Chapter Text
Cogsworth looked at the list of room assignments with a discriminating eye. It had been tacked up in the teacher's lounge for the whole of the spring semester, and it was finally time to calculate the appropriate sleeping arrangements. The list would determine where pairs of people would retire for the teacher's conference.
Held every other year, almost always in an unwisely exotic location, the annual educator's symposium fell in early summer, just after school let out. Everyone seemed to look forward to it, despite bi-yearly complaints about trundling into a single vehicle and the colleagues that were met at the conference.
Cogsworth hated it. Aside from himself, perhaps only Mr. Sebastian, Mr. Zazu, and Mr. Bagheera actually looked at the conference as a work assignment, and they had proven to be tempted and inclined to straying. (Frankly, he'd never seen someone backpedal out of responsibility as fast as Mr. Sebastian had when he'd heard there was a steel drum band playing on the other side of town. Poof! Gone. It had almost been impressive.) Everyone else apparently thought of it as a paid vacation, and it inevitably fell to Cogsworth to try to nanny-goat everyone into behaving.
He carefully removed the tack from the sheet of paper, smoothing his mustaches as he looked at the assignments. Gene and Mushu—oh, good of them to room together—Baloo and Bagheera—ah, roommates, a logical choice, very economic—Jumba and Pleakley…in separate rooms? Cogsworth nodded to himself, eminently satisfied. It was a little more expensive, but the less hanky-panky that went on during this conference, the slighter his chance of suffering any type of mental damage, should he need to knock on doors. But…well, wait. Phil and Terk? In the same room?
Oh no. No no. No. He had as much respect for love as he was legally obliged to have, but there was a limit. If he had to be banging on doors as eight in the morning, he'd rather not do it and stand the risk of seeing anything…unfortunate. He'd have to talk to them about it.
Pulling out a red pen, Cogsworth split them up. Terk with Pleakley, Phil with Jumba. There, that should fit. Then Mr. Sebastian and M. Lumiere together, and finally, Cogsworth, with Mr. Zazu. He nodded to himself, satisfied. After all the uproar and frustration that was soon to come, a quiet and serious roommate was the very least he deserved.
--
"Whaddaya mean, we can't bunk together?" shouted Terk. Cogsworth winced.
"Ms. Terk, I'm afraid that simply—"
"I mean, come on—this is the twenty-first century! Men and women are—should be!—equals! If I wanna bunk with Phil, what's stopping me from bunking with Phil! This is a freakin' outrageous sexist determination, Cogsworth!"
"Gal's got a point, Professor," said Phil from around his cigar. Cogsworth barely held back a glare. Yes, well, he clearly knew on which side his bread was buttered, didn't he?
"I am only saying that is a more economical determination," Cogsworth said, using a lesser truth that didn't involve his own ideas about things like 'living in sin.' "Jumba and Pleakley were already rooming separately, and to match you up with them would eliminate the cost of an entire room!"
Terk gave him a suspicious look. "Is that so?"
"Yes, Ms. Terk. That was my determining reason."
"Huh."
Phil looked thoughtfully up at the ceiling, chewing his cigar. Unlike some incredibly rude inconsiderate persons, Mr. Phil was kind enough to keep his cancerous narcotics unlit in a school building. Instead, he chewed on them, rather meditatively, like a goat chewing cud. "Well, now, it might not be too bad."
Terk lifted an eyebrow. "Hey, no, I'm not saying it's the end of the world or anything, but maybe it would've been nice to have a little warning before—kerplunk—sorry, request denied."
"Yeah. But: two minibars."
"…okay, good point."
"We can work out some logistics, I think…"
They shared a smile that made Cogsworth nervous. "A-Ah, and, I don't mean to pry, of course, but this is going to be a very, very…family oriented event. Am I clear?"
Terk looked ready to smack him, but Phil just smirked, rising to his feet. "Yeah, we hear ya, Professor. Come on, toots, let's make tracks."
Cogsworth sat back in his seat with a low moan after the door banged close. He wasn't paid enough to do this. No one could be paid enough to do this.
He pulled out a day calendar and looked at the next two years, marked in tiny charts of numbers. Three years. January 1st, three years from now. First day of retirement. An early one, but oh mercy, how he'd earned it. Buy that little house by the sea and invest in an enormous teapot and dozens of jigsaw puzzles, and clocks. Far away from educational politics and nightmarish interpersonal conflicts and flirtatious, arrogant, effete, over-sexed fools from France.
