"Ariadne," Arthur called out, a folder in his hands—a few revisions he needed done on his level— as he made his way to the back of the warehouse, where Ariadne usually worked.

"Arthur!" she exclaimed, her voice shocked, surprised. It took him a second to realize that she was wearing a slim black dress and that her hair was straighter than usual, that she had outlined her eyes with black make-up, and that she wasn't working.

He even said it out of reflex. "You're not working."

Ariadne flushed. "No…"

Arthur stood a little stupidly with the folder in his hands and looked at her. "Where's your scarf?" he asked, that being the only question he had on hand. Her neck was unaccountably exposed and very much there.

Ariadne laughed a little nervously as she touched her bare collarbone—Arthur's eyes immediately went there—pretending to check. "It's not really something that goes with the dress, Arthur."

"You're going on a date," he stated, a little happy to get back to being methodical and knowing, gaining his feet as she stood before him in heels and a black dress that rode a little high on her thigh.

"Oui, oui monsieur," she trilled, her eyes spirited as she turned away from him and back to her purse behind her.

"Who is the lucky guy?" he asked, regretting that bit of incredulity that came out as he asked.

Ariadne laughed again, continuing to dig into her purse. He studied the back of her. The dress was different form her usual outfits and her art with layers. Instead, this was just there. It was a straight shape that hugged her

"Remember Freddie? From the bar?" It took Arthur a moment to realize that she was speaking to him.

"Freddie?" he repeated, attempting to think.

She nodded, turning to him and leaning back on the counter. In one hand she held a tube of lip-gloss, in the other, she swiped a wand of the stuff onto her lips. "We're having dinner tonight," she said with delight.

Arthur didn't understand this feeling of protectiveness that came over him as she spoke. "French?" he said, trying to get more information.

"No. He's Canadian," she said. "He just graduated and is working at a firm a few blocks from here."

Arthur felt him rile at this information. "He isn't coming here, is he?"

She shook her head. "We're meeting at the front of the bar." The bar was their usual place. It was also the place where he remembered the particular silhouette and suit of who this Freddie must be.

"Should I follow a bit?" he asked almost casually, ready to gage her reaction.

Ariadne's eyes widened in horror, but she started laughing. "Arthur! No you can't."

"Eames then," he said calmly, undeterred.

"No, you may not!" Ariadne insisted, capping her make up and digging back into her purse. "I thought you were joking!" she told him, askance.

"Ariadne," Arthur started, attempting to be reasonable, "what do we even know about Freddie?" When she didn't answer, he continued. "I think I'm right on this."

She turned around, a little pink, a little incredulous. Her eyes looked frantically around like she was trying to gage his demeanor. "What do we even know of Gabrielle? Or Hortense? Or Jacqueline? Or the slew of women I've seen you pick up at the bar?" she demanded. "It's not anything different, Arthur."

Arthur felt a million times embarrassed as he heard just a sample of his list read out to him. He felt himself go red at her tone too. "It's not, yes," he allowed. "But I just—"

"Just what, Arthur?" Ariadne asked, almost nose to nose with him. Arthur saw how her hand went to her hip and how her head tilted to the side, waiting for him to say the wrong thing.

I just worry for you. He didn't think that that was the right thing to say at this moment, but neither was his silence.

Ariadne rolled her eyes. "I've been just fine living here for the past two years, I think I don't need you to worry about me," she informed him, taking a few steps away.

Arthur turned to keep watching her walk away. "What's his last name?" he called out.

Ariadne didn't turn back as her heels clicked against the cement floor of the warehouse. "Have a good night Arthur!"

Two lone lamps were the only source of light in the dark warehouse as Eames sat typing on his report on Browning. Jet-lagged, he wasn't used to the right sleeping times, and egged on by the point man, sat at the desk behind the lawn chairs to write up his report for their meeting tomorrow. Somewhere in the depths of the warehouse, Yusuf and Cobb experimented on more serums.

"I'm sure she's fine, Arthur," Eames was saying while Arthur sat on his lawn chair, reading a folder of information. He said a few other things in that droll way of his—droll being the way everyone but Arthur saw it—and Arthur wanted to swat him away much like a mosquito.

