I think there’s a difference between a gamble and a calculated risk.
…But damn if there isn’t anything sexier
than a slender boy with a handgun…
"Eames, would you - you’re supposed to be getting her dressed for God’s sake. Your mother’s plane is going to be on the ground in -" Arthur yanks his hands out of Izzie’s diaper bag to look at his watch, while Eames continues squishing their daughter’s face into increasingly ridiculous expressions. "Twenty-seven and a half minutes."
"Did you hear that, Poppet?" Eames laughs. "Twenty-seven and a half minutes. Your papa’s very precise, he is."
Arthur yanks the zipper on the diaper bag closed and rounds on Eames, a long lecture ready on the tip of his tongue; but seeing Eames sitting there, with Izzie balanced in his lap, it all just falls away, unexpectedly. Eames has Izzie balanced against the length of his arm, one hand cradling her tiny head, and to anyone else it might look like she could fall free at any moment, but Arthur knows that hold; the effortlessly natural way Eames curls himself around the baby like she’s meant to be there. She’s safer in his hands than anyone else’s.
"Something the matter, Darling?" Eames prompts, when Arthur’s heart-struck stare goes on just a little too long.
"No - uh - no." Arthur clears his throat, gives Eames a smile. "You look good. That’s all."
Eames blushes, looks down when he smiles, which only makes Arthur love him more. “Alright, Poppet,” he says to the baby. “Let’s get you dressed, then.”