Disclaimer: Inception does not belong to me.
Eames knocked on the door of the Art room, and paused as he saw that Ariadne was in conversation with a student. He decided to wait, patiently, rather than interrupt them. Their voices were low, and concerned about being viewed as an eavesdropper, he moved away to stand further outside the door.
As he hovered near the entrance, he spotted Robert. Who was strolling down the empty corridor as though he didn't possess a care in the world. Eames raised an eyebrow. "Robert. Hello."
"Well, hello Eames," came the response, laced with an arrogance that always irritated the older man. "How are you?"
"I'm fine," Eames responded, seeing that there was no way out of this banal exchange that masked what the two men wanted to discuss. "And you're looking very well for a man reportedly suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder."
Robert smiled. " I know. And trust me, Eames, when the investigation's completed, I'll be even better."
Eames quickly glanced round him to make sure no-one else was approaching, and then took a step forward. He lowered his voice, and looked fixedly at Robert.
"What are you playing at, mate?" he asked, his tone low. "Do you really think there's anything to be gained by this? Why don't you go to Cobb, and tell him the truth - you were harrassing Ariadne, and thats what made Arthur react. I saw it. Mal saw it. And Cobb saw it. Do the right thing - put it in writing, and then thats it, game over, and you and Arthur can stay away from each other - jobs pemitting."
Robert arched an eyebrow. His light blue eyes glittered in the fluroscent lighting. "No. And shall I tell you why? Because I don't want to. See you later, Eames."
He turned, and began to walk up the corridor. Eames stared after him, silently seething. Suddenly, the door to the Art room swung wide open, and Ariadne came out, followed by the student.
"Well, thats great Jess," she said, sincerely. "Lets hope for a few more signatures tomorrow!"
Eames looked at the two with interest. "Signatures?"
"A petition," the twelth grader said by way of explanation. She held up her clipboard; as he looked, Eames noticed at least 30 names signed. "To try and bring back Mr Ogilvie."
"He hasn't actually gone," Eames pointed out, "He's just, uh, resting."
Ariadne bit her lip. "Did you want something, Mr Eames?" she asked, her tone neutral. The student picked up the undertone in her voice and nodded. "Well, I'd better get going. Thanks, Ms Henderson."
"No problem," Ariadne replied. She turned to Eames. "OK. Did you drive today?"
"I did," he said. Then his face cleared. "Oh. We should go and visit-"
"Yes," she said, nodding. She checked her watch. "Its a little after three. He should be at home. Let's go!"
Sit and drink pennyroyal tea...
Steal the life inside of me...
Arthur adjusted his guitar strap and grimaced. "That can't be right," he muttered to himself. He bit his lip, and carefully taking the guitar off, moved to his CD rack. He flicked his finger down the carefully filed CDs, stopping when he found Nirvana's In Utero. Opening it, he pulled out the lyric booklet, looking for the words he was sure he'd just mangled.
He'd been playing the guitar for most of the afternoon. After a latte, and half an hour sitting with a novel, he'd headed back, done the laundry, and tidied up the apartment - which meant putting a few clothes in drawers and stacking some papers. Then he'd gone to the spare room, which he never showed to guests. Inside was his guitar, a stack of music magazines, and notebooks, containing scrawled bits of lyrics, some random compositions, and press clippings. A sign of another life - a life he sometimes wondered if he should have pursued.
He rubbed his face. Getting up, he let Kurt Cobain's mournful voice fill the room as he walked into the kitchen. He put water in a cup, heated it in the microwave, then dropped in a peppermint tea bag. After waiting a few seconds, he pulled it out, and dropped it in the trash. Picking it up, he walked back into the lounge, taking in the harsh, raw beauty of Cobain's voice.
He pulled out his notebook. Private music teacher, it said on the first clear page. He could still teach, he could indulge his passion for music. But it would be an irregular income, and as much as Arthur hated to admit it, he did enjoy the little luxuries and stable lifestyle his current salary permitted him. But-
The sudden shrill bleep of the intercom broke into his thoughts. He blinked, and getting up, pressed the button to the small, sleek device. "Hello?"
"Arthur? Ariadne."
