matrixrefugee | drabbles20in20 FIC: Themes Part Three: Food (Reply)

Mystery meat and vegetables with sickeningly bright colors: the nutritional equivalent of prefab construction. It was one reason, if a client offered his team the use of a corporate jet, that Cobb accepted it gratefully. The anonymity that it afforded was the main reason, but after years of flying coach, while he was getting his feet under himself, in this field which life and circumstances foisted on him, he took any chance he could get to avoid any irritating reminders of just what his work really entailed. He could maintain a veneer of respectability to mask the criminal he's become.

Sake put Cobb in mind of Kyoto and the mess that the Cobol job devolved into. The slight burn that the rice wine left in his throat made him think of how Nash's carelessness had cost them the job and nearly sent them on the run again.

But its warmth reminded him of how, had it not been for that burn, Saito would not have been impressed with their work, impressed enough that he hired Cobb for what became the Fischer inception, with the promise of a clear path home to where he belonged, rather than wandering from job to job.

Cobb insisted to the rest of the team that Ariadne wasn't the gopher. Her talent was never going to be squandered by treating her like an office girl.

That didn't stop the girl from doing him small courtesies, like bringing him a sandwich when he got so engrossed in a project that he forgot to stop for lunch.

"You didn't have to do that, Ariadne," he said, eying the BLT on his worktable.

"Actually, I did. You get mean when you don't eat. Then your designs get weird."

"Never seen that happen," he argued. But she gave him a Look that told him otherwise.

Sometimes Cobb could not help thinking that working with those two idiots, also known as Arthur and Eames, was good practice for dealing with the kind of silly arguments over nothing which kids got themselves into.

"This is what happens when you don't eat lunch when we're working, Eames."

"In my defense, Arthur, I was distracted and I simply forgot."

"And that's another sign: you're getting defensive."

"I am not."

"You just proved my position: you're getting snappish, and that tends to happen when you haven't eaten."

"Both of you, knock it off, I'm trying to work here. Eames, just be quiet and have a cookie."

Cobb would not exactly call himself a health nut, though since his work kept him on his back a good deal, he kept his diet as low calorie as possible. But he enjoyed making his own salads: slicing cucumbers and tomatoes, tearing lettuce and breaking apart onion slices, adding croutons and strips of grilled chicken. The creative process applied to something as simple and utilitarian as a meal.

"You sure you're not trying to make a pun based on your name, for dinner, darling?" Eames asked, watching him.

"All puns unintentional," Cobb replied, not looking up from adding the oil and vinegar.