Inception belongs to Nolan, et al.
Out of temporal order again. Y'all're smart. You get it.
Piggyback rides. The Cobb children loved piggyback rides, and the open floor plan of Professor Miles Thigpen's Paris loft was a perfect venue. Ariadne had clambered over almost every horizontal surface that looked like it would bear her weight. Twice. Luckily, Miles and his brittle French wife, Jeanne, had permitted this; luckily, also, they had very sturdy furniture.
Philippa, being a week away from turning six, was a bossy, sanctimonious thing who graciously allowed three-year-old James the first two rides. James was still young enough view his sister as some lesser god, second only to his father and grandfather; he was outgoing but biddable. Ariadne developed a sudden and nostalgic ache for her older siblings' children and was easily convinced to be the horse of the evening. Even when this triggered an eardrum-rupturing dual squeal of delight, Ariadne saw Jeanne's sharp features relax into amused approval.
Yeah. Mark one up for the American girl.
The children chattered at her in English, telling her to "go under the table!" and "jump over the armchair!" and "faster, faster, faster!" They bickered with each other in French, earning a sharp reprimand from Jeanne. When Ariadne urged them to mind their grand-mère in the same tongue, they began demanding even greater feats of acrobatics from her in both languages. They even complimented her accent.
This is not quite what I envisioned, she reflected while highstepping herself onto a chaise lounge, a kicking James clinging to her like a baby monkey. She had rather expected a light French meal featuring a savory crepe with a glass of dry red wine on a balcony; she'd have had polite conversation with the whole family until late, when Jeanne would've taken the kids to bed, leaving the rest to enjoy coffee and more dream-sharing shoptalk. Instead, she was getting a killer stocking-footed aerobic workout while her former boss, her former professor and his wife all stood by recording the spectacle on smartphones.
After about three-quarters of an hour, Ariadne had ended the games, pleading old age; only when she promised to read them a bedtime story at the end of the night did James and Philippa consent to wash their hands before supper.
"Well," Cobb said, lowering himself onto the couch next to a slumped, wheezing architect, "You handle people better than anyone I know."
"Pfft. I'm no Eames," was her dry retort.
He laughed. "He knows how to do it better than you, but he doesn't do it. It comes so easily to him that he gets bored. Eames, I think, gets off a little bit on causing trouble and then swooping in to fix it, just because he can."
With a snort and an incredulous stare, Ariadne drawled, "So, eventually, he's going to try to fix Arthur?"
This got a laugh from both Cobb and Miles, and even Jeanne smirked.
Miles answered, "Siblings quarrel about behaviors, but the world would end if one's brother truly changed." He and Jeanne took seats as well, she on an armchair and he on the chaise lounge. Leaning with one arm on the headrest, he added, "I've met Mr. Eames only once, more than seven years ago, but the way he and Arthur bickered made me grateful that Dom doesn't have two boys."
With one eyebrow highly arched, Ariadne replied, "You wait till Philppa hits puberty."
As though summoned, Philippa and James tumbled back into the living room, complaining that the adults were delaying supper with all their talking. In short order, with a little assistance from the children, Miles and Jeanne had platefuls of hearty sandwiches on crusty bread on the dining room table.
Though the evening did not involve any further references to dream-sharing or extraction – though it in no way resembled the evening Ariadne had envisioned – it was warm and caring, and it inspired Ariadne to call her family once she'd gotten home. And although her curiosity was not satisfied, neither about dream-sharing nor about the personal lives of these men – these friends – the invitation to brunch the next day left her with a feeling of gratitude she'd never had before.