Part Two

Arthur came back a lot, usually with gifts from her father. It was never good enough, but she was grateful that he would try. He obviously cared about her father a lot to go to the trouble. He even came all the way from Rome to video-tape her playing Wendy in her school's production of Peter Pan.

"Did you think I did a good job, Mr. Arthur?" she asked as they were leaving with her grandparents, James asleep on Miles's shoulder.

"You did excellently."

"Thank you."

He stayed in the guest room that night, and the next night. She tried not to ask him about her father in order not to cause him grief. He'd tell her, even when she didn't ask, "He'll be home soon. I don't know when, I don't know how, but he'll come back to you guys."

She believed him. She believed him and no one else.

Over the course of times that he came and stayed, or even when he just came and visited, she made sure of one thing.

She got several pictures of him with her Polaroid and kept them in her photo album under her bed. All of his secret faces that no one noticed, little peeks at the Arthur that Arthur was when no one else was around. She even sneaked into his room and caught a picture of him sleeping, hair hanging on his forehead in a mess, dressed in only a t-shirt and pajama bottoms.

She was particularly proud of her collection and shared it with no one, even though she wanted to.

"I just… I don't know what to do," Cobb grumbled, staring over his work in the warehouse they were preparing in.

"I told you, Cobb, to let it take its course. Girls have crushes. It's nothing to be concerned about."

"But… it's Arthur."

Arthur's eyebrows knitted together at that statement, but he never looked up from his work.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Ariadne asked.

Eames was chuckling from his lawn chair.

"It just… bothers me, okay? He's so old!"

"I'm only twenty-six," Arthur said flatly.

Everyone seemed to disregard what he'd said.

"It's not as if Arthur's making the moves on her! Jesus, Cobb!" Ariadne exclaimed, offended on behalf of Arthur who was very much being ignored by all of them.

"I had no idea your first name was Jesus," Eames mentioned.

They ignored him too.

"I know that," Cobb said. "I'm not worried about that, but why- It's… You wouldn't understand. You're not a parent."

"I understand, and I'm not a parent," Eames offered, drawing their attention.

"Oh, really," Cobb said.

"Yes. You would be upset regardless of who it was because the very idea, the very idea that your dearest little daughter would ever lay eyes on another man really gets you upset. The first crush leads to the idea of her second crush, her third crush, her first date, her first long-term boyfriend, her engagement, her wedding, her leaving you forever to be with another man. That's not fair because you just got her back."

Cobb stared at him, looking nearly hopeless.

"Am I wrong?" Eames asked, raising his eyebrows. He knew he wasn't. He was the best forger a person could find.

"Aww, Cobb," Ariadne said sympathetically, her maternal instincts breaking to the surface.

Arthur, who had been surprisingly silent through the whole thing tensed up, fingers clenching into fists.

"So, in other words, all of this trouble is in your head," Eames said.

"Stop worrying," Ariadne told him.

"I don't know…" Cobb mumbled.

"ENOUGH!" Arthur shouted, standing up with enough force to knock his chair over.

Everyone turned to him.

"Arthur?" Ariadne asked. "What…"

"You don't get it, do you. I don't know why everyone's so concerned about you, when I'm the one with the real problem here!" he yelled, throwing a hand in Cobb's direction.

"What's the problem?" Eames asked.

Arthur's shoulders sagged, and he sighed. "Maybe you have to worry about her future, Cobb, but I have to worry about her present…"

"What does that mean?" Cobb queried, raising an eyebrow. The other two were just as curious.

Arthur turned away from them, pressing his knuckles into his desk. "I'm the one who's inevitably going to have to break her heart."

All the faces in the room seemed to grow a bit sadder at this realization. Heartbreak was never an easy thing to deal with, and in a seven year old… it was devastating.

"Oh, Arthur…" Ariadne cooed compassionately.

"I still don't know why she likes you," Eames said.

"We've got to find a way for her to stop crushing on you without breaking her heart. It's possible, isn't it?" Ariadne asked, looking around at her co-workers for support.

"It's not impossible, but it's bloody difficult," Eames replied.