As if his cue had been struck, Lumiere strode into Cogsworth's office, waving a lit cigarette about. "I rescind my claim!"
"I beg your pardon," Cogsworth muttered, the most polite thing he was currently thinking.
"I cannot room with that man, not for a moment! Do you know what he considers to be classical music? Do you know?" Lumiere took a steadying drag on his cigarette. "Harry. Belafonte! Harry Belafonte! I have no objection in moderation, I am a reasonable man, but I will not spend three days with my ears ringing with Caribbean music!"
"Perhaps you could strike a bargain?" Cogsworth asked futilely.
"Non! He will…listen, he is a good creature, perhaps, but it would not do! I put my name there not knowing who would sign on! But he and I…well, it would not do! He is so…serious, Cogsworth. We would quarrel! Headaches for all!"
"I think that you and Mr. Sebastian would get along very well."
"You are wrong. Please, I beg, I implore—what else is there? I am not picky. What else is there, please?"
Oh no. He wasn't falling for this. This was a trick he could see coming a mile away. "Well, I'm sorry, Lumiere, but you are going to have to live with it. Everyone else has been paired up. You'll have to talk to them."
"But…you! Who do you room with? Trade with me."
"Ah, I'm sorry, there." How ham-handed of Lumiere! A blind man would be able to see what he was trying to do here--he usually credited the man with a bit more subtlety. "Mr. Zazu and I have agreed to share a room. I'm afraid you're very likely stuck where you are."
Lumiere gave him a close look, sucking on his cigarette. "Ah, oui? And have you cleared this with M. Zazu? You have already had the conversation?"
"Er. No." Cogsworth winced to himself. He should know better than to ever allow himself to falter around Lumiere. Now that the blood was in the water, the Frenchman would go in for the kill. "We haven't talked about it, of course...it's just assumed. After all, I've already posted the final copy--"
"Parfait! Then M. Zazu and I shall trade rooms. He is a nice man, but so without color--the music might actually do him some good! And I will be freed from the horrors of calypso music. You and I will sleep together."
Oh sweet holy mother of mercy. "S-Sleep together?"
"Yes. Sharing a room. I will sleep well, unless you snore. Do you?"
"...I do not know. No."
"Eh, I will find out either way." Lumiere nodded to himself, satisfied. "It will do--it needs must. Harry Belafonte!" He shuddered delicately. "A near miss."
"N-Now, Lumiere, this is all a little sudden!" Cogsworth blustered. "I've had this worked out, and you can't just blow in here and change it all about to suit you! You'll just have to buy a pair of earplugs, because I'm not about to--"
Lumiere flicked a wrist, touching his chest with the fingertips of one hand, as the rest of his body leaned slightly to the side, curving in a way Cogsworth was embarrassed to admit was rather distracting. "You do not want to share a room with me? I am hardly the demanding roommate, Professor...I will not keep you up all night..."
Cogsworth blinked a bit, clearing his throat hastily. Blast the man! "It isn't a matter of preference! It's a matter of convenience."
"What can be more convenient than making sure M. Sebastian and I do not murder each other?" Lumiere put the cigarette in his mouth, reaching for the clipboard with the rooming list on it. "I will even make the change. Nothing simpler! Really, mon cher, I must teach you to become more flexible..."
Oh no--he wasn't going to just make innuendos and get away with this! "A little unbending stability is rather desperately needed around here, I think!"
Lumiere gave him a rather warm look. "Oh, bien sur, I am the first to agree that a man needs to be quite firm of purpose. You will see that I am just that stubborn--I am full of that admirable rigidity."
...was he? Cogsworth had the odd impression that his brain was beginning to cook gently from the inside out, his hypothalamus working double-time in spite of the best efforts of the cooler parts of his limbic system. "B-Be that as it may..."
Lumiere rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue. "Cogsworth! You are a stick in the mud!" He pressed forward, seizing the clipboard and making the changes. "There! Settled. Was that so hard? Honestly. You make fusses out of nothing."
It wasn't nothing. It was something, certainly a something that was going to drive him completely around the bend with frustration.
But the problem with Lumiere is that the man didn't know when to quit. Either he was oblivious or a sadist. Cogsworth strongly favored the latter formulation. Perhaps he could just doze out in the hotel lounge?
"Fine," he sighed. Lumiere grinned and clapped a hand on his shoulder.
"My dear, do not look so despondent! We will have lots of fun, you and I. You will remember this week for years to come!"
Didn't he just bet.
