Disclaimer: I have no claim on Inception, lovely thing that it is.

They met for coffee at a café not far from the university they had both attended. Anuli arrived first, as she did for most things, and had the advantage of observing the other woman as she came in. Julian had given her a general description ("pale, dark hair, fit-in-your-pocket small, most likely wearing a scarf and something red"), so she had a good idea of what to look for.

The door swung open and Ariadne Graves came inside. She was, true to Eames' prediction, wearing jeans, a red shirt under a charcoal gray cardigan sweater, with a cheerful scarf tied around her neck. She had a simple brown leather messenger bag slung across her torso, carried what looked like a sketchbook in one hand, and had a coat folded over her arm. A black headband kept her hair out of her face, but otherwise it was curly and windswept. Where Anuli strove for calm in all areas of her life, this girl entered the café like a gust of wind, bringing with her color and noise that the room had previously lacked.

She's so young, Anuli thought, we will have nothing to talk about. This was a mistake.

Ariadne had also been given a general description of who to look out for, though hers had been considerably shorter ("Hair like fire," was all Eames had said). It was more than sufficient. She walked over to the table. "Hi!" she greeted, "You must be Anuli. I'm Ariadne."

Anuli rose to take her hand. "Hello."

"We can speak French, if you like. I know it doesn't sound like it," Ariadne said, referring to her own flat voice, "but I'm fluent."

"That is kind of you, but I enjoy practicing my English. In my work, I speak English more than French."

"You're with the UN, right? Eames gave us the run-down while we were in Buenos Aires."

"Yes, I am a manager of international not-for-profit agencies. Thank you, for your work in Argentina. What you did took care of a particularly difficult problem for my office."

Ariadne's face lit up a little. "No problem. Hopefully now that non-profit can find a president who really cares about the work."

"That is our hope as well. Did you enjoy Buenos Aires?"

"I did, very much so. We came home via Peru and toured Machu Picchu, which was just incredible. Have you been before?"

"I have. Truly magnificent place."

There was a pause, not an awkward one, as the subject came to a close and the two women evaluated their conversational options. Both knew where the discussion was heading, but that didn't necessarily mean that they had to get there right this minute. Ariadne figured the ball was in Anuli's court, and waited. She signaled a waiter and ordered a latte.

Anuli sipped her own drink. "You called him 'Eames.' Does everyone call him by his last name?"

Ariadne considered that. "I think so. Everyone I've met in the business, anyway, which admittedly isn't a terrible lot of people. It's a relatively small world and I've found that most people go by a single name. For example, I didn't even know my boyfriend's last name until after we started dating."

Anuli blinked. "Really?"

Ariadne laughed at her expression. "Yes, really. Granted, I didn't see him for months after the first job, and when he showed up again we got together right away. Eames told me his first name while we were still working on that first job, which I gathered wasn't usual in that area of work, but then Eames isn't a usual kind of fellow."

"No," Anuli murmured, "no, he is not."

"You met in Mombasa?"

"Yes."

"Do you mind if I ask how? You don't have to tell me, I'm just curious."

"I do not mind. He bought a bottle of wine, one of my favourites, out from under me, and when I asked to buy it from him, he—" a little smile crept across her face, which Ariadne didn't think she was even aware of—"demanded a story instead."

"A clever boy, our Eames."

Anuli laughed softly, a pretty—if rusty—sound. "He is. He told me about what it is you do. About what he used to do, and what he does now."

Ariadne nodded to show she understood what the other woman meant. "I'm newer to it, but I know that the Fischer job changed things for him. It changed things for a lot of them. It changed much of what we knew could be accomplished in the world of dreaming. He told you about it?" Anuli nodded. "He did a truly great job. We all had our roles, our parts to play, but Eames—Eames and Cobb, the team leader—were really the ones responsible for making it work. It was amazing to watch."

"You are called an architect?"

Ariadne nodded and sipped at the drink the waiter had brought her. "I am an architect. They pulled me out of school for the job, and then I went back and finished my degree. I don't do much real world building, but I do have a license."

"I did not realize."

"I don't think all dream architects are actually trained in it, though it probably helps. Gives you the right kind of creative mind. Anyway," she shrugged, "I am."

"Do you work with Julian a great deal?"

