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Not Ameri-picked, please indicate if I got something wrong!
For a prompt which wanted: Arthur/Eames gen- Eames in a ball pit/ ball pool.
"Have you seen Eames?" Arthur asks, grateful to finally stumble into someone who isn't knee-high and extremely hyperactive. He might actually be lost, now that he thinks about it. That day-glo swing in the corner looks completely unfamiliar, from this angle, and he doesn't remember this swirly slide either, the one Yusuf's huddling next to like a civilian in a war zone.
"I saw Ariadne," Yusuf shrugs, taking a considering bite of the choc-ice he's holding, "and an enormously fat child who for some reason was carrying Cobb's wallet. But, alas, no Eames."
"Right." Arthur sighs, rubbing his forehead despairingly in despair. This is no longer surprising. When Arthur fights his way out of this child-friendly jungle he and Eames are going to have A Serious Word about wandering off, with laminated diagrams and flowcharts and a brief PowerPoint presentation to really ram the lesson home - if he can ever actually find the exit.
"How did you get that choc-ice?" he asks next, because this line of inquiry may prove more personally beneficial, "and why didn't I get one?"
"The enormously fat child gave it to me. I was very grateful to be considered."
"And you didn't think to ask said fat child what he or she was doing with Cobb's wallet?"
"It didn't really come up in conversation." Yusuf supplies, sucking chocolate off his fingers. "Why are you looking for Eames?"
"He's my boyfriend," Arthur feels pressed to explain, "he's morally required to come home with me."
"Ah, leave him. He'll find his way home eventually."
"You're thinking of pigeons. They're actually less easily-distracted."
With an air of thoughtful serenity, Yusuf studies the ceiling for a moment, dreamily considering the nets of excitable children scant feet above his head. "Then perhaps what you seek is inside yourself, Arthur."
"Um. It really isn't."
Currently, anyway. "Thank you, all the same."
"Hmm, that usually works. Never mind - I shall see you later, presumably?"
If he ever does find his way out of this godforsaken hellhole of an indoor-adventure-play-centre, he'll race as far away as possible and never look back, Arthur thinks dramatically to himself so he says, "Oh sure!" and stalks away with new determination.
Ducking a pair of kamikaze-minded twins (twins usually come in pairs, he's noticed) who seem hellbent on leaping off the slide onto his head, Arthur turns a bend and come face to face with - Ariadne.
"Oh, hey th - "
"Arthur!" she squeals, "This place is awesome!"
"It...it really is."
Behind Ariadne, one little girl strokes a boy on the shoulder with a look of great tenderness, then delivers an almighty smack to his head with her doll. The boy goggles, baffled at the mixed message.
Arthur chooses to look upon it as a very apt metaphor for pair-bonded cohabitation. At least in his experience.
"Listen - have you seen Eames around? I'm looking everywhere, and there's no bar or blackjack table in a place like this so I'm running extremely low on ideas here."
Ariadne scratches her head as the request is given all the incisive analytical power of her Architect's mind. Arthur's hopeful. She's gifted at this type of thing, and they are technically in a maze. He fiddles with his digital watch as he waits, bewildered at just how much time he has lost wandering around like a weary traveller after his will 'o the wisp of a partner.
"To catch an Eames, you have to think like an Eames." she pronounces at long last, tapping her temple to emphasise her words.
"That's it?"
"Yes. Forge him, mentally. Think how he'd think, do what he'd do. Then you'll find yourself going where he'd go, automatically."
Arthur's, "I admit I was hoping for something a little more...concrete," was met with a horsey snort of derision.
"I may have a Greek name but I'm not the Oracle, Arthur. You know him way better than I could. Anyway, I'm kind of preoccupied myself right now. Have you heard? We think Cobb's wallet has been stolen! Do you know anything?"
"Possible lead on an enormously fat child." Arthur scans the horizon with a sage nod. "Sex and current whereabouts unknown." He points back the way he came as he adds, "Yusuf'll fill you in."
