"Dom! Arthur! Care to explain what the hell happened here?" Mal stood before them, her hands on her hips, glowering. Slender, beautiful women usually have a hard time looking menacing rather than appealing, but Mal managed it effortlessly.

Both men looked at her rather sheepishly. Arthur, being the younger and more impressionable of the two, blushed. The blush went well with the blue and green stripes on his face and the splotches of bright yellow on his shirt and pants. Even his shoes were sprinkled in various colors.

"We… uh…" Arthur seemed at a loss.

"The baby was crying for no apparent reason," Dom stepped in. "Arthur went to check on him, while I stayed here with Philippa, who was painting. Arthur couldn't get him to stop, though, so he called me, and we tried to figure out what was wrong with James. We really didn't leave Philippa alone for a long time, but when we came back… well…"

"Just how idiotic is that?" Mal flared. "Domenic Cobb, you do NOT leave a three-year-old alone in a room with a couple of painting pots! Never!"

"But the baby could have been sick or something," Arthur pointed out.

"He was probably just bored because you left him alone in his room while Philippa got to have fun painting." Mal ran her gaze over the newly re-painted room and the now brightly colored men. "Looks like she had a lot of fun, actually. And you do know who is going to clean up this mess, while I give the little Picasso a bath, don't you? By the way, Arthur, you ought to wash your hands: they're blue."

Arthur looked down at his hands in alarm. "Oh."

"Very eloquent indeed," Mal snorted. "Where's Philippa?"

"Bathroom," Dom said. "I figured she could do less damage there, because the tiles are easier to clean."

"That's quite probably the first sensible thing you came up with today," Mal said. "Did you lock the door?"

The look of terror that spread across his face was almost comical.

"Dom?" Mal asked that night when they were wrapped up in the quiet darkness of their bedroom.

He turned towards her. "Huh?"

"Did you know about Arthur and Eames…?"

A moment of (probably shocked) silence, then: "Are you implying that…?"

Mal smirked. "Well, actually not implying, but rather strongly suggesting. I've no idea what exactly it is that they share, but there's definitely something going on between those two."

"Arthur hates Eames."

"Hate is such a strong word, dear. Let's say that Arthur tends to get supremely annoyed whenever Eames opens his mouth. It does seem that he has found a way to shut him up, though."

"Oh?"

"When I had finally gotten Philippa all cleaned and spotless this afternoon, I was carrying her back to her bedroom to get dressed, and on the way there, I ran into Eames, who was on the way to the bathroom himself. His neck was blue."

"Huh? So what's that got to do with Arthur…?"

Sometimes, men were just infuriatingly slow.

"Well, Arthur had dipped his hands into blue paint sometime before I arrived, because they were all blue when I told you off for leaving Philippa to her own devices. And there are really just two ways that paint could have gotten on Eames' neck: either Arthur tried to strangle him, or he was hugging him and stroking a hand up his neck. People usually do that when they kiss. Like this," and she proceeded to show him.

"My God," Dom said, after half-heartedly returning the kiss. "So it's true…"

"You had your suspicions, didn't you?"

"Yes, but… I always pegged Arthur for some sort of asexual being, and Eames of all people…?"

"Arthur?" Mal laughed. "On what planet are you living, Dom? Arthur is about as asexual as Marilyn Monroe in her little petticoat. Everything about him, the way he moves, the way he dresses, suggests sensuality, he just covers it with that poker face and a coating of formality. I think he only wears those suits to evoke the desire to peel him out of them in other people… even though I think Eames is more the cloth-ripping kind of guy." She paused before adding: "You know, maybe we ought to give him a pair of scissors for his next birthday… "

"Mal!"

PS: Mal didn't really give Eames those scissors for his birthday. Arthur would have hated her for that.

Once again, thanks for those wonderful reviews! They really made my day. Next, it will be Philippa's turn...