The younger woman nodded. "These days, most of our jobs involve him in some way. We don't necessarily see a job through from start to finish. Some are just consults, basically. Arthur does freelance research for a former colleague of ours, too. It's not your average nine-to-five gig by any means, but it works for us." She grinned. "It's a heck of a way to make a living."

"Sounds like it. I know that Julian loves it."

"He's the best at what he does, and that is no exaggeration." She'd finished her latte, and pushed the cup and saucer aside. "We'd like to have you both over to dinner sometime when Eames is in town. Arthur is a great cook, and he and Eames always put on a good show."

Anuli tilted her head a little to the side in inquiry. "Show?"

"That," she laughed, "is something you'll need to see. Do you mind giving me your phone number so I can call you about it?"

"Oh, sure." She pulled out a business card and wrote her mobile number in neat script on the reverse, then slid it across the little table to Ariadne. "I am looking forward to it, very much."

"Here," Ariadne scrawled her number on a corner of a sketchbook page and tore it out. "Any questions you have, anything at all, really, don't hesitate to call." She looked at Anuli directly, and Anuli thought that no matter how young Ariadne might appear to be, her eyes told a different story. She commented on it later to Julian, who replied that though the years one lived in dreams rarely showed in conventional wrinkles, you could always tell dreamers by their eyes. They had old eyes.

"Thank you."

"No, thank you. I'm so glad to meet you, Anuli. I'm so glad you see something worth pursuing in Julian. He's a hell of a guy."

Anuli smiled, the first real, sincere smile that Ariadne had seen from her. It was small, but it was there. "I know."

It took them so long to get their act together that it was late November before Ariadne called Anuli.

"Arthur and I have a habit of making a big meal for Thanksgiving, even though neither of us has lived in the states in years. It won't be the traditional turkey, but we'd love it if you and Eames could join us."

Julian had flown in the day before, so Anuli accepted the invitation. "If the conversation gets too boring, just watch the cat," he advised. "Dumbest beast you'll ever meet."

They arrived bearing wine and a tart from her favourite patisserie. Eames pressed the buzzer, and Anuli smoothed the front of her skirt, the only sign she gave that she felt anything but serene confidence. Eames had commented before that she would do well in the dream sharing business. He'd never seen her lose her composure once in public.

Ariadne buzzed them in, and then met them at the door of the flat looking more harried than usual. "Something came up and Arthur will be a little late, so I'm sorry to say you will be eating my less-than-five-star cooking this evening. We do have most of a tiramisu he made yesterday, so dessert will be exquisite!"

Anuli raised her hands, indicating the tart she was carrying. "We have a fruit tart, as well."

"Oh, good! Maybe I should just toss the spaghetti Bolognese and we can dine on dessert and wine."

"Nonsense, Ariadne, I'm sure the spaghetti will be divine," Eames assured her as they walked further in the flat.

The architect laughed wryly. "You have more confidence in it than I do. Toss your coats wherever, though mind the cat hair. If you bring the tart back here, I can put it in the fridge." She had walked ahead into the kitchen. Eames laid his coat on an armchair and took the tart from Anuli, following Ariadne through the doorway on the far side of the apartment.

Anuli lagged behind, placing her coat carefully atop Julian's and taking in the place his friends called home. It was a beautiful building, she'd noticed outside, with handsome Deco figures on each of its corners. The inside of the flat reflected that beauty, and had been wonderfully maintained by someone for a good number of years. It retained what appeared to be its original moldings, and had a gorgeous streamlined black marble hearth. The walls were painted a warm gray, and decorated with framed architectural drawings, some of which looked more like Escher than architecture. The main room's accent color was clearly red, present in the large, curved sofa and the oil painting hanging above the mantle. If the space was a melding of Ariadne and Arthur's personal styles, then Anuli was looking forward to meeting Arthur.

Something brushed her ankle, and Anuli looked down to find a squat little calico cat with enormous green eyes gazing at her expectantly, tail swishing. "Oh, hello there. My, but you are quiet."

The cat purred and rubbed its head against her leg. Tentatively, she reached a hand down towards it. Ann-Marie traveled with a coterie of yappy little dogs, but Anuli had never actually interacted with a cat before. It didn't look like it wanted to take a bite out of her. She held her hand where the cat could sniff it. That was right, wasn't it? The cat apparently was not one to stand on ceremony, and shoved its face wholeheartedly into her palm, purring audibly.