"I don't like him," Arthur murmured, reading an article.

"Who?" Eames asked, and Arthur had the awareness to hear and slow down his panicked, pacing heart. He had a tendency to murmur to himself as he read and worked sometimes, especially if things weren't to his liking.

"Nothing."

"No." Arthur could hear Eames' smirk a mile off. "You said you didn't like him. Who is it you don't like, Arthur?"

A staring contest ensued, one that Arthur took part in, despite the back of his mind telling him how childish it all was. "Freddie Hadley," Arthur said finally, egged on by Eames' laughing eyes.

"What?" Eames seemed surprised, though Arthur attributed this to his cluelessness at the fact that Ariadne met someone—Eames had been in the States doing recon—and that she went out tonight—he was passed out on a lawn chair when Ariadne left. Jet lag.

"The guy Ariadne's going out with," Arthur elaborated, lounging back down. "His name is Frederick Hadley. He works for the law firm over on the rue de—"

"No, darling, how do you know this?" the Englishman asked.

Arthur leveled a look at the forger.

Eames looked serious, a new look for him. "Indulge me."

"I just ran the credit cards at the bar the night they met, looking for the name Freddie or Frederick. There were three, so I checked the one that routed to a Canadian bank. It wasn't hard," he murmured.

"And how long did this take you?"

"Not long," Arthur replied, though it did take him a little over an hour, and after that it too him two more to get the basic information he needed on the guy. "But what do we know of this guy? He's a stranger."

Eames blinked a few times.

"You know I'm right."

Eames didn't deign him with a response.

Arthur turned away, feeling that the forger was studying him too closely; he went back to his folder of quickly sought information and started to read of Freddie's grades in high school.

"That's it," the man behind him announced so suddenly that Arthur half started in his seat. "We're going to get a drink."

"I'm not thirsty."

Eames was already standing, pulling on one of his terrible, too big suit blazers. The color didn't even match his trousers. "Too bad. You're coming with me."

"I have work to do," Arthur insisted, grumpy.

"You're not going to research our poor architect's new beau. I'd rather she not feel even more embarrassed after all of the shitty lectures we've put her through," Eames said, his hand on the back of Arthur's lawn chair. "Right?"

Which was how Arthur found himself sitting at their usual place, watching a soccer game he had no interest in, and listening to Eames attempt to pick up a woman at the bar. He felt grumpy at being dragged here. He felt grumpy at the fact that he was with Eames. He felt grumpy at the thought of seeing Ariadne in a booth next to the supposed amazing Freddie. Right over there by the back.

Holy crap. It was. He wasn't just seeing things.

Arthur played it cool, but he also had a copious amount of whiskey, having used it to ease this amount of grumpiness he felt at the world at the moment. Being such, he could also tell that he wasn't in the proper mental state to put on a full recon mission in front of Ariadne. He needed help.

"Eames," he said, coolly, sidling up behind the forger, who barely spared him a glance as he continued to speak to beautiful woman. Arthur was getting grumpier. He poked the forger in the shoulder. "Eames."

Eames swatted Arthur's finger. No. Arthur poked again. Eames swatted. No. This was important, Eames. Leave that woman alone.

Eames turned to him, scowling. Apparently, Arthur had said those things out loud. The woman stalked off, amused and almost relieved. "What is it, Arthur?"

Arthur explained to him, in a calm, quiet manner, what he saw.

"Why are you yelling at me?"

Arthur didn't realize that he was.

"The first rule of being sneaky, darling, is to not be in your cups," Eames advised, irritated. "And I don't care if Ariadne's with Freddie over there. Leave them alone. I'm not helping you."

Arthur wasn't one for begging. He was the best at what he did anyway, even if he was slightly disoriented or slower because of the whiskey. He glared at the forger and stalked off.

Freddie Hadley had this hand on Ariadne's thigh, partially where the fabric of her dress ended and partially on the bare skin. Freddie was clearly a lecher.

Freddie Hadley wore a gray suit and a green satin tie he probably left work in. Obviously, he didn't put in the effort one should take with someone like Ariadne.

Freddie Hadley ordered Ariadne a cocktail, when Arthur knew she preferred drinking beer. Freddie clearly wasn't attentive.

