And They Call Her Cinderella

They met later that day at a café in town. It was fate, or destiny, or maybe even kismet. What you call it doesn't really matter. What does matter is that the two men did, in fact, meet.

The café was crowded and loud, but that bothered neither one of the men. They weren't planning on staying. They had only stopped by to get a coffee, and maybe a muffin (in the larger of the two's case, anyways; he'd forgotten to eat that morning), and then be on their not-so merry ways.

It was Eames who made first contact. He recognized the smaller, dark-haired man who was standing in front of him in line from his previous appointment. After the man (who seemed hardly older than a boy) had turned around after getting his coffee, Eames made to step forward and accidentally ("accidentally" my left foot; this was absolutely not an accident) ran into the man. He apologized, but only after sticking a small sheet of paper with his phone number (you never know when such a paper would come in handy) into the man's jacket pocket. The man nodded in acknowledgment and then left the café.

Eames smiled to himself and ordered his coffee, patiently (or rather very impatiently) waiting for the man to call.