"We thought initially Yusuf might've taken it. Cobb caught him smelling it the other day."
"Nah, that's just his thing, he did it to mine, ages ago." He elects not to examine the phenomenon too deeply - and anyway, there isn't any time to waste.
This place reminds him of his army days. Only more brutal.
Well, at least birthday boy James Cobb is enjoying himself - he just sprinted past, a look of panicked excitement (and also magic marker) covering over his face.
"Guess I'd better keep looking - good luck with finding Eames! You two are so cute."
Tipping him a wink, Ariadne brushes past, rubbing her hands together in clear anticipation of the cross-examining of Yusuf.
Left alone, Arthur figures it can't hurt any to attempt Ariadne's idea.
He closes his eyes and centres himself, takes several meditative breaths in and out. Right, he is Eames. He's an English Forger with an addiction to mischief. He flirts with everyone and loves being the centre of attention. His childhood pet was a poodle named Cheddar.
Opens his eyes again.
Ooh, shiny.
Suddenly, everything looks so fun and colourful - and the small children and harassed parents running about are abruptly all rich social opportunities, waiting to be mentally explored and conversed with. There may be some sort of adventure to be had in a place like this.
(Seems to be working.)
Arthur wanders off, going in no particular or practical direction but taking in sight and sound in a way he previously hadn't thought to, following his interest.
Soon, he hits on a bit of luck - a whole gaggle of children dashing gleefully past a climbing frame towards him, chattering excitedly, some kind of little colourful bag clutched in every small hand. Perhaps they can assist him.
"Hello," he greets, dropping into a far less threatening crouch as they all stop and gaze at him, "Uh, I'm looking for -"
That's not what Eames would do, is it?
With a mental sigh inside, he introduces himself, tries to engage some of the less shy ones in some friendly queries about the party, the impending cutting of the cake, what they've been getting up to. It relaxes everybody and seems to be a rare instance where children easily warm to him. Soon, everybody's calling out and chattering away. Eventually, Arthur points at one little blond boy's fist, "So...what do you have there? Is it a toy?"
"Sweeeets!" everyone choruses, waving what appears to be little Haribo packets.
"The nice man gave them to us..." This from a stocky Asian boy, looking to the others for backup.
"Which nice man is that?"
A tiny brunette in a sundress whispers, "...mmeems."
"Ah, okay. Could you show me where the nice man is?"
They point him in the right direction.
Alone in the corner of a sizable ball pit, arms draped over the raised red sides in a manner more suited to a jacuzzi, there's Eames. His lower half is almost buried under a mound of the multi-coloured spheres, and as he finally spots Arthur striding towards him he beams lazily and waves, not relinquishing his grip on his hipflask to do so.
Drinking in the ballpit and giving sweets to children - is he trying to be a troublemaker?
"Hello, petal..." purrs Eames, toasting Arthur with a swing of the hipflask . "Enjoying the party? What am I saying? Of course you are. You're the original party animal, aren't you, mon cher."
For some reason Eames is wearing sunglasses, aviator shades which, though dated in design, look damn good on him.
"You and me, in a locked hotel room, a bottle of rum and a BDSM taster kit between us - that's a party. This is just a bunch of noise and over-stimulus," huffs Arthur as he steps up to the ballpit's side to glower down at his all-too-easily-amused 'life partner'.
"We could be doing far more enjoyable things right now than this, you realise."
Pouting, Eames yanks off his sunglasses.
"Organising our clothing rails from 'summer through winter', for example. Installing new anti-virus software on our computers together. Going over our financial investments. Things of that dangerously exciting calibre, yeah?"
Eames kind of suits the ballpit. The brightness of the amassed balls brings out the amused flush of his full cheeks, and to see him loll around in this kids' ballpit with so many children running hysterically around him only emphasises his heavy strength, his breadth. Even if he really is just a big kid himself at heart.