Freddie Hadley swooped in to kiss Ariadne as his hand swooped higher up her hip. Frankly, he was a cad.

Ariadne held a stopping hand over Freddie's roaming ones. Actually, she could handle herself.

Ariadne also spotted Arthur a few tables down from them, locking her eyes onto his, before frowning and then glaring. Clearly, Arthur was in trouble.

Arthur didn't know what to expect when he woke up on Ariadne's couch. He slid up right, dragging his face over his cheeks, nose, down to his chin, looking at the sunny apartment at large as he leaned forward onto his elbows.

He spotted his suit jacket neatly laid on the back of a ratty chair and his loafers at the foot of the coffee table, where his tie sat rolled up. The sleeves of his dress shirt were loose, and he saw that his cuffs had been undone. His vest was unbuttoned as well. It was all carefully, thoughtfully done for his own comfort for sleep.

"You're up," said a chipper voice behind him, and he looked over his shoulder to see a bedraggled looking Ariadne pour a copious amount of sugar into a mug. She stirred, smiling to herself. "I made you coffee," she informed him, walking over in bare feet, a raggedy t-shirt, and boxer shorts. She took the seat right next to him on the couch, smiling but looking a little worst for wear. She also held a closed fist above his him, waiting for him to open his hand. He did and she dropped two aspirins into his palm. He dry swallowed them.

He thanked her for his mug and took a sip, allowing it to settle, before he spoke. "You're okay?" he asked, looking at her.

She nodded, holding her fingers over her lips thoughtfully as she stared in the direction of her television. "Fine," she said after a few seconds, bringing her hands around her mug to drink.

"I'm sorry about last night," Arthur started. "I didn't mean to—"

Ariadne shrugged. "Freddie understood how friends could be."

"Yeah?" Arthur said for lack of a better response. "Did you tell him that I wouldn't be there next time?" he joked, sipping his coffee.

She smirked. "I doubt there will be a next time with him."

Arthur battled with feeling guilty over losing Ariadne's first good prospect but gleeful at helping her ditch such an idiot. He apologized, though the smile tugging at his lips, which he hid behind his mug didn't help. She saw and rolled her eyes.

"And I know you were doing it out of concern, but I really don't need your help, Arthur." She stopped, and then laughed. "Okay, so I don't need your help all the time."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine."

"How did I get here?" He vaguely remembered reading a text from Eames about how he had left with that beautiful woman, and that Arthur could grab a cab with Ariadne once he was done ruining her date.

"Well," Ariadne began thoughtfully. "After, I went to lecture you, you stalked off to the bar, got angry at your phone, then cursed at it a bit. I realized you probably weren't fit to go home on your own."

Arthur took a long drag of his coffee. "Well, thanks," he said, a little stifled by embarrassment. Her story corroborated his bleary memory and made stark sense. Ariadne sat back, clearly enjoying his discomfort.

He looked over his shoulder at her. "What?"

She shrugged, smiling still. "You've got my back, Arthur," she said.

"Yeah," he conceded, warily.

"It's nice."

And Arthur had to agree with that as he settled into the sinking, soft couch too. Ariadne didn't press him for more information or lecture him like he thought she would. She kept relatively quiet over it all, talking quietly to be thoughtful over his headache, and also sensing her own eyes droop slightly. And somewhere along the way, Arthur found himself settled down to watch a movie with the architect, laughing over his findings on Freddie, and fighting over takeout menus all on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

Arthur woke up and realized his arm was asleep. The reason being the tiny head of the architect lulled back onto it. He wished he could pull it back without her noticing, but he didn't want to cause injury or wake her. He was a gentleman after all.

Arthur couldn't tell what time it was, but in the glowing apartment was dark now, and their third movie was done. The screen black when everything played out apparently.

But what was significant was how Ariadne's body was curled towards his on the couch, how her head fell back on his arm, and how her knees were pulled up and pointed towards him. Arthur was no better. He had his arm out for her. His bodied angled to accommodate her. And he woke up with his cheek resting in her hair.