Arthur swallowed. "Hi. Come on up."
Eames had been silent as he'd driven to Arthur's apartment. A couple of times he'd glanced at Ariadne, but said nothing. She'd not initiated conversation, as her mind was too concerned with what would happen when she saw Arthur. Then, Eames did speak.
"I hope he's not crying when we get there," he commented. She looked at him, in surprise. "Why would he be?"
"Well, its just I always get the impression the job is his life," the British man continued. "That thats all he has. So, take that away from him...I'm just worried we'll encounter an empty shell."
Ariadne shook head. "Thats a little over-dramatic."
Eames raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me. I'm a drama teacher." He turned the car, and they began to drive up the road leading to Arthur's apartment block. "I'm just warning you he could be in a bit of a state."
Ariadne shook her head. "I've never seen Arthur out of control," she said, stubbornly.
Eames gave her a sharp glance. "That may be, but he's never been suspended on a trumped up charge and facing the prospect of his career disappearing before his eyes."
She bit her lip. Feelings of guilt were bubbling up, threatening to consume her previously rational thoughts. "Listen, you don't have to come upstairs. I'll go on my own."
Eames looked at the road, but his mouth quirked into a sly grin. "Fair enough. I won't ask why!"
Arthur opened the door, and met the Art specialist's eyes. He smiled. "Hi. Come on in."
She blinked. This wasn't what she'd been expecting. Arthur wasn't tear stained, or seemingly depressed. He looked...relaxed. Nodding mutely, she walked into the apartment.
"Tea? Coffee? Water?" He asked, politely. She nodded again. "Water, please."
Arthur smiled. "Have a seat, Ari." She wandered over to the cream coloured sofa, and sat down. Nirvana were still playing, their songs changing from delicate introspection to noisy garage rock. "Arthur," she asked, not wanting to reveal her musical ignorance, "who is this?"
"Nirvana," he called out from the kitchen. "I was ten when Nevermind was released, but I think this album is better. More aggressive. More emotion." He emerged, carrying a glass of ice water, which he handed to her. "Its still a shame about Kurt." He settled himself next to her. She nodded, unsure of what to say.
"So," he said, conversationally, "what can I do for you?"
Ariadne took a sip of water. "I came to show you something," she said, and reaching into the bag she'd dropped on the floor by her feet, pulled out the clipboard. As she handed it to Arthur, she scrutinised his face, watching to see his reaction. "Ariadne, this is...? What...?"
"Its a petition," she said, quickly. "One of my students, and one of your students, had the idea. They are on your side Arthur. They think its outrageous you've been suspended for this!"
Arthur swallowed, and carefully laid the petition on the coffee table. "Ariadne, this is really sweet of them, and of you," he said, slowly, "but the more I think about it...the more I don't want to go back to Fox."
She stared at him, her jaw dropping. He flushed, as though he'd told her a dark, dirty secret. "Well, thats fine," she flustered, "but I-"
"No, don't just leave!" he said, as she made motions to get up. "Stay, and hear me out! I've started thinking of alternative careers, other things I can do." He looked at her. "I don't have to spend the rest of my life in an office, strutting about, telling other people what to do!"
"But, Arthur," Ariadne protested, her face growing flushed, "I thought you weren't going to take this lying down!"
"But I'm not!" he said, smiling. "I'm using this as an opportunity!"
She sank back on the couch, and covered her face. "Oh, I'm sorry." She looked up at him. "I feel this is-"
"What?" He sat down next to her, and placed his hand on hers. "You feel what?"
"That this is my fault." She looked at him, directly. "I shouldn't have gone out with Robert, I shouldn't have-"
"And I shouldn't have gate crashed your date and thrown ice cream over him," Arthur finished, and sighed. "I was being macho. And jealous. I should have just asked you out when I had the chance."
She smiled, slightly. "You still can."
He took her chin in his hand, and returned her smile. "Thank you." Leaning over, he kissed her. She responded, and they fell back on the couch. After a few seconds, she pulled back slightly. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me," he said, smiling. "We need to talk. Stay for dinner?"
She nodded. "Yes."
All reviews appreciated, thank you!
