Disclaimer: Inception does not belong to me.
Arthur sighed as he turned over. Suddenly, his alarm erupted into a series of piercing bleeps. Groaning, he reached his hand out, and slapped it. Silence.
He stretched, letting his thoughts assemble before he attempted to get up. It was Thursday. Thursday meant a morning meeting with Cobb, then a free to catch up on admin, then the Twelth graders, then-
Suddenly, he remembered. He had no meeting. No class. Nowhere to go.
Arthur rolled over, and burrowed back into the bed. No point in getting up. He closed his eyes, hoping to be able to drift back to sleep. Maybe, when he woke up, he'd be back in Fox High.
Back in his normal life.
Ariadne carefully unlocked the door of the art room. She'd arrived especially early, the students' petition in her bag. Carefully picking up a cloth, she began to wipe down the benches, still splattered with paint from the previous day.
"Ariadne?"
She turned. Cobb was standing in the doorway, his expression inscrutable. She nodded, and then continued to wipe. He took a step in the room, and opened his mouth.
"You need to listen to me," he said, his voice calm. "I had nothing to do with this decision. Nothing. But it is reversible. Once the investigation is conducted, and Arthur's cleared, he can come back. It really is that simple."
She bit her lip, and paused. "But what if he's not cleared?" She placed the cloth on the table, and turned to face Cobb. "What if the District think he's not fit to teach because of this? It could happen." She exhaled slowly. "And, lets face it, this will go on his reference."
Cobb blinked. Ariadne suddenly realised that he was not used to being spoken to in the tone she'd employed. She made eye contact, refusing to back down.
Cobb swallowed. "Yes," he said, quietly. Turning, he walked out of the room, leaving her speechless.
Arthur blinked, and looked at the clock. A few minutes to 9.
9! He rubbed his eyes. It couldn't be nearly 9am. Normally, he was up before 7am on weekdays, and easily before 8am on weekends. But today, he'd slept.
He sunk back into the bed, letting the soft pillows hug the sides of his face. He sighed slowly. The bed was warm, and tempting. He could, he decided, stay in it for most of the day.
He rolled onto his side, feeling the mattress dent under his weight. He looked at the bedside table. On it was a paperback novel that he'd been reading for weeks. He leaned over, and picked it up.
Opening it, he blinked. He realised that he couldn't remember the plotline, or the characters. Biting his lip, he turned to the front page. He'd have to read it from the beginning. Except, he mused, rubbing his chin, it would go so much better with a cup of coffee. Smiling, he pushed back the covers, and headed for the shower.
Eames hurried across the staff lounge, trying to catch Ariadne before she left. She was vigorously stirring a cup of white coffee and trying to avoid eye contact with everyone. She looked up as Eames came over.
"Morning," he said, conversationally. She nodded. "Hi."
"Have you," he paused, seemingly unsure of what to say. "Heard from Arthur?"
She shook her head. "No." She'd been wrestling over whether to try and contact him that morning, and had decided it would be a bad move. She pulled the plastic stirrer out of the cup and dropped it in the trash. Cobb walked past, and smiled tightly as he did so. She dropped her gaze.
"What is it?" Eames asked, biting his lip.
"He came and found me this morning," she said, lowering her voice. "This-" she stopped. "Lets talk after school," she whispered. The drama specialist nodded, and she quickly slipped out of the door.
Arthur hummed to himself as he towelled dry. The shower had been invigorating, and he pushed his damp hair out of his eyes as he surveyed the contents of his closet. His suits were hanging there almost as a reproach.
He swallowed. Today he had no reason to wear them. Biting his lip, he reached for a pair of black levis that he kept at the back of the closet. They had been a birthday gift from Mal, who had smiled when she'd handed them over. Arthur was speechless that she'd got his size right.
"Oh, I have my ways," she'd twinkled. He took them off the hanger, and pulled them on. They clung to his legs, and at first he felt self conscious about them. But then, he realised, they accentuated his narrow waist, and drew attention to his torso.
He felt himself flush slightly. Opening a drawer, he grabbed a t-shirt, and pulled it over his head. He ran his fingers through his hair, deciding not to gel it. Leaning over to his bedside unit, he grabbed the novel, and slid his wallet into his back pocket. He then left the bedroom, walked through the apartment, and headed for the nearest coffee shop, easily a block away.
Life without school, he thought as he walked along, could be ok. There were clearly other things to do that disciplining students and wading through paperwork. Things like reading, and music. He entered the coffee shop, letting the door swing shut behind him. He read through the choices on the board. Latte, mocha, cappuccino-
"Mr Ogilvie?"
He blinked. The barista behind the counter was a young woman with blonde dreadlocks, and he realised, a pierced lip. Suddenly, his eyes widened - she'd graduated from Fox a couple of years previously. He remembered her well - she'd frequently turned up wearing skimpy tops that displayed tattoos, or tried to dye her hair. He blushed slightly. It seemed really silly now.
"Alys?" He smiled at her. "How are you?"
"Studying fine art," she said, as she picked up the metal milk jug. "And working here." She nodded at him. "Whats with you? What happened to the suit? And shouldn't you be at work?"
He swallowed. "Oh, I'm on a sabbatical. I'm trying to-" he paused, and then blurted out - "trying to set up my own practice. As a music teacher."
"Wow!" She looked impressed. "Didn't think you even liked music! You always used to wander round as though you had a stick up your ass!" Suddenly, she seemed to remember who she was talking to, and went scarlet.
He smiled. "Its ok. A cappuccino, please." And, he realised, it was ok. He thought of the humourless character he'd been, and shuddered.
She nodded. "Right away!" Arthur turned, and settled himself in one of the arm chairs, and opened his novel. But he didn't glance at it. An idea was forming. An idea for how he could carve out a life, after Fox.
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