The architects keep getting younger and younger these days. Eames eyes the latest sample with mistrust – pimpled and sour-faced, surely no older than fifteen.
"I'm twenty," mumbles the Boy Wonder, known to his colleagues and presumable friends as Darren.
"Did I ask?" Eames says with a mild raise of eyebrow. He turns to their extractor – no, practical therapist.
Eames is doing his best impression of a law-abiding citizen these days, and accepts only the most legitimate of jobs. It's not a rare process in the steadily gentrifying field that is dreamsharing. Said practical therapist, Lynn, used to be a fairly fearsome extractor; now she's composing teams to diagnose kids with suspected social disorders. Sic transit gloria mundi, etc. etc.
Lynn rolls her eyes at him, so Eames subsides. He is, after all, taking this job based on Lynn's old reputation alone.
"Oh, God," Arthur says from his seat in the corner. "I don't know if this conversation is making me feel old or just relieved." Eames can't help but grin at him. All right, perhaps he's not on the job only because of Lynn.
Lynn reties her silver hair with a purple scrunchie. "Don't worry, old dog," she tells Arthur. "You'll always be a puppy to me."
"Are people always this inappropriate?" Darren says, apparently in despair.
Arthur hums and shrugs, looking not unsympathetic."You get used to it." He gets up and goes to punch Eames in the shoulder. "Don't let Eames give you any grief."
Eames feigns a hurt look in Arthur's direction. "I would never." Arthur snorts, but he pats Eames' back before withdrawing from the room.
~~
He finds himself looking in Arthur's direction as often as not. If Eames ever had any shame about his Arthur-watching habits (and why should he? The man's a bloody work of art), it's dwindled to nothing with age and familiarity.
Arthur still doesn't look his age, after all these years, but he does look adult, which is a marked change from the time when Eames first met him. It's not just the faint lines permanently settled in his forehead – all Arthur's fault, those, Eames did warn him not to scowl this much – but other things: the way he rolls up his sleeves and whistles as he works, the tone of his voice gone from sharp and curt to almost amused.
In fact, Arthur has mellowed considerably since the time Eames first met him. It's odd to realize, and Eames finds himself blinking, taking Arthur in all over again.
"What's our out?” Arthur's asking Darren, running a critical eye over the latest draft of the single-level maze.
"We're extracting from a first-grader,” Darren says. “Do you really--”
Arthur puts the specs down with a decisive turn of wrist. “Always have another way out.” He looks over his shoulder and lowers his voice, conspiratorial. “And don't call this an extraction where Lynn can hear you, or she'll have your innards for lingerie.”
Faintly, Darren says, "I'll remember that.”
"Make sure you do.” Arthur smiles at him, and it's...
Not brief and impersonal as Eames remembers from their early days, not the knife's-edge teeth baring that Arthur used to save for troublesome clients. Arthur looks amused. Holy hell, Arthur looks downright approachable, which is so unbearably adorable Eames might just faint.
When Arthur walks back to his workstation, passing Eames along the way, Eames flutters his eyelashes and sighs audibly. Arthur throws an eraser at him. Eames ducks, grinning; ten years ago, that would've been a knife.
Arthur/Eames, in which dreamspace is ridiculous (1/?)
"I'm twenty," mumbles the Boy Wonder, known to his colleagues and presumable friends as Darren.
"Did I ask?" Eames says with a mild raise of eyebrow. He turns to their extractor – no, practical therapist.
Eames is doing his best impression of a law-abiding citizen these days, and accepts only the most legitimate of jobs. It's not a rare process in the steadily gentrifying field that is dreamsharing. Said practical therapist, Lynn, used to be a fairly fearsome extractor; now she's composing teams to diagnose kids with suspected social disorders. Sic transit gloria mundi, etc. etc.
Lynn rolls her eyes at him, so Eames subsides. He is, after all, taking this job based on Lynn's old reputation alone.
"Oh, God," Arthur says from his seat in the corner. "I don't know if this conversation is making me feel old or just relieved." Eames can't help but grin at him. All right, perhaps he's not on the job only because of Lynn.
Lynn reties her silver hair with a purple scrunchie. "Don't worry, old dog," she tells Arthur. "You'll always be a puppy to me."
"Are people always this inappropriate?" Darren says, apparently in despair.
Arthur hums and shrugs, looking not unsympathetic."You get used to it." He gets up and goes to punch Eames in the shoulder. "Don't let Eames give you any grief."
Eames feigns a hurt look in Arthur's direction. "I would never." Arthur snorts, but he pats Eames' back before withdrawing from the room.
~~
He finds himself looking in Arthur's direction as often as not. If Eames ever had any shame about his Arthur-watching habits (and why should he? The man's a bloody work of art), it's dwindled to nothing with age and familiarity.
Arthur still doesn't look his age, after all these years, but he does look adult, which is a marked change from the time when Eames first met him. It's not just the faint lines permanently settled in his forehead – all Arthur's fault, those, Eames did warn him not to scowl this much – but other things: the way he rolls up his sleeves and whistles as he works, the tone of his voice gone from sharp and curt to almost amused.
In fact, Arthur has mellowed considerably since the time Eames first met him. It's odd to realize, and Eames finds himself blinking, taking Arthur in all over again.
"What's our out?” Arthur's asking Darren, running a critical eye over the latest draft of the single-level maze.
"We're extracting from a first-grader,” Darren says. “Do you really--”
Arthur puts the specs down with a decisive turn of wrist. “Always have another way out.” He looks over his shoulder and lowers his voice, conspiratorial. “And don't call this an extraction where Lynn can hear you, or she'll have your innards for lingerie.”
Faintly, Darren says, "I'll remember that.”
"Make sure you do.” Arthur smiles at him, and it's...
Not brief and impersonal as Eames remembers from their early days, not the knife's-edge teeth baring that Arthur used to save for troublesome clients. Arthur looks amused. Holy hell, Arthur looks downright approachable, which is so unbearably adorable Eames might just faint.
When Arthur walks back to his workstation, passing Eames along the way, Eames flutters his eyelashes and sighs audibly. Arthur throws an eraser at him. Eames ducks, grinning; ten years ago, that would've been a knife.