"This isn't inception we're talking about," Cobb offered flatly.

"Well, you could always just raise her into being a lesbian," Eames suggested, getting some rather horrified looks from everyone else. "What?"

"I can't believe you would suggest something like that!" Cobb growled.

"What?" Eames defended himself. "Think about it for a moment. If she was, you wouldn't ever have to worry about sweaty, greasy teenage boys ever showing up on your doorstep."

"I-" Cobb started fiercely, but immediately changed his mind, "I don't hate that…"

"Yeah, you'll just have sweaty, greasy teenage girls on your doorstep," Arthur reminded. "I can't guarantee you'd be able to tell the difference."

"I'm going to look into this," Eames decided. "I'll find out why she likes you. After we find out why she likes you, then we can find a way to make her stop liking you."

"I don't like this," Cobb and Arthur said.

"Why? I'm trying to help!"

"Because I don't know if you can manage it without hurting her!" Cobb shouted.

"Because you're insufferable, and I wouldn't trust you around children!" Arthur added.

"You wound me, both of you," Eames sighed, placing his hand against his chest. "I may work in lying, but I also work in people skills. I can handle myself around a child. Just let me talk to her."

Arthur and Cobb looked at each other and then at Ariadne to save them.

She just shrugged. "I mean… it couldn't hurt, right?"

"I don't know," Cobb mumbled.

"That's what we're afraid of," Arthur tacked on at the end.

"Any more in sync, and I'll assume you two are married," Eames groaned.

Three days after her dad finally came home, Arthur came by to see how things were.

Phillipa couldn't say she was as happy to see him as she had been to see her father, but she was still very pleased when he brought her a red balloon (and James a blue one). He seemed stunned when she flung her arms around his neck and squeezed.

But he noticeably relaxed when she whispered in his ear, "Thank you, Mr. Arthur… I started to think he'd never come back, but you told me he would, and I believed you…"

And she felt his long fingers grace her back, and he gave her a small squeeze back and said, "You're welcome, but I didn't really do anything."

Phillipa was playing with dolls when Eames entered her room. "Hello," he greeted, leaning against the doorframe.

"Huh? Oh, hi, Mr. Eames," she greeted, smiling as sweet as sugar.

"Playing with your dolls, eh?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Mind if I play?"

She grinned and handed him one of her dolls. "Okay. You can be the daddy."

"All right," Eames said, getting down on the floor next to her. He played for a few minutes, letting her get comfortable, before he posed the question. "So, I couldn't help but notice… do you have a crush on Arthur?"

She gasped. "Um… well… you promise you won't tell anyone else?"

"Cross my heart."

"Well… um… yes. I like Mr. Arthur a lot. I think I might even…" She giggled, blushing.

Eames put on his best smile. "I had a feeling… but I can't help but wonder, why on earth would you like Arthur? He's kind of… dull and grumpy, right?"

She paused and nodded. "Yeah, I guess you could say that… but…" and she lit up and leaned forward to whisper in his ear, "You should see him smile."

"Smile?"

During the night, when Arthur was visiting, there was a terrible storm. The thunder rattled the windows, and the lightning lit up the sky like it was daylight. Phillipa wasn't afraid, but she couldn't sleep because of all the noise and went downstairs to get a glass of water.

There she found Arthur, sitting uncomfortably on the couch, a cup of coffee sitting untouched on the coffee table. He was in his pajama bottoms and t-shirt, hair fluffy from being washed and slept in. The room smelled of cigarette smoke, but the empty pack next to the cup led her to believe he'd smoked them all.

"Hello," she greeted, just as a clap of thunder smacked outside, and he literally jumped up.

"Shi-" he caught himself, seeing who it was. "Oh… Phillipa. Wh-what, what are you doing up at this hour?"

"Couldn't sleep because of the storm. Why are you up? Don't you have to leave early tomorrow?"

"Ah, I.. couldn't sleep either."

She nodded, watching him as he reached for his coffee.

The thunder boomed. He knocked over the coffee cup.

"Mr. Arthur?"

