Disclaimer: I do not own Inception, nor do I own any of the characters.

A/N: I haven't written a Fanfiction since I was in middle school. This was originally supposed to be a one-shot, but I realized I'd maybe like to do some Arthur/Ariadne drabbles and one-shots. But I don't want to submit them if nobody is going to read them, so review and tell me what you think (or not, it's all good). If you want more, I'll make some more chapters for this. If not, it's cool. :D

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Paradoxical Specificity

He was eating lunch. It was a strange lunch, she thought-a pudding cup, a peach, and some carrots. He didn't strike her as the type that would pack a lunch for himself. Though, really, she didn't know what type he struck her as anymore. He was unpredictable. His personality was not as black and white as she thought it had been. He was a many layered and multifaceted person. Sometimes she would check her bishop, just to make sure she was awake, after figuring out yet another part of his mind. She did so now as she peeked at him from the doorway of her own little office space in the abandoned warehouse the team was using for research and experimentation.

He was eating the pudding first: savoring every spoonful, it seemed. Was that his guilty pleasure? He lounged in one of the lawn chairs meant for sleeping purposes. "The Point Man in repose," she thought dryly. He ate slowly and neatly. He seemed to be a pretty precise person most of the time, so this didn't come as a surprise to her. He liked to take his time during research, explanations, discussion-almost everything. When he spoke to her he was exact and thorough, taking everything into account. He took his time to explain everything to her, whereas Cobb would explain but leave out important details.

The Point Man was finished with the pudding. He scraped the last possible bite out and set it aside on the desk next to him. His right hand hovered over the peach and the carrots indecisively. This, too, she realized, was very much like him. He wasn't a leader. He wasn't cure of himself when it came to important decisions. He pussyfooted and stalled, trying to decide what to do and when to do it. Too careful and precise all the time, he sometimes would make the wrong decisions because he wasn't willing to take risks.

"He'll probably choose the carrots," she figured, "The peach would be too messy." But, once again, he surprised her. His hand gently grasped the peach, handling it delicately. She wondered how he would eat it without getting it all over himself. He was always so neat and orderly with his slicked back hair and his sassy clothing. Peach juice all over his shirt and tie didn't seem very neat and orderly to her. Or attractive. She wasn't surprised at herself for being attracted to him, really. He was very handsome, and for the most part, he was polite, if not a little cocky. But he wasn't overly full of himself...he just knew was attractive and talented and intelligent...and smooth. Confident in the fact that he was just that good.

"Okay, so maybe a little cocky," she rolled her eyes, but he caught her attention once more when she noticed him walking out of the main room. When he came back, he had a roll of paper towel. He laid some out on the table and grabbed a regular chair. He sat down, leaned over the table slightly, and bit into the peach.

Juice. All over.

She smiled conspiratorially to herself and watched him sloppily eat the fuzzy piece of produce. It was because he assumed no one was watching that he could eat so freely. If he knew anyone had been spying on him, he wouldn't even have glanced at that peach. She savored the moment, figuring it would be the only time she ever saw him so comfortable and messy. However, none of it touched his clothes, and when he was done he cleaned up his hands and mouth, threw away all of the trash, and resumed sitting in the lounge chaise.

She realized the way he consumed the peach was also, again, very much "him." He was a guarded person, careful to appear neat and tidy. She figured he wanted people to respect him, so he tried to be as respectable as possible. For some reason, that made her respect him even more. Manners and appearance were important, and also, she realized, the fact that he wanted to be respected meant that he respected himself. He had self respect, and he wanted others to treat him the same. However, he had enough sense to let his friends behind his walls of precision and specificity. She knew that if Cobb had been in the room, he still would have eaten the messy fruit. They were close, anyone could see that. It seemed like they generally always worked together...but still, Cobb kept his secrets from him. And she knew that it bothered him.

The dark haired man picked up the bag of carrots and took one out, looking slightly disdainful. He ate them all very quite quickly: chewing, swallowing, chewing, swallowing, chewing, swallowing. Evidently he did not like carrots. Once he finished he picked up his notes, got up, threw out his trash, and made his way over to his desk. The way he ate the carrots had been like a reflection of his sense of duty. Sometimes he really just did not want to do things, but he made himself. He always made himself because he possessed self-discipline and good sense. He did his duty, and he knew what mattered in the long run: what was right and wrong, ultimately. He was almost noble, in a way. He didn't just give up because things got hard for him. He pressed on and did what was right.

Or so she imagined. She could never tell with him, really.

Ariadne leaned against the doorway of her little office now, fully in sight. She caught his eye, and as he looked up, she crossed the room to stand in front of his desk. He looked at her quizzically with his lovely, dark eyes, "Do you need something, Ariadne?"

"You wouldn't have any extra peaches laying around, would you?" she smirked slightly at him.

His surprised expression was quite satisfying, to say the least.