Ariadne stirred awake too, probably because she had this inane sense that she was causing someone discomfort. She blinked up at him, before sitting up suddenly. She was quick with an apology, as she straightened her hair and clothes.

"It's fine."

Ariadne looked guilty for some reason. "You don't happen to have a haircut, or a job interview, or a squash game do you?" she asked, scrunching her face.

Arthur remembered their conversation from earlier and laughed. "Why do you ask?"

Her eyes were closed. "Because it would really help in alleviating some of this awkwardness," she said. She peeped at him.

"Ahhh," he replied. He gritted his teeth in mock frustration. "Unfortunately, no."

She flexed her fingers in thought. "Yeah, well, you can go if you want," she said. "I mean, not that we did anything, but snuggling with a coworker seems really weird—"

Arthur sat up straighter, pulling himself slightly up with a sudden change in demeanor. "We weren't snuggling," he insisted, and even he felt his face flush at the childish word. He straightened his collar. He cleared his throat. "And besides, it's only awkward if we decide it's not."

"Oh?"

"Yeah."

"So…"

"So you want to get late dinner?" he asked. She smiled.

They were trying to time the kicks with the musical countdown. They were also failing at it, slightly.

"I almost hate this song," Yusuf said as he sat up.

They called it quits for the day, and Arthur stood up to wind up the tubes back into the case. "No one said it would be easy," he said.

"Yeah, well, but it'll be worth it," Eames said with an impressive whistle, sitting back in the lawn chair with his hands behind his head. "I can settle quite nicely for a while with Saito's promised payoff."

"That's if it gets done, Eames," Arthur reminded him.

"And that's if we get this damn music in sync," Yusuf grumbled.

"Still though" Eames replied cheerfully. "A man can't dream? What is it you plan to do with the cash Yusuf?"

Yusuf was standing now, straightening his shirt and touching his temple. "Travel more. With this money, I can hire a few more people to run the operation back home, and maybe me and my wife can explore other cities."

"That sounds wonderful," Eames congratulated. "Me? I'm going to disappear for a bit, probably try to settle down and live a life of pure heedlessness."

Yusuf laughed. He turned to Arthur. "What about you, Arthur?"

And Arthur barely looked at him as he snapped the suitcase closed. "I'm going to keep working." But even Arthur knew that he didn't want to do it anymore, something in him telling him to slow down.

And Eames frowned. "That's Arthur. He's a robot."

They hadn't been at the bar in a while, and Arthur realized that this had to be their third—fourth?— time hanging out. That was more than he could say for any woman since Laura, really, and he almost forgot how often he would pick up women at the bar. He hadn't in a while.

In his pocket, his phone buzzed as a reminder. It was Gabrielle, again. He ignored it.

Arthur sat on Ariadne's couch watching yet another one of those movies. It was one of those lighthearted romances with chicanery and a cute handle. He arched an eyebrow at the architect when she came over bearing gifts. She handed him a bottle of beer and set the popcorn bowl on the table before them.

"What?"

He gestured with his chin towards the screen. "I think we found the root of your problem?" She followed and looked over her shoulder.

"Television rotted my brain?" The end of her statement ended with a lilt, a question, and Arthur laughed at it, shaking his head.

"These movies. They've given you these unrealistic ideas of how everything works."

Ariadne sat down next to him.

"Arthur, if women didn't have these," she said, gesturing to the paused screen, "we would probably have a higher expectation of men, but thanks to these films, I'm pretty sure we know the difference between reality versus fiction."

Arthur didn't say anything but folded his hands over his chest. "I think I'm right."

She rolled her eyes. "Just admit you like them too," Ariadne teased.

He didn't say anything, then, "Eames knows nothing about this."

She mimicked a lock over her lips.

And Arthur smiled, ignoring the continued buzzing of his phone in his pocket.

"Nope."

"What?" Ariadne asked, incredulous.

"Where is he going that means he can't call you?" Arthur asked, sitting across from her one evening after work.

"He might be busy. It's a business trip," she explained, her mobile in one of her hands. Freddie surprised them all by texting her that he hadn't called because of some business trip he was taking out of the city. Still in France, mind you, but out of the city.

He shook his head. "No, Ariadne. There's no excuse for that."