--
Saturday was a travel day. Somehow they managed to cram twelve adults into a single van. Granted, it was more like a bus, but it was close quarters nevertheless. Phil had the most experience moving large vehicles, so he and Terk sat in the front, the blue-haired teacher having called shotgun weeks before any transportation arrangements had been made. The thinner teachers were trapped in the back, while Dr. Jookiba sat near the front, with Nurse Pleakley perched on his lap for the sake of space. She spent most of her time turned around, chatting with the others, which forced Dr. Jookiba to shift and try to accommodate her presence on his generous front so that he could read a small novel at the same time.
Cogsworth sat in the third seat from the front, behind Mr. Baloo and Mr. Sebastian. He was squished in beside Mr. Gene, closest to the window. The drama teacher has always had a big personality, and Cogsworth found that it was oppressive in a vehicle this small. Mr. Gene was turned around around in his seat, talking with Mr. Mushu. The two appeared to be drafting something in the way of a list of beautiful women they remembered seeing at the conference two years ago.
And all the while, he was keenly aware of the fact that Lumiere was right behind him. (And, considering those dreams he would never, ever own up to having, wasn't this an unusual case of deja vu?) The other man couldn't have any interest in the fact that they were seated as they were, certainly--they'd been in much closer quarters before Lumiere even began to smirk. He was probably doing something totally innocuous, like reading or listening to those little portable multimedia devices Cogsworth so disliked.
Attempting to be subtle, Cogsworth made a bit of a show of looking at the other occupants of the van, craning his neck a little to see further. He turned his head just enough to linger an instant on each person, as if he were just making a sweep--he'd never turn his head just to see what Lumiere was doing, no no, absurd--and finally twisted to glance into the back seat.
The man was sleeping. Lazy creature! As if he'd felt the intangible weight of Cogsworth's gaze on him, his eyes leisurely opened and he gave the other man a sleepy, impossibly knowing smile.
Cogsworth hurriedly twisted back, his ears burning pink. Damn the man!
It was a long ride.
--
He hated this conference so, so much.
Ordinarily it was unremarkable, as far as conferences go. Because it was not specialized for one subject or another, but welcomed all the educators in the state, it was enormous. The content of the lectures and panels was always rather good, and even Cogsworth at his most exacting had to strain to find something wrong with the quality and taste of the hotel attached to the conference center.
Consequently, it had to be the favorite joke of a cruel, merciless higher power that a paltry group of twelve should meet, out of literally thousands of people, every year, without fail, the entire faculty of their worst rival school.
As if it wasn't hard enough keeping his charges--as he was obliged to think of the colleagues he had nominal authority over--in line when they were inclined to split off into pairs on their own. Now they had opponents to square off against, and that couldn't result in anything but utter catastrophe. For a moment, he was selfishly glad that Principal Merlin had abstained from coming and that Mrs. Mim wasn't here. Last time, everyone had been at a peak of discomfort, watching those two flirt outrageously.
Cogsworth himself couldn't understand the appeal of rivalry. Yes, perhaps there was that one time when he was within an ace of jabbing a pair of scissors into the rear end of the aggravating little M. LeFou--and wouldn't Freud have a field day with his relish of the idea of prodding another man's backside--when he'd made some untoward advances against certain members of his little contingent. But that was surely the exception, and a cold look was all they'd ever exchanged since then.
Of course, the instant they had arrived, they looked across the crowded lobby to see the cool, dark, disapproving delegation from Walt Disney Private School. At the center was a tall, aristocratically beautiful, olive-skinned woman with her hair done in an elaborate updo. He supposed that was Principal Maleficent--an imposing educator, not one to be trifled with. At her side was her Vice Principal, Mr. Jafar. He was an Arabian gentleman, tall and thin, with a little squiggly beard and a humorless, snake-like smile.
Two stood slightly off from these figures of authority, a pair of rather darkly handsome men, standing beside each other without any reservation for personal space. Upon seeing these people, Cogsworth noticed that Mr. Zazu immediately grew tense and that Mr. Baloo rested a hand in an oddly protective, possessive way on Mr. Bagheera's shoulder. The smaller of the men was rather scrawny and very dark, with high cheekbones and an abundance of rather long, dark hair, and a grisly scar over one eye. He seemed to spot their group and smirked their way--Zazu went pale.
The other, bigger man was wholly unlike his companion: a broad-shouldered, redheaded, strapping fellow with thick, impressive mutton chops and a certain military air. All that was dark about him was the expression of slightly-cruel amusement on his face, but it seemed to be doing its job, for Mr. Bagheera and Mr. Baloo were clearly on edge. The pair from the private school leaned even closer to each other and began to chat, eyes on the public school group, no doubt exchanging remarks about the newcomers.