"Oh, ah- I just… I need a towel for a- uh-"

"You're not… scared, are you?"

"Sc-scared. Me? I'm a full grown man."

"So?" she asked, following after him into the kitchen where he grabbed a hand towel to wipe up the mess. "That doesn't mean you can't get scared."

"Y-yeah, but I mean," he was smiling nervously while he scrubbed the carpet, "Grown-up's don't get scared of stuff like… well… I mean…"

The thunder cracked, and lightning flashed through the sky, and Arthur banged his head against the coffee table corner. "AH, F-" he caught himself. "Fudge…"

She stared at those long-fingered hands trembling. "You are scared. You're scared of the thunder."

"It's just…" he paused, leaning back against the couch. "It makes me uncomfortable because it sounds too much like…" He didn't finish telling her that it sounded like gunfire because she nuzzled up under his arm and put her arms around his chest.

"It's okay… When I get scared, Dad or Grandpa or Grandma come and hold me like this, and I feel better. Did your Mom or Dad never do that?"

"…No…"

His hand stroked the top of her head.

"I promise I won't tell Dad that you were scared."

And she softly sang whatever song she could think of until she felt his hand drop off of her head to the floor. His head slumped against he couch cushion, and she wriggled out from under his arm and placed a blanket over him.

"Goodnight, Mr. Arthur. Sweet dreams."

Arthur couldn't really explain himself to Cobb the next morning, but he didn't seem to mind. Phillipa kept a picture of him asleep against the couch, and the secret she knew about him, as her prize.

"Am I really that unbearable?" Eames asked in horror from his lawn chair.

"Do you really want me to answer that?" Cobb asked, still irritated at Eames.

Ariadne and Arthur had gone out to get coffee, after they had left, Eames found himself asking the question that had been haunting him since yesterday.

Ever since he had talked to Phillipa, he'd been at a complete loss. As far back as he could remember, he couldn't remember one time, not one time that he'd ever seen Arthur smile. Maybe a smirk. Maybe a slight grin. Never a full-on, all the teeth smile.

"Have you ever seen it?" Eames practically begged Cobb.

The thing was, Cobb had shoved Eames off when he'd mentioned what Phillipa had said before, but as he thought back on it, he realized he'd never seen it either. He pretended it didn't bother him, but now Eames was asking, and he couldn't exactly lie about it to the king of liars. "No, not really, but what's the big deal? Arthur's just… a stony-faced guy."

"But everybody smiles! How is it even… I just don't…" He exhaled, leaning back against the chair. "How did she see it, when we've never seen it? It's like a bloody legend."

"I… I'm sure that we have seen him smile. I just don't remember it right now."

"No way. The way she said it…. You didn't hear the way she said it, Cobb. The way she said it, it's got to be this incredible thing. We would remember."

"It's not Narnia, Eames."

"What the Hell is a Narnia?"

"It's… never mind." Cobb ran a hand over his face and through his hair.

Ariadne and Arthur returned then and while Arthur was putting sugar in his coffee, Eames dragged Ariadne off to the side.

"What's up?" she asked.

"Have you ever seen Arthur smile?" he asked her as if it was a matter of national security.

"Wh-what? Surely, I…" Her eyes darted downward, then up, then at Eames. "I… must have, but… I can't think of…"

"One time," Eames finished.

"Never!" She whispered fiercely, stunned. "Oh, my God."

"Phillipa has seen it."

"Really?"

He nodded. "The way she said it, it's supposed to be impressive to say the least."

"I can't even form him smiling in my imagination."

"I know!"

"We still have to work, guys," Cobb called to them from across the room.

"What are they talking about?" Arthur asked, raising an eyebrow.

Cobb stared at his face long enough to make him uncomfortable. "Nothing."

One of Arthur's t-shirts got thrown into the wash by accident, and he'd left it there when he went back to… wherever he was going.

The shirt was white and had a faded design for some band she'd never heard of, and no matter how many times it was washed, it still smelled like his cologne. She slept in it whenever she could, using it as a makeshift nightgown.

(A/N: Sorry if this chapter gave you diabetes.)