk-up with lots of the original facade still intact. Inside was like stepping into a time warp, with its gleaming brass rails, old-fashioned lights and colour palettes. Mrs. Lebeau, the landlord's wife, always made sure there were fresh flowers on the tables by the doors, and twice every week, Mondays and Thursdays, there was a tray left there of fresh-baked croissants from the bakery down the street.
That Thursday afternoon, there was also Dominic Cobb waiting there, both children in tow. He'd called her last night, so she was expecting him, but expecting him didn't take away from his impact, it seemed. Somehow, he looked like he belonged here, in this bygone era, the way he looked in his navy blue suit and crisp shirt, sitting casually relaxed in a wingback chair. Ariadne had to resist the urge to stick her tongue out.
"You like my babysitting skills so much, you're following me home now?"
He put down the paper he'd been reading and looked up at her with just the hint of a smile. "Obviously, we can't let you out of our lives."
Yes, please. She didn't even bother slowing down, but jerked her head to indicate they should follow her up. "So, tell me again why you've come all the way to Paris, just to decide you need cooking classes?"
"Because I'm tired of burning water. Because if I'm going to learn, I'm going to blo- darn well learn," he glanced down at James, who was listening avidly, as his dad caught himself, "and where better to learn than France?"
"Can't stand doing it, if you're not going to be the best?"
He shrugged, accepting this assessment. "Something like that, maybe." They reached her apartment door, and she unlocked it, letting the kids inside. She propped herself up against the doorframe and let her heavy purse drop to the floor with a relieved little groan.
The soft glow of the hall lights came on as it neared five o'clock, old drop-lights rescued from the original 40's decor. And Ariadne reflected how it was true that incandescent lighting was more flattering than florescent, and how little Dom Cobb needed it. "Thanks again, Ariadne. It seems you're beginning to make a habit out of saving me."
She grinned up at him, impishly. "I consider it my good deed. Your children will remember me in their dreams when they no longer know every delivery man in a fifty-kilometre radius."
He shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the other side of the doorframe, facing her. "Miles will be busy most Thursdays, actually," he hinted, with a shameless grin.
"Well, how fortunate for you that I no longer have his Thursday evening lecture. I expect to be paid in crepes when this is all done. You shall be locked in my kitchen for a month straight, just cooking for me."
He looked startled for a moment at her teasing. His eyes shot up to meet hers, before a calculating look entered them. Ariadne felt herself blush, and tried to backpedal. "Of course, you could always just do my laundry, or be my coffee-bearing slave - you know what, never mind."
The look on his face was positively wicked. Where were the kids? He'd never look at her like that if they were anywhere around... "You know, Ariadne, you're really not doing much to help yourself."
"Get out of my apartment," she said calmly, trying not to lose any more dignity tonight. "You're going to be late, oh Master Chef-man."
He gave her another devilish smirk as he left her standing there, debating if hitting her forehead on the door frame would help at all.
Part 2