"Oh, you are a sweetheart." The cat maneuvered its head so that Anuli was scratching its ears. "That was clever of you. Are you a clever kitten?"

"He isn't."

"Oh!" Anuli jumped and spun to face the owner of the unexpected deep voice, a tall, trim man in an impeccable suit. The cat abandoned her in favor of rushing headlong into the man's shins. As if he was used to the action, the newcomer reached down and lifted the cat, tucking him under his arm like an American football.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle. Arthur Hamilton." He held out the hand not occupied with a cat, which she took.

"Anuli Laurant. I was just admiring your lovely home."

He acknowledged the compliment with a nod. "Can I get you a glass of wine?"

"That would be lovely, thank you. Julian and Ariadne are in the kitchen, I believe."

"They abandoned you?" The cat meowed and made a halfhearted attempt at escape, which was ignored by his owner.

"I am afraid I was taking my time. There was food to be tended to. Spaghetti Bolognese, I believe."

"It shouldn't be half bad, either," Ariadne announced as they entered the kitchen. She was stirring meat sauce in a pan while pasta boiled in a pot on another burner. Julian was leaning against a granite countertop, sipping a glass of wine. A second full glass sat on the counter next to him, which he lifted and held out to Anuli as they approached.

"I found your lady," Arthur noted mildly.

"She wasn't lost, mate," Eames responded, wrapping a casual arm around Anuli's waist as she accepted the glass of red wine. She was odd about displays of affection, but found she felt entirely comfortable with this one, here in his friends' kitchen.

Ariadne looked up from the stove as Arthur neared, and he leaned down to kiss her lightly. She smiled. "Hi there."

"Hey. Has he eaten yet?" He indicated the cat he held with a shrugging motion, which was answered with another meow.

"Mm, no, I completely forgot."

Eames and Anuli looked on as Arthur dropped the cat on a corner of the countertop and retrieved a plate of white fish from the refrigerator and a small bowl from a cabinet. He sliced some of the fish into the bowl, which was placed before an enormously grateful cat.

Eames chuckled, and Anuli glanced at him for an explanation. He only shook his head in response. "Jesus, Arthur—"

"Yes, I feed the cat, Eames. It's hilarious," Arthur interrupted. Anuli frowned at her companion, which only made him chuckle harder.

"I did say you'd get dinner and a show," Ariadne interjected to Anuli, and then to Arthur, "You could take over, if you want. You're much better at this than I am."

Arthur returned the fish to the refrigerator and removed two varieties of cheeses, which he quickly arranged on a plate. This, along with a package of crackers, was offered to the guests. Even while being ridiculed, he was still the consummate host.

"You're doing fine, Ariadne. I have faith in you."

"Bah."

Despite their cook's doubts, dinner was very good. The pasta was had a perfect al dente texture (though this was due to Arthur's actions—Ariadne had tested a noodle and told him "If you want it al dente, then you get to have the face full of steam." He had strained the noodles, without complaint), and the Bolognese sauce was thick and hearty, with just a hint of spice.

"What do they call it in Bologna, I wonder," mused Eames after finishing his plate. He held his wineglass in one hand, idling spinning the stem through his fingers, and laid a lazy arm across the back of Anuli's chair next to him.

"They call it ragú," Anuli answered.

Eames smiled lazily at her. "Do they, now? What a lovely little tidbit."

She sniffed primly at his blatant bedroom eyes and bit back a smile. Ariadne wasn't as successful, and threw a wide grin in Arthur's direction.

"Would you all like to revisit the fromage, or move straight to dessert?"

"I'm all for digging into dear Arthur's tiramisu if you are, love," he offered to Anuli.

"That sounds wonderful. Please, let me help," she stood to follow Ariadne as she moved back towards the kitchen. Arthur also moved to stand, but Ariadne waved him back.

"I've got it, Arthur. Sip your wine and discuss man things with Eames." He responded to that with a soft snort that may have been a laugh. Ariadne turned to Anuli. "You too, Anuli, go back and enjoy your wine." Ariadne reached into a cabinet to retrieve a stack of smaller dessert plates.

