Disclaimer: Inception does not belong to me. All readers and reviews appreciated, thank you.
Eames put the phone back in its cradle, and smiled contentedly.
"Did you hear that, Princess?" he commented to the small lump lying next to him. "Day off! Artie will cover me, he's a good lad."
"Mmmm..." was the response.
"You called in as well, didn't you?" He said, stroking her side. "Excellent. No work, and lots of play today!"
Arthur growled in his throat as he stalked to Eames' drama studio. On the way, he barked at a Freshman for loitering and two Juniors, male and female, who emerged giggling and red-faced from the girls' bathroom. He stopped, stunned.
"Come here!" he snapped.
Reluctantly, they turned and faced him. "Yes?" the boy said innocently. She was flushed, and her hair was tousled.
He frowned. "What's going on?"
The boy smirked, insolently. "Sex ed. Practical version." He looked at Arthur, challengingly. "Did you ever learn about it?"
The girl giggled, in shock, and Arthur's jaw sagged. He couldn't believe the teenager's insolence.
"You should be in a class," he snapped, trying to regain his composure. He reached in his pocket and fished out a little yellow notepad. "Detention slips."
The boy blinked. "What?"
"Rudeness and lateness." Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Plus I'll be calling your parents." He tore the slips off the top, and handed them to the two teenagers. "Now, get to class! Now!"
They shuffled over, darting looks over their shoulders. Trying to calm his breathing, Arthur walked to the drama studio. As he pushed the door open, his heart sank. Twenty two sophomores sat there, waiting expectantly. As they realised it was Arthur entering, their faces fell. He could almost feel the resentment directed at him.
Its because you're not Eames, he told himself as he walked to the front. You're not funny, or British, or flirt with everything going.
He walked to the desk, and frowned. No lesson plan. Eames never planned - "I just improvise darling," he'd told Arthur, when he'd tried to point out the folly of this. "Its called acting!"
Arthur cleared his throat and turned to the class. "Right. Now. Mr Eames is not here today so-"
A small groan erupted. Arthur let it roll over him, then faced the students again.
"Mr Eames is not here today, so-" he thought, frantically. "What play are you working on?"
"Hamlet", one boy informed him. "Eames said we could rehearse it today."
"Its Mr. Eames." Arthur glared.
"No, he says to just call him Eames," the boy insisted. "He says titles are for people who are stuffy and boring. Like Mr Og-" A sharp nudge from the girl sitting next to him reminded him who he was talking to, and he went scarlet. Arthur was livid.
"Enough!" Arthur snapped, vowing he would deal with Eames' lack of professionalism when he finally came back to work. "Get out your copies of Hamlet!"
A silent hour followed, the students reading intently whilst Arthur prowled the room. He was furious with Eames, and also Ariadne.
"This is boring!" he heard one student whisper.
"What do you expect, its Ogilvie!" Another responded.
Arthur was left speechless. Unable to think of anything cutting to say, he instead directed his anger at Eames.
"So unprofessional!" he ranted, internally. "Taking the day off, just to-"
His thought were interrupted by the bell. As the students scuttled out, he tried to collect his thoughts. Checking his watch, he realised he had Ariadne's Freshman art class that afternoon. Suddenly, he had a thought. Turning, he ran to his office. On the way, he bumped into Cobb.
"You ok?" the Principal asked, smiling.
"I'd be better if staff weren't taking days off to play hookey together," he answered, sourly. Cobb blinked in astonishment.
"Art? You mean Eames and-" he shook his head. "You're getting really suspicious in your old age, you know that?"
Chuckling, he turned and walked down the corridor. Arthur, furious, stared after him. He knew what he had to do.
Half an hour later, he had pulled up in front of Ariadne's apartment block. Swallowing, he got out, carefully locking the car door behind him. As he rode the elevator up, he bit his lip.
He knew Cobb would be furious with him - he would consider it an invasion of staff privacy, and Arthur going too far in his suspicions. But he was sure. Ariadne and Eames...enjoying a day off together...he pressed the doorbell, rehearsing all the things he would say.
"One minute!" he heard a female voice. He frowned. He licked his lip, and as the door opened, opened his mouth.
"Aria-"
He stopped. Her face was pale, and her eyes bloodshot. She looked exhausted, and he could see a sheen of perspiration on her forehead. She was wearing pyjamas, with a white bathrobe, and as she took in the immaculate Vice Principal, her eyes widened in shock.
"Mr Ogilvie!" she spluttered, turning as it developed into a hacking cough. "You-"
"Ariadne, its Arthur," he said, suddenly feeling ashamed and embarrassed. "You look really sick!"
"I haven't slept," she confessed, blinking. "I keep coughing."
"Go inside," Arthur said, firmly, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him. "Now."
She did so. He followed her. The apartment was small, and cluttered. He looked at her. "Do you have anything?"
She nodded. "I'll be fine." She coughed again. "But thank you for coming to see me. Dom did say you were a very caring guy!"
Arthur, feeling sick to his stomach with mortification, nodded, mumbled, and turned to hurry out the door. As he walked down the stairs, he leaned on the railing.
Arthur Ogilvie, he told himself, You are a pathetic excuse of a human being!