Disclaimer: Inception does not belong to me.

"Arthur..." Ariadne smiled as they curled up together. "I really think you ought to call Cobb. Tell him what's happened."

Arthur shrugged. "I'm not sure if there's any point." He looked at her, and sighed. "Its a case of leaving it in the hands of the police, and John seems to have it in hand."

Ariadne nodded. "Yes. You're Batman, he's Robin." She took a sip of water. "But...that makes Fischer...the Joker?"

Arthur shook his head. "With his ability to scare the students, he's more like the Scarecrow." He reached for his wineglass. "Still, let's forget about it now. We have got some evidence on Fischer...and also a student whose been taken away from a bad home situation."

She leaned over, and kissed him. "Absolutely."

"So..." Arthur began to gently brush Ariadne's cheek. "Let's just...enjoy this evening, OK?"

She nodded. "Sounds perfect."

Leaning forward, he began to wind his arms around her. Within a few short moments, the school, and Fischer, were the furthest thing from their minds.

Cobb turned over in bed, his arm lightly brushing against Mal. She smiled and moved towards him. "Relax," she whispered. "Its still early."

"How early?" he mumbled. She began to raise herself up, and squinted at the alarm clock. "Its half past six."

Cobb groaned, softly. "Kids will be awake soon." He smiled as Mal began to rain down kisses on his face. "And you're not going to make it easy for me to get up, are you?"

"No," she smiled. "Not really-"

Suddenly, his cellphone began to vibrate. He sighed. "This had better be Arthur." Reaching to the side, he scooped the tiny electronic device off the bedside table, fumbling to find the button. "Hello?"

"Mr Cobb? Sorry, I know its early, but I-"

"Hang on," Cobb interrupted. "Who is this?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. This is Detective Blake. Arthur contacted me last night, he brought in a suspect-"

"What?!" Cobb was wide awake now, and last vestiges of sleep gone. "What happened? And Arthur did what?!" He turned his head. Mal was sitting bolt upright, biting her lip. She laid a placating hand on her husband's arm, recognising his growing anger. Cobb nodded, and she relaxed.

"OK," Cobb said, still unable to believe what he was being told. "OK, thank you. I'll be there. Yes. Thank you Detective."

He clicked off, and turned to Mal. "What is it?"

"Arthur seems to think he's a detective," Cobb said, almost jumping out of bed. "He went to a student's house last night, and had him taken away from his father, to be interviewed." He rubbed his forehead. "I need to go and see him."

"Dom, Its not even 7am!"

"I know, but at least I know he'll be in!" Cobb looked at her, his expression confused and angry. "I could always trust Art, could rely on him. Since when did he go renegade?"

"You don't know he has-" Mal stopped, recognising her husband was unwilling to listen. Cobb was stalking round the bed room, scooping up clothes. "Dom, you need to calm down."

He turned, and saw the anguished expression on her face. He began to relax his grip on the shirt he was holding. "You're right." He rubbed his forehead, and sank down onto the edge of the bed. "Oh, God."

Mal sat down next to him, and reached for his hand. "Remember, you hired Arthur. You hired him because he's trustworthy, reliable, solid. He has a reason for the things he does. He always has."

Cobb turned and looked at her. She smiled, but there was no concealing the worry in her large, dark eyes. He touched her cheek. "I'll listen to him," he promised. "I won't go in and start yelling."

She nodded. "Just remember that. He's a good man."

Cobb smiled. "The best."

"So, pancakes? Or cereal?"

Ariadne looked at Arthur as she entered the kitchen, one of his shirts concealing her tiny frame. "Are you offering to cook for me?" she giggled. "If so...pancakes."

Arthur smirked. "Predictable." He opened the refrigerator, and began to pull out ingredients. Ariadne walked over to the coffee percolator, and began to to fill two mugs with the hot, dark liquid. Arthur started carefully measuring out milk, and placed it in a mixing bowl.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Arthur frowned, and checked his watch. "Its 7am. Ignore it."

Ariadne bit her lip. "What if its Blake?"

Arthur shook his head. "He'd call if he wanted to come by." He concentrated on measuring flour. Suddenly, there was another knock. Arthur sighed, exasperated. "Stay here, ok?"

She nodded. He walked to the door, and opened it. "Cobb!"

"Arthur." The Principal took in his deputy's dishevelled appearance - Arthur was still clad in pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt, and his hair was slightly mussed. "I need to talk to you."

Arthur swallowed. "OK." He nodded. "Come on in."

As he led Cobb into the kitchen, he noticed Ariadne had discreetly vacated the kitchen. He pulled a mug off the shelf. "Coffee?"

Cobb nodded. "Thanks." He seated himself at the breakfast bar. He stared into the mug of liquid. "OK," he said, finally, "why did you get a student taken from his father?"

Arthur merely picked up his coffee mug. "He's being abused. Eames and I turned up,, his father was drunk, ranting, threatening to hit him. He had a bruise on his face. What was I supposed to do? You're a father. Would you let a child stay in the situation?"

Cobb shook his head. "No. But what's the connection to Fischer?"

Arthur swallowed, and seated himself opposite Cobb. "I-" he paused. "Fischer paid this student to start the fire. He took your wallet to plant as evidence."

Cobb blinked. "You're not serious."

Arthur nodded. "I am."

"Jesus," Cobb said, softly. He picked up his mug. "Call Eames. I want him here right now." His lips tightened as he surveyed the kitchen. "Sorry about your breakfast."

Arthur smiled, tightly. "Can't be helped."

Blake carefully checked the photo. Robert Fischer was a striking man, he mused, and easy, therefore, to spot. He swallowed, and began to walk to the arrivals hall.

He checked his watch. Fischer's plane had arrived ten minutes previously - it would probably take him half an hour to clear immigration and baggage. He stood, his hands in his pockets, waiting patiently.

A few people began to trickle into the main concourse. Mostly tanned, and smiling. Blake watched, scanning the crowd. Suddenly, he noticed a tall, pale, slender man, whose ice blue eyes looked tired. He checked the photo.

Bingo.

Blake began to move towards Robert, his badge clutched in his hand. As Robert prepared to walk towards the taxi rank, Blake walked in front of him, completely blocking his path. Fischer looked at him, irritably.

"Excuse me, would you mind-"

"Robert Fischer?" Blake held up his badge. "I need to ask you some questions."

Fischer stared at him, haughtily. "You can ask them tomorrow. I've just had a thirteen hour flight, now if you'll excuse me-"

"Mr Fischer, that's not how it works." Blake's tone was forceful. "You won't talk to me at the station, we talk here. But no matter how jetlagged you are, you are talking to me."

Robert smirked, and raised an eyebrow. "Well," he said, "I can give you five minutes, Detective."

Blake smiled. "Trust me, Mr Fischer. Its more than that."

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