"So you're telling me that I'm not even allowed to try to get on this guy's radar?"

Arthur sighed. "I'm telling you not to waste your time with guys who aren't interested. Remember, he barely passed Art History." That last topic they figured out, pouring over Freddie's file was a tie-breaker for Ariadne, or so she had said at the time as they studied his transcripts.

She sighed, resigned but laughing at herself. "Then who'll be left?"

Arthur reached over and placed his hand over hers as a means of comfort. "The one worth having," Arthur said.

Ariadne looked like she wanted to say something but stopped herself before. She pulled her hand back, looking slightly uncomfortable.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Ariadne, what is it?"

"Who was the girl?" she asked quietly.

"What?"

"The one that broke your heart," she elaborated.

Arthur felt himself harden, his natural reaction when this subject was brought up. "There wasn't."

She looked skeptical. "Arthur, it's your job to study people, and you do your best so that people can think the best of you," she added. "But, you're not infallible to other people's scrutiny, and you're not infallible to hurt. You're so closed off and removed from other people, and you've been really nice helping me, I just thought—"

"I don't feel like talking about it, Ariadne," he said, rudely cutting her off, pulling his hand back to himself since he was still sitting with it stretched out across the table for her.

She looked hurt but determined. "Arthur, you have this mindset that you have it all figured out, that you're way above it all, but what is it that you're not saying?" She smiled. It looked forced as if she was trying to make light of the situation. "Look, if you're hurt or you're mad or you're even just numb, I really do know what that feels like, and I wanted you to know that—"

"—what is it that you know, Ariadne?" Arthur demanded. "I'm not Cobb. I don't need your intervention."

"I know that," she retaliated. "But I just—"

"Stop putting your foot into everything. Stop trying to fix every stray dog near you. I'm not like you," Arthur rebutted. "I don't need help."

And while a part of Arthur, angry, hurt, hostile, said these words, he saw the transformation of shock to defeated to annoyance on her clear face. She flushed deeply, from either anger or embarrassment, he couldn't tell, but she seemed to preen right before his eyes.

Arthur turned away, which was probably worst from her perspective, because he heard her exhale, strongly. "Fine," she said, looking anywhere but at him. Her tone was just as angry. He watched as her hands fiddled in her lap, and Arthur felt more of a cad than he did two seconds ago. He didn't know what to say to make it better, and he knew he missed his chance answering her.

But Ariadne, thoughtful and always a step ahead, stood up, mumbling a small apology and picking up her cardigan she slung on the back of her chair. "I'll see you tomorrow," she had said, before stepping past him.

"Arthur," Eames started, stepping up to his desk as he worked. Arthur tended to ignore him on a day-to-day basis and this was no exception. "I don't know what you said to Ariadne, but you need to go fix it."

Her name and the rancor in his tone made him start. "What?" He hadn't spoken to Ariadne for the whole week since she left him at the bar. He ventured an apology dozens of times, and while Ariadne accepted him, he felt her pull away from his presence. He didn't spend time at her desk anymore. He was back to his own. And she didn't need him as much to work on his level. She was onto Eames' now.

"She didn't say anything," Eames reassured him. This in itself was odd because Eames never reassured Arthur of anything. "But I can tell that something different between you too, and I know it's your fault," he accused, pointing a finger at her.

"How are you so sure it's me?"

But even before Arthur voice this question allowed, Eames was stalking off. "Fix it," he ordered.

"Her name was Laura and I knew I loved her."

He didn't know how he brought himself to actually say something. He didn't plan to say much at all, really, but he found that when he started, he couldn't stop. It turned out that once he started, he wanted her to know the whole story.

Arthur sat down next to Ariadne up on her worktable. Not facing one another he went into how he and Laura were actually really similar. How they fell in love and spent time, exploring New York together, but how they grew apart, because of him. How she found someone else to find comfort because he chose to leave too often. How he knew that it was his fault in the first place that it all happened and that was why he didn't like to talk about it. Not even with Cobb.

He told her how he planned to cut ties once and for all, going back Stateside to settle the apartment and get everything in order. He told her that he was done with her.

Ariadne looked thoughtful, taking in the weight of everything he had said carefully, her fingers gripping the edge of the table as her feet dangled down next to his.

