Disclaimer: Inception does not belong to me.

Arthur looked at Ariadne. His vest and shirt were slightly rumpled, as so was his hair. The telecaster was still hanging from the strap around his neck. Ariadne smiled again, her brown eyes sparkling.

"I, um-"

"Come on!" She said, her voice almost teasing. "Its a cup of coffee. And don't tell me you're too busy, because you're down here!"

Arthur swallowed. Coffee. With Ariadne. Carefully, almost reverently, he began to pull the guitar back over his head, and placed it in the stand. Ariadne tilted her head. Her eyes, he noted, were turning from brown to honey flecked cinnamon.

He blinked. She was a colleague. A colleague asking him to go for a cup of coffee. Nothing more, nothing less. He ran his hand through his hair, and smiled.

"Yes," he said, surprising her that he was agreeing. "Let's."

"Good." She smiled back. "How about the Coffee Bean?"

He nodded. "Let's go."

The Coffee Bean was a couple of blocks away from the school. Arthur had collected his suit jacket, and the two of them walked over. The late afternoon was crisp, with a strong sun bearing down. Arthur pushed open the door of the coffee shop first.

And froze. Seated in one of the side booths, huddled together over hot chocolates and giggling over something on a cellular phone, were four Twelth graders. All of them in Ariadne's Art class.

Arthur felt his blood turn to ice. He turned to leave, but suddenly realised that something had caught hold of his jacket. Ariadne's hand.

"Where are you going?" she asked, pleasantly.

Arthur swallowed, the words catching in his throat. "Its just-" he took a deep breath. "Students-"

Ariadne turned, not batting an eyelid. "They're not interested in us. They're only interested in themselves!" She looked at Arthur, amusement curling her lips. "Stop being so paranoid! Its the end of the day, we have lives too!"

Hot words rushed to Arthur's lips, ready to retaliate. To point out that if they were spotted together, his credibility would pop like a balloon, and he could almost hear the nudges and whispers. Hey, that robot Ogilvie has feelings! He's trying to ba-

"Shall we order?" Ariadne said, oblivious to Arthur's discomfort. He nodded, and followed her to the counter. She stood, perusing the choices. The barista, an attractive young man with a goatee, smiled at her.

"What'll it be?"

"A cinnamon latte, please," she said, pulling a five dollar bill from her wallet as he nodded. She turned. "Arthur?"

"Um, an Americano, please. Black."

She raised her eyebrows. "Sure you don't want something more indulgent?"

He blinked. He tended to stay away from sweets, due to having been a heavy teenager himself. He always felt tremendous sympathy when he saw overweight students being picked on, but couldn't resist from lecturing them about diets and exercise. He took a deep breath. Once wouldn't hurt.

"OK...a vanilla latte, please."

Ariadne smiled, and he paid with his five dollar bill. After their order was ready, they picked them up and walked to one of the secluded booths. Arthur carefully put his spoon in the coffee, trying not to meet Ariadne's eyes. She lifted hers, and took a sip.

"So," he said, trying to think of an opening gambit.

"Yes?" She smiled.

"So...um, what brought you here?" He blinked, and realised that it might be seen as a personal question.

"Pretty simple. I wanted to move back Stateside, and this job looked perfect." She took another sip, leaving a trace of foam on her lips. "Its a High School in a City, the students are nice, and so are the staff. What about you?"

"Um..." Arthur paused. What had brought him to the school? A favour, he suddenly remembered.

His first teaching post had been in another school in the City. A tough intake, with a lot of behavioural issues. He'd found that as a music teacher, he'd been able to connect with the students, and draw out talents they hadn't realised they'd possessed. He'd built relationships. But then the school had been forced to close, due to falling rolls exacerbated by poor management. He'd wondered what he was going to do. Then, suddenly, he'd received a phone call.

"Hey, Art?"

"Yes. Dom? Is that you?"

"The very same. I need a - I was wondering-"

"What's wrong?"

"My music teacher has abandoned me. Can you fill in for two weeks?"

That had been five years ago. Music teacher, then suddenly, Head of Arts Faculty, and now, Vice Principal. Or, as he sometimes glowered to himself, Professional Mess Clearer.

"Hey, Arthur?"

He blinked again. He looked at Ariadne, blushing slightly. "Sorry," he muttered. He picked up his mug, and took a swallow.

"So, um," he struggled to find another way to converse with her. "Did you always want to be a teacher?"

"Yes!" She laughed. "I did - I thought I could teach, and paint and sketch on the side. You?"

He looked down at the table. "I, uh-"

Suddenly, the door to the Coffee Bean burst open, and in strode Eames. Arthur leaned back and groaned, internally. The Drama Specialist walked straight to the counter, and ordered "a mocha, please, double shot, with a swirl of caramel."

Arthur picked up his mug and glowered into his latte. Ariadne looked at him. "Arthur, do you-"

"Well, what a surprise!" Arthur winced; he'd never realised quite how loud Eames was. "Fancy seeing you two here! Mind if I join you?"

"Well, we-" Arthur suddenly realised that protestations were futile. The British man had seated himself in, firmly. Smiling, he turned to Ariadne.

"So, is Arthur entertaining you?" his tone was flirtatious, and Arthur felt himself grip the handle of his mug, tightly.

"Well, yes-" Ariadne said, looking into her mug.

"Look, I've got to go," Arthur said, hastily draining the rest of his latte. "See you both tomorrow!"

He scooped up his suit jacket, and hurried out. Eames took a sip of his mocha.

"Well," he said, contemplatively. "Was it something I said?"

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