"Please, I insist. I like to be of use." She said this with a little fluttering motion of her hands. Ariadne understood the sentiment.

"Well, I won't turn down help when it's offered. If you'd like to cut and serve your tart, it's in the fridge."

Anuli placed the tart on the counter and began to divide it into neat slices with a knife Ariadne offered. They could hear the rumble of deeper voices from the next room, as well as the occasional chuckle from Eames. "They do put on a good show."

Ariadne laughed softly as she scooped messy sections of tiramisu from the pan. "They know each other well enough to know exactly the right buttons to push. Truth is, they respect the hell out of each other, and they work together very, very well." She shrugged. "This is just how they act. I called it flirting once, and got nothing but glares for a solid week." Anuli laughed, and Ariadne smiled at her. "So, I wouldn't recommend going that route, if you value peace in your domestic life."

Anuli had found a server in a drawer and was placing small slices of fruit tart on the plates Ariadne had already added tiramisu to. The younger woman leaned a hip against the counter and watched. "Speaking of…you two are really making a go of it, huh?"

"I suppose we are. It has been, well, a very long time since the last time I tried this with a man. We are not doing too badly, though."

"I'm glad. I think you're good for him, Anuli. He gives the impression of being cool and collected most of the time, and God knows he keeps his wits about him in a crisis, but I think underneath he's chaos." She tipped her head to the side slightly, considering the Frenchwoman. "And I think that's something you have in common. But I bet if you keep at it, together you'll actually be able to find that calm. For real, not just a mask. Sorry," she flashed a smile that was almost apologetic, "didn't mean to psychoanalyze. Bad habit."

Anuli had stopped serving tart midway through Ariadne's speech, and she slowly went back to it. "Do not apologize. I hope, very much, that you are correct." She looked up, and her green eyes were solemn and earnest.

"Me too. Now let's finish this Thanksgiving properly: with sugar."

"You have good friends." They were walking from the Metro to her apartment, coat collars turned up against the chilly November wind.

"Told you you'd like 'em."

"Well, you were right."

He reached a hand out for her key when they reached her building. It was an action that she would have taken offense to in the past, with just about any other male. After all, she was perfectly capable of opening her own door. In Julian, though, she allowed it. She hadn't quite figured out why yet.

They climbed the three floors to her flat, and he opened this door too, holding it for her, and then closing it and turning the bolt behind them. She unwrapped her scarf slowly, thinking about Ariadne's words as she watched him, the man who seemed to fit into her life so easily. She swallowed, and pushed past her tumultuous emotions to say, "You should meet my father."

"Should I? The ruthless bloke with the big bloody house?"

"Yes, him. I visit him once a year, for Christmas. Each year I tell myself I will not go back, but then December comes and I—ah, it is foolish. Nevermind."

"It isn't foolish." He cupped her cheek in one hand, his fingers cold. He didn't wear gloves, just buried his hands in his pockets. "Alright, maybe it is, but it's the good kind of foolish."

"He is a bastard. I should have given up hope long ago."

"Pr'haps. It's up to you, of course, but if you decide to go again this year, I would be happy to accompany you." He pressed his cold lips to her own, which warmed beneath them.

"Julian," she murmured, then shook her head. "Je ne sais pas," she said, so quick and fluid he barely made it out, and leaned forward to rest her forehead against his coat-clad chest. She felt his hand thread into the hair at the back of her head, and knew he was ruining her braid.

"Would you like me to build us a fire?"

She nodded, face still pressed to his coat. "Yes, please. We need to get warm."

"Well, I've got all sorts of ideas about that."

She laughed, and it felt good. But it didn't diminish the ache in her chest.

a/n: Sorry for the wait on this one! I came back to the mountains to discover a house with no heat, so I've been living under a pile of blankets. But everything's fixed, and hopefully I've made up for it with this ridiculously long chapter.

"Je ne sais pas" means "I don't know." Native French speakers say it so quickly that you generally only hear something like "Je nss pas," so imagine that, will you, as you read. I proofread every single one of these chapters aloud, and I do everyone's accents, just to check for authenticity. My Eames is rubbish, but I do it anyway. All for you, you dear people.

I know some of you are only reading this story for the chance to see more Arthur and Ariadne, and I hope this chapter satisfied.