"It's not all your fault, Arthur."

"What?"

"Her cheating on you? It doesn't mean that it's all you. You didn't make her make that decision."

No, but he wasn't there to ensure her faith in him.

"And yes, while you weren't there, and while you chose work more over than her, she chose to handle her insecurities in that way. She chose to not talk about it with you or break it off. She chose to avoid conflict with you.

"You can't keep blaming yourself for it, and while it's admirable, despite sleeping around to cope—" she gave him a knowing glare. "It's not right."

She jumped off and stood, so he followed suit, stepping down. She smiled. "But thank you for telling me," she said, quietly. "I'm sorry I pried."

"I'm the one who is sorry," Arthur said. And she looked at him, the corners of her lips, down-turning unintentionally. "What's wrong?"

And Ariadne shook her head, until Arthur pried it out of her. "Nathan's here," she said in such a quiet way that Arthur knew was a result of her trying to keep her voice from wobbling. "He came back with Sophie." Arthur waited for her to continue her broken explanation.

But she didn't, and Arthur didn't hesitate as he closed the gap between them, stepping forward and pulling her into the circle of his arms to bring her in for a hug.

"I still think you're an ass for snapping at me," he heard her say as he held her in place.

"Yeah, I'm an ass," Arthur agreed.

"And you owe me a round tonight," she pushed.

"Fine."

"And you have to be nice to Eames."

"I'm always nice to Eames," he insisted. At her doubtful expression: "As nice as I can be," he repaired.

"And—"

He held her at arms' length to see her watery smile. "You're really milking it for all it's worth, aren't you?"

Ariadne shrugged. "Shut up. I'm heartbroken."

He should've thought this entire night through when he suggested they try a new place. Believing that a new venue might take Ariadne's toiling mind off her ex-lover's return to Paris, he gave her the option of picking anywhere for their after work drinks, to which Ariadne smiled and selected some joint she and Sophie used to frequent. It was some dive that relished an old jukebox and an old man bartender who knew Ariadne by site when they entered.

They sat at the oak bar, Ariadne smacking as she downed a tumbler of whiskey, chosen because it was Arthur's usual and she wanted to give it a try.

Or two.

Arthur could tell the dwindling awareness of her actions as Ariadne too happily, chatted nonsensically about some of her design inspirations, though she wasn't gone.

"Cobb's an amazing architect, you know?" she asked. "I've seen some of his early design blueprints in Miles' class. It took me a minute to make the connections of the names, but I remember DC. It was written in the corner of some of the examples we've looked at before. I wish he could see that—" she hiccupped, stopping herself politely. "It's a pity."

Arthur didn't say anything, watching instead as Ariadne's delicate, index finger circled the water ring left by her previous glass on the bar top.

"I've tried to talk to him about it, actually," she said, soberly. Her finger went clockwise. Then counterclockwise. "Did you—" She stopped suddenly. Her eyes widening in surprise, and her lips folding into a thin line. "We should go," she whispered suddenly, dipping her chin in such an uncharacteristic way, and Arthur immediately felt on his guard as he looked up to where she was looking before.

By the door stood a pretty blonde girl with long straight hair and a taller man next to her. He had medium-cropped curly hair and a nose similar to the girl's, and while he wasn't necessarily scowling, he did have this certain gravity about him as he walked in behind the girl. Arthur could tell they were brother and sister. Arthur knew that this was Nathan and Sophie.

Ariadne made a grab at the leather strap of her bag that hung on a hook under the bar top, but Arthur was quick to stop her hands. "It'll be fine."

And Ariadne quirked one of her defined eyebrows at him, worried, but she nodded, determined.

Ariadne led Arthur down the street to the main thoroughfare, where it would be better to grab a cab.

"I honestly don't know what else to say," she said. Her voice came out in excited, breathy gasps as she walked ahead. "I couldn't have done that without you."