(It's one of those moments, Arthur thinks to himself, where you simultaneously despair and rejoice that you said 'I do.')
Dropping into a neat crouch so that he can comfortably convey his meaning without little nearby ears overhearing, he leans over the pit's side and murmurs to Eames's hairline, "Hmm, not quite, Mr Eames. I guess I just prefer to exercise my more playful side in a less...child-friendly environment."
That cute little crinkling up of the corners of Eames's eyes in response, well, that's another reason to rejoice that he married him. Arthur isn't being allowed anything so co-operative as eye contact, or even a smile, but Eames gets this impish glow on his face in his happiness - so boyish it seems to soften the hearts of all who see it.
"Ohh, sweetheart, you're twisting my arm. That's an extremely intriguing proposition you've outlined there and I admit I'm tempted. And yet..."
"And yet what?"
"And yet I'm having a wonderful time in here, darling - I feel like an atom! I can't recommend it enough. You should try it for yourself, it's mountains of fun."
Straightening, Arthur rolls his eyes.
"We should buy one of these things for the house, don't you think? And it would count as an investment, because James and Phillipa could play in it when Cobb brings them to visit -"
Would Eames even let them near it? Arthur doubts even Cobb has this much trouble negotiating within the family unit, and that's saying something. (At least if James begins misbehaving he can be scooped up and carried off up to bed, an tactic which is sadly inpractical when the misbehaving element weighs enough that to have him even drunkenly collapse on you is to have your entire life momentarily flash before your eyes.
Ariadne, to this day, still claims whiplash and PTSD.)
"- but how many would it take to fill up a whole room, you're the one with the maths, Arthur, you work it out-"
He's had enough of this. Why Arthur flourished in the army and is the the go-to man for any brutally difficult job is because he isn't afraid to play dirty.
As if accidentally revealing a long-buried secret, he drawls, "You know, this place isn't so bad. I like the atmosphere here. It reminds me of things I've been considering for a while. Like how just being around all these kids makes me think more about when we're gonna have kids of our own."
It does a strange, android-like turn, Eames's head.
Arthur is fixed with a corner-of-the-eye stare.
He warms to his theme with great enjoyment: "I mean, sure, it'd be an end to all the travelling, and dreamshare isn't a job that a father should be doing - Cobb's given all that up now he's got James and Phillipa back - so we'd be making pretty heavy adjustments. And we'd have to sell the penthouse flat and get a proper family home somewhere, out of the city maybe, near a good school. Say bye to suiting ourselves all the time, embrace responsibility. But, I don't know, I'm looking forward to those changes - I'm at that point where I think we need to...share the love, maybe?"
Eames's nostrils flare like a stallion's. His eyes are becoming faintly glassy.
Arthur mentally grins. He delivers the kicker like a bullet in a temple.
"And it'll give me the excuse to finally meet your parents, Eames! They can come stay with us to see the kids. You really should've told them about the wedding because I could've met them then, but now I'll have a concrete reason to call them up. I bet they have all sorts of great stories about you, don't they?"
"JESUS CHRIST," Eames bellows, "WOULD YOU LOOK AT THE TIME?!" and in one floundering thrash he leaps to his feet, plastic balls raining from the air around him like popping kernels. Half-scrambling over the pit's edge (astonishingly nimbly for a man his size), he lands on his feet the other side with a slam.
"Right. You say our goodbyes. I'll find our coats."
Arthur fights his smile as Eames stalks off, shoulders hunching like a bear.
Before he can get very far though, a small sandy-haired boy toddles into his path, sucking in anxious pulls at his thumb.
"Daddy?" he asks in confusion, tugging at Eames's tweed jacket.
"I - ah - no..." panics Eames, backing out of reach.
Arthur's mean, he can't resist. He calls,
"He's cute, isn't he? Which do you prefer? Sons or daughters?"
Eames shudders all over and breaks into a run for his life.
FIN.