A/N: Hello all! I know...it's been more than two years since I updated this. How time has flown! I was sitting here tonight, pondering the workload I have, when I suddenly had the urge to continue with the story. As such, I apologise again if the chapter seems disjointed somehow, or if the characters are not as appropriate as they were before. It might take me some time to get back into the habit of writing them, so do bear with me. :) I will try my best to finish this story sooner than the next two years!
For now...I hope you enjoy the next tentative installment.
9.
They spent the majority of the journey happily chatting about inane topics: the weather in Paris compared to England; the attractiveness of the French language; how dreadful non-English tea was (this last an earnest rant from Eames). Then again, 'they' wasn't quite right - Eames did most of the talking with Ariadne chipping in with her own thoughts, whilst Arthur simply watched the exchange with a notable lack of humour despite the ridiculousness of the conversation. He may have thought that Ariadne would not notice, but after months alone in his company, she had learned to spot the details. Given the present company, and the fact that she knew he would dismiss her concern, she chose to say nothing. For once.
'VoilĂ ,' the taxi driver said as they pulled up outside a swanky-looking restaurant in the heart of Paris. 'C'est quinze euros, s'il vous plait.'
Before anyone could move, Arthur had leant over and pushed a twenty euro note into the man's hand. 'Merci beaucoup. Gardez la monnaie, monsieur.'
Ariadne couldn't help the tingle at the back of her neck as she listened to Arthur's near-perfect French enunciation; despite studying in the country for months and hearing hundreds of native French speakers, she had never truly understood the romance behind the accent until recently. Evidently Eames had noticed the almost imperceptible smile that had crept onto her lips, judging by the wink he sent her way. She wisely ignored it and followed Arthur out of the vehicle.
It was only once her eyes had settled on the glass-fronted exterior that she realised where they were: 'Spring', Paris's hot new restaurant headed by a young, exuberant American chef. More than once had she caught the word on the lips of self-important, beaming Parisian hot-shots as she made her way to college. To think she was finally going to be able to eat a meal here...thank God Eames had insisted on going back to her apartment to change into more suitable attire.
'Eames?' she asked, not entirely sure what her question was.
That fact was unnecessary, however, as he simply smiled over at her. 'I have friends in high places,' he smirked.
Ariadne nodded dumbly, accepting his reason to her unspoken question without further comment. It very soon became apparent who this 'friend' was: the greeter on the door, who immediately grasped the Forger's hand in greeting and ushered them in. What hit her first was the sound of excited babble from the rows of tables opposite the bar; people gossiped gaily, sipping the finest wine and gorging on the most expensive cuisine Paris had to offer. Looking at the diamonds glittering on the ears, neck and wrists of many of the women there, Ariadne felt uncomfortably out of place despite the hefty fortune she had sitting in her bank account.
'Mademoiselle,' the waiter said, gesturing for her to sit down in the chair he had gallantly pulled out for her.
'Thank you,' she murmured, forgetting her French in her slightly bewildered state.
Once menus had been tipped into their waiting hands and the waiter had retired to allow them a few minutes to choose, Ariadne fixed the Brit opposite her with a sceptical look.
'What?' he replied, shrugging. 'I helped his family out once.'
'Uh huh.'
Eames offered no more explanation, and Ariadne didn't bother to pry; she was instead reminded of his final words before leaving her college, and forgot all about her cynicism in her eagerness to know what he had meant.
'Oh, that?' he said, shooting Arthur a lightning quick glance which Ariadne failed to miss. 'It wasn't a proposition, as such. I knew you wouldn't say no to eating here.'
His cheeky grin did nothing to allay Ariadne's urgent curiosity; further probing was only avoided by the reappearance of the waiter asking for their drinks order. Impatiently, she agreed to a glass of champagne (the price of which completely eluded her) and resumed her grilling of the Forger.
'I swear by our beloved Queen Lizzy that I meant nothing else by it,' he insisted, holding up three fingers on his right hand as he crossed his heart with the other. 'If I'm lying, you have my permission to dunk me in an ice cold bath and take a picture.'
'I would, if I wasn't so sure you'd enjoy it,' Ariadne muttered, much to Eames' amusement.
Knowing she would get nothing more from him, she instead swivelled her head to look at her boyfriend; Arthur simply shook his head.
'I knew nothing about this,' he said.
Was it just her, or did his jaw clench after he had finished speaking? Did he pick up his drink a little too quickly? Or was she simply imagining what she wanted to see? With a sigh, she reluctantly let the topic drop and took a sip of her own exquisite beverage. Whatever was up, they weren't going to tell her tonight, it seemed.
-/-
An hour later, Ariadne arranged her cutlery on her now-empty plate and licked her lips with satisfaction. The meal had been delicious so far, and there was still one course to go; she secretly commended Eames on his choice of dining and thanked the waiter's family for their need of assistance that had enabled them to eat there tonight. Conversation had flowed easily between them after the hesitant beginning, yet the sense that they were withholding information from her had only increased as the night wore on. Arthur's apparent decision to say very little to either of them had not escaped her notice, either. She would have put it down to Eames' presence breaking the usual comfortable rapport between them, but for the small telltale signs she had learned to pick up on over the months. He had been quiet since they had left her apartment, a fact she had observed when she had first walked out of her bedroom to find him staring out of the living room window, deep in thought. Eames had been watching his brooding in silence, a slight frown creasing his brow; this had disappeared the moment he saw her, yet she knew she had seen it.
Just then, inspiration struck. If she could not wheedle the information out of them through dagger-like looks, she could at least ascertain if her concerns were well-founded. Standing up, she answered Arthur's unspoken question with a quick 'Ladies' room'. He gave her hand a brief squeeze as he nodded, before returning his attention to Eames. Ariadne made a show of turning back to smile as she reached the archway that led to the corridor housing the toilet facilities, but stopped short of rounding the corner. Instead, she counted to ten in her head, then slowly peered around the cream-coloured wall to where her two companions were sitting. Neither one was looking at her; they were seemingly deep in conversation, Eames leaning closer to Arthur to say a few words as the Point Man shook his head over and over. Whatever Eames was asking, his requests appeared to be become more insistent; almost unconsciously, he was waving his hand back and forth in a gesture of impatience. Arthur simply started straight ahead, as though looking past his friend to something nobody else could see. Though she could not see his face from this angle, she knew the expression it would hold: pained, almost distant, as though he were only half-present in the restaurant. It made her want to return as quickly as possible, to quieten whatever was making him uneasy.
But she didn't. She stayed where she was, ignoring the confused looks she was receiving from the waiters as they walked back and forth to the kitchen. More than she wanted to comfort Arthur, she wanted to know what the two men were hiding from her.
After all, she never backed down from a challenge. And one had most definitely presented itself to her tonight.
She would find out what they were plotting, one way or another.