Then there was a terribly, skeletally thin woman with laughably two-tone hair smoking like a chimney and chatting with another woman, this one with jet-black, limp hair and too much eye make-up. The second woman fondled a red apple, but never actually lifted it to her mouth to take a bite. Cogsworth frowned, looking at the skeleton lady. Smoking surely wasn't allowed here, and he glanced over his shoulder to see, sure enough, that Lumiere was lighting up, either in strict defiance of the rules or as some sort of silly display of bravado.
The enormous figure of another woman flanked Mr. Jafar. She wore a big purple dress and some rather extreme eye makeup of her own--was this a trend he knew nothing about? She was in the process of applying her lipstick, and popped her red lips with a smack that he could almost hear from across the room. From his side, he heard Mr. Sebastian let out an irate sigh.
Then there was the loudest man in the group, the one that Cogsworth could hear talking all the way from across the room. He sounded like he was in the middle of a sales pitch, as he grinned his teeth, smoothed his hair, and fairly exuded oily sleeze. He had a cigar in his mouth. Beside him was the broad, intensely masculine form of the private school's gym teacher, M. Gaston. More Frenchmen! Cogsworth felt as if he were surrounded. At least Le Fou wasn't here, this time. Something to be thankful for.
In LeFou's absence, a teacher Cogsworth had never seen before must have been substituted. She was a frosty-looking woman with an great deal of iron-grey hair perched on her head in an old-fashioned hairdo. Cogsworth would've pegged her as one with whom he could get along, but her no-nonsense expression had something faintly spiteful in it, and he decided not to take an interest.
The last pair in the group was a large, barrel-chested man with a double chin and a huge frown. He looked about the place as if he were its owner, and was displeased with the condition it had fallen into in his absence. He turned to the other, smaller man--a whip-thin little fellow with an expression of keen willingness to please. He said something and the other man set it down.
It was the sight of this smaller man that proved to be the ice breaker. "Wiggins!"
Complete shock was on every face as all eyes turned to Nurse Pleakley. The blonde woman had cried the name at the top of her voice, eyes bright with pleasure. "Oh my gosh, is that you?!"
The opposite delegation appeared to be staring with equal surprise, although it was rather subtler. The little man turned and spotted the nurse, and grinned. He hurried away from the large man who had previously controlled his attention, all-but jogging through the room. "Wendy?! Why, what are you doing here, my dear? I haven't seen you in an age! You look lovely--where on earth did you get those shoes?"
The nurse embraced her friend, kicking up a stiletto-adorned foot with delight as they kisses cheeks. "It must be five years, Wiggy! Oh, it's been forever, how are you? Gosh, you're skinny! I didn't know you worked as a teacher--this will be so much fun!"
Cogsworth took the opportunity to glance at Dr. Jookiba. The 'good' doctor was somewhat infamous for his possessiveness of his girlfriend, but at the moment he just looked confused. Cogsworth didn't much blame him. Nothing like this had ever happened before--making friends with the enemy. Sure, there had been a few brief flirtations, and he was certain there were some torrid details he wanted to know nothing about, but actual affection was unheard of.
"Wiggins," barked the heavy-set man. "What the devil are you doing? Come back here this instant!"
"Oops," Wiggins said, looking sheepish. He grinned. "I've got to go, Wendy-dear, I'm on the clock--but let's do dinner tonight!"
"Yes! There's a ton of good places. Let's go dancing after! I never go dancing any more." Dr. Jookiba crossed his arms and glowered at the other man, but the nurse looked completely delighted. Cogsworth thought with annoyance that that was just what they needed: a work romance splintering to pieces in the middle of a conference. How lovely.
Wiggins gave her a business card and hurried back over to his tribe, waving behind him with a huge, genuinely excited grin. They were like a pair of puppies, the both of them.
The private school teachers seemed slighted by the unabashed enthusiasm of one of their number, and stormed away in a suave, well-tailored huff. Good riddance.
Cogsworth shepherded everyone through check in. They got their room keys and split off at the elevators, agreeing to meet in the lobby in two hours. Cogsworth breathed a sigh of relief, only to have his blood pressure jump again as the others departed and he found himself alone with his roommate, about to go up to their bedroom. Lumiere winked at him and held the elevator door open, all but becoming him with crooked fingers to enter.
He was doomed.