Title: Yellow

Chapter: 8/11

Rating: PG

Pairing/Characters: Arthur/Eames, Phillipa, Mal, James

Summary: In which Eames cooks (again), James inhales, Phillipa is sick, and Arthur is tired.

Author's Note: Part Eight. Thanks to everyone who is reading it. :)


He wakes to Eames' arm across his waist, fingers curled against his stomach. The clock reads 3:20 on the bedside table. He lays still a moment, trying to figure out what woke him. A hand reaches out and grasps his arm, nails biting into his skin. He reaches out and flips on the light low. Phillipa stands in front of him, her face pale and eyes blinking in the sudden light. "Pip?" he asks softly.

"Uncle Arthur, I don't feel good," she groans. His hand moves to push aside her sweaty bangs and feel her clammy forehead.

"What's wrong?"

"My tummy feels funny." Her face pales more and he has just enough time to jerk aside before she's throwing up all over his hardwood floor.

"Hare or ou owing?" Eames mumbles sleepily.

"Come again?" Arthur questions. He rubs circles into Phillipa's back as she empties her stomach. Her nightgown sticks to her back and she chokes on sobs. "It's okay," he murmurs to her. He raises his voice for Eames, "what did you say? I thought it was just your spelling that was terrible."

Eames growls before he pushes himself up onto one elbow. His face is lined from the seam of the pillowcase and there's evidence of prior drool. "One bloody time. My spelling is impeccable." He seems to notice that Arthur is crouched on the floor with Phillipa. Or he notices the smell. "What's going on?"

"Phillipa's sick. Go back to sleep." He waits until Phillipa stops heaving before he picks her up. "Let's get you cleaned up." Eames groans and rubs at his face with a hand while Arthur carries Phillipa into the bathroom. He sets her down in the bathtub and strips off her dirty clothes. "Do you think you're going to throw up again?"

"No," she mumbles. Her face is pale with red blotches and she sniffs miserably. "I'm sorry, Uncle Arthur."

"It's okay, Pip," he murmurs. He tousles her hair before turning on the water. "Just sit here for a few minutes while I clean up the floor." She nods and he grabs cleaning supplies from under the sink. He leaves the door open as he grabs the trash can and goes back into the bedroom.

Eames is already cleaning up the mess with paper towels from the kitchen. Arthur pauses to smile. Eames glances up and catches him watching, smiles ruefully. "Hope you brought Clorox and Lysol. How is she?"

"Not throwing up anymore," Arthur responds. "You didn't have to clean."

"Course I did." He wrinkles his nose as he looks at Arthur. "Some of it got on you too." Arthur groans and sinks down onto the bed. He watches Eames dump the paper towels into the garbage can and scrub the floor with the Clorox wipes. "You'll want to change," Eames prods.

"I will," Arthur agrees. "After I get Phillipa taken care of." He looks at the clock, 3:52. Another groan and then he hears Phillipa calling. He grabs the can and makes it back in time for Phillipa to empty the rest of her stomach into it. "Come on," he murmurs.

He grabs a towel and wraps her in it. She shudders as he pulls her out of the tub and shuts off the water. He keeps her bundled as he makes his way to the office to scrounge up another set of clothes. "I'm sorry, Uncle Arthur," Phillipa whispers drowsily in his ear.

He tries to reassure her but she's already slipping back into sleep.


Eames wakes to sunlight spilling through the gaps in the blinds and accosting his eyes. He mutters under his breath and shifts. It's hot in the bed and there's something tickling his nose. He thinks its Arthur hand on his hip too. Eames rubs at his face with a hand before sitting up. Phillipa is sprawled between him and Arthur. Her hair is still damp from the early morning bath and her skin looks pale in the early morning light.

Arthur is still asleep, twisted in an uncomfortable looking pose. He's on his back but has one arm thrown across Phillipa, hand resting against Eames' stomach now. Eames smiles faintly as he looks at the dark circles under Arthur's eyes. Eames knows Arthur had gotten up at least twice more with Phillipa. He leans over and brushes Arthur's dark hair back. He doesn't even stir and Eames grins.

He gets up and makes his way to check on James. He's sound asleep still, spread eagled on the bed with the blankets tangled around his legs. Eames heads to the kitchen and begins to assemble the necessary ingredients for a surprise breakfast. He hums as he pours the prepared batter into the pan fifteen minutes later. He wonders if Phillipa will be up to eating.

He's just finishing the first batch of pancakes when Arthur stumbles into the kitchen. Eames points to the coffee pot as he takes a sip from his tea. Arthur nods gratefully and pours himself a healthy serving. After taking a long sip he sighs, and turns back to Eames. "You're cooking. Again."

"As observant as ever," Eames drawls. He flips a pancake and he might be showing off, just a little, as he catches it in the pan. "I'm thinking scrambled eggs as well, to help settle Pippa's stomach."

Arthur nods slowly, like he's still processing the fact that Eames is cooking breakfast. "And dry toast." He busies himself popping the bread in the toaster and setting the table. He stops and inhales another gulp of coffee.

"What time did you get back to sleep?"

"Sometime around five thirty," he mutters.

"Cobb owes you big time for this," Eames replies. He slides the pancake onto a waiting pan and pours more batter in. "Want to start on the eggs or go wake the children?"

"The eggs, they're easier." Eames laughs and chokes on the tea he's drinking. Arthur smiles wryly.


Phillipa has two bites of the toast and one of the eggs before she's in the bathroom again. James inhales six pancakes, what's probably the equivalent of three eggs, and half his sister's toast. He demands more pancakes while Arthur goes to check on Phillipa. Eames gives him a long look and then shrugs.

"At least you haven't lost your appetite, Jamie." He stacks two more pancakes on his plate and drizzles more syrup over them. James falls onto them like he hasn't eaten in weeks once Eames is finished cutting them up. "Chew, Jamie."

Arthur returns, without Phillipa, and gives Eames a dirty look. Eames raises his eyebrows as Arthur sits at the table. "Do you want him to be sick too?" He drinks from his second cup of coffee. "That's it, James. No more after this."

"How's Pippa?"

"I've got her tucked into bed again. Her fever's back." Eames tsks under his breath. "I'm going to call Cobb to let him know in a bit."

James pauses mid inhalation. "Daddy's name is Dom. Dom Cobb," he recites.

"Yes, it is," Arthur responds.

"Not Cobb," James persists.

"You're absolutely right, Jamie," Eames replies. He ruffles James' blonde hair. "Finish up and then you can go watch some cartoons. How're the spots?"

"A little bit itchy," he answers. Eames nods in understanding.

"At least they're just a little itchy," Eames soothes.

"I'll put more lotion on when you're done," Arthur murmurs. He muffles a yawn and takes another drink of coffee.

"I'm done," James announces. He bounces off the seat and leaves half a pancake behind. They watch as he goes into the living room. A moment later they hear him fumbling with the remote, and then the TV starts up.

"I hope you left it on something decent," Arthur says.

"Your faith in me is as heartwarming as always, Arthur." He gets up though and goes to change the channel. Arthur finishes his coffee and sets about collecting the dishes. "Think she's getting the chickenpox?" Eames asks when he returns.

"Probably," Arthur agrees. "It usually started with a fever." He rinses the dishes before stacking them neatly in the dishwasher. Eames leans against the counter and stares at him. "What?"

"Nothing." He hesitates a moment and Arthur's ready to question him again. "I'll be with Jamie," he says finally. He brushes past Arthur even though there's plenty of space to move around. Arthur pauses to watch him leave before returning to the mess at hand.