Arthur smiled as he followed, remembering how Nathan and Sophie spotted her so easily. Sophie's regrettable expression and Nathan's genuine happy one. They came up to her—no other way around it really—and Sophie did her best to navigate the touchy area of greetings, suggesting they actually go to another bar maybe. Nathan seemed easy and cool, telling Ariadne that she looked nice and asking how school was going, noting some story that only they both would know. And Ariadne did her best to play along as she told Sophie it was fine if they stayed, returning compliments to Nathan too, and looking extremely uncomfortable as Nathan tried to only talk to her.

And as Nathan, unaccountably or perhaps just lacking in the social grace, wore Ariadne down with stories of the past, easing in facts about his current state of affairs—which was touchy already as some inklings of that other woman came through—Arthur sought Ariadne's hand that rested on the edge of her barstool.

Her fingers held a deathlike grip on the worn wood. And she flinched slightly as his fingers curled around hers, steadying her wary, trembling digits. Arthur himself could see that it had a significant, reassuring difference on her as her shoulders sagged slightly and her face went back to its normal coloring.

Nathan noticed too, and his eyebrow rose as he looked from Arthur to Ariadne. "I'm sorry," Ariadne said hastily, her hand easing out of Arthur's as she gestured to him. "This is Arthur. Arthur," she said, turning to him. "This is Nathan."

They shook hands, and Arthur attempted a smile.

Nathan smiled from Ariadne to Arthur. "How do you two know each other?" he asked conversationally, and Arthur saw with satisfaction at how Sophie's eyes assessed him and Ariadne together. At how predatory Nathan seemed to be.

Ariadne, however, wasn't as cool. Her eyes widened slightly and she started to talk about working with him at a new project Miles set her up with, and Arthur knew that her awkwardness stemmed from the self-consciousness to lie about their job, not the fact that her and Arthur had no real label on them.

But as she spoke, her own voice grew determined. She started to talk about this free-lance project for some boring company Arthur apparently represented, Arthur could read the small satisfaction in Nathan's stance, the smug smile, and the brief look of relief as she spoke. It annoyed Arthur, and he chose to wipe that stupid look off the stupid man's face.

As Ariadne spoke and as Sophie asked polite questions that Ariadne hedged with aplomb, Arthur slightly leaned back along the bar, comfortable with his arm resting on the edge, right at Ariadne's back. And to her credit she didn't react as his fingers began to wind around the end strands of her hair like he'd done it all the time.

Nathan's eyes zeroed in on this action immediately.

And as if picking up on the ruse as well, Ariadne crossed her left arm over her chest to her right shoulder where his hands teased her hair, and she clamped a hand over his, intertwining his fingers with hers. Briefly, and without breaking the flow of conversation, Ariadne gave him a knowing smile that Arthur knew would translate into something else before Nathan.

"I don't know what else to say," Ariadne said as they stood outside the busy street, the orange street lamps glowing a bit more. "Thank you."

Arthur shrugged. "It's the least I could do."

And Ariadne, smiling widely, just broke the gap between them, reaching towards him to encapsulate him into a tight hug. Her arms were delicious around his neck as she held close, and Arthur hugged her back, burying his head into her shoulder, her loose hair, the edge of her scarf.

He didn't realize that his arms ached to do this. He didn't realize how good it could feel to physically hold onto something for more than just reason or life-saving abilities. His arms tightened around her body and held her close for a moment, savoring it.

"Do you think they can see us?" he asked.

And he felt Ariadne shift to look a little off the block at the bar front's glass windows and clear view of them on the sidewalk. "Maybe," she assessed.

"Should I really convince them?" he asked, his voice teasing.

And Ariadne took a step back with that familiar questioning look on her face, and as Arthur began to angle his head towards hers, as he started to close that incremental gap between them, she stepped back, cracking any spell that Arthur had felt himself in a few moments ago.

She laughed, nervously. "I think we're safe, Arthur," she joked. She looked up the block, eyeing the cars. She turned her full attention to the road. "We should get a cab."

And she led further up the block, stepping away from him, leaving him feeling dumb.

A/N: How's that for rom-com goodness?

Thank you so much to . and Lauraa-x for their continued support of my stories. You guys are exceptional! And hearing from you always gives me a boost of happiness! Thank you!

*apologies to Music Is My Heroine for having to do that to your name. I've tried to add it so many times to this note, but FFnet keeps coding it out!