Chapter Text
It's suffocatingly warm in the classroom, and darker than it should be. Ms. Whitby already opened the windows to let the breeze in while it's still cool, but it won't matter once there's 28 seventh graders at their desks. She left half of the ceiling lights off on her way in. One of the long tube shaped bulbs is burnt out. It can't be on while it's being replaced, which will hopefully happen at some point in the day. She looks at her planner and sees who she's meant to be meeting with this morning. Ms. Whitby knows, of course, that he's coming. Shelly had told her he would. Still, she finds it a little hard to believe as she finishes her second cup of coffee for the day. Her eyes linger on a photo she's had framed on her desk for the past few years. She's always been the sentimental sort, putting more of her heart into her career than she really needs to, according to some older colleagues, but her first class still means a lot to her. He’s easy to find. He'd been the tallest boy, standing in the back with the few girls who were quick to tower over their classmates. Even back there, small and indistinct, she thinks he looks tired.
She had had memorable students since, of course. Kids who were bright, kids who couldn't get help with their work at home, kids who were… behavioral challenges that she hopes are doing well in highschool now; but no one has ever worried her as much as Cor Leonis.
She can't help but linger on the memory of four years ago as she pulls Shelly’s file out of her cabinet, all three report cards signed and sent back as proof her dad had seen them, like all of her classmates. Like her brother, four years ago. The signatures are all the same. She's sure they would even match the ones on Cor’s, if she still had them. The thought makes her heart stick in her throat.
She had known it would be a difficult conversation to have with Mr. Leonis, (Atticus, he had told her, with a tired uneasy smile just like his son's), not one she had expected to have in her first year of teaching. These things happened, she was told. She had also been told that some people weren't willing to accept help, even as children, and that she couldn't force the boy who seemed to fall asleep in every class and never finish his homework to care if it just wasn't something he was willing to do. Sometimes being held back a grade was what a kid needed for them to start trying , the other seventh grade teacher had told her. But Ms. Whitby had never been convinced that Cor wasn't trying. Not when portions of his work actually got done sometimes.
Atticus had just sighed and nodded, thin hands idley picking at the seam of the long sleeved shirt he wore despite the baking, end of year temperature inside of the outdated school building. He shook his head when she asked if he had any idea why Cor was having such a difficult time, if there was anything going on at home.
“He's not… causing any trouble, though?” he had asked. The question had surprised her.
“No, no. He's a good kid, Mr. Leonis, just… struggling.”
The look of relief made him seem less gaunt, and that had been most of it, she thinks. She knew the boy’s mom was gone after what she had thought would be a cute mother's day project, that his dad worked two jobs and couldn't help him with his work. Atticus was just another parent making sacrifices so his kid would have a lunch to eat. It let her ignore the long sleeves and the way his hands trembled skightly, let her not think too hard about how small his pupils looked when she happened to catch his shifting gaze.
But she had thought about it later that year, when August rolled around and Cor was nowhere to be seen, fallen through the ever-widening cracks of their poorly funded school system. She's thought about it ever since.
She thinks about it now, looking up from her notes as she hears a knock.
The young man who stands in the doorway should be finishing his junior year of highschool, she knows. Instead he's in a Crownsguard uniform, and her heart still hasn't left the odd little nest it's made in her throat. He seems to be waiting for her to allow him in, but before Ms. Whitby can open her mouth his sister gives an annoyed little huff and steps around him, slinging her bag off of her shoulders and unpacking at her desk.
Ms. Whitby holds back a chuckle. “You can come in, Cor.”
His eyes scan the space as he steps in. She hasn't changed much about her classroom since she first moved into it. Shelly goes to the doorless closet in the back to put her book bag on her hook. She passes Ms. Whitby’s desk on her way out of the classroom and ruffles her hand through her brother's hair as he sits down.
“Shel-” he groans as she giggles, “-just go to the library already.”
The girl laughs out a quick “Bye” and skips out of the room. Her brother runs a hand back through his hair, combing down the unruly spikes she just made, a note of embarrassment in his earthy, cinnamon scent.
Ms. Whitby pretends to take a drink from her empty mug to hide her amusement as he collects himself. After a moment she clears her throat and sets it aside in favor of Shelly’s file.
“Now, because this is the only opportunity I've had to check in with someone about Shelly’s development, I would like to start from the beginning of the year.”
He nods. “She's… doing okay, right? I've seen all of her report cards and she hasn't failed any classes.”
She looks up from her notes on the fall semester. Were she not an omega his calm demeanor and firm hold on the emotional aspects of his scent would have fooled her. “Parent-teacher conferences happen regardless of how the student is doing for this age group. It is not the same as when I was required to speak with your dad.” His jaw relaxes, and he nods.
She goes over Shelly’s grades with him. She's an average student with mostly B’s and C’s, and Ms. Whitby breaks down the units and assignments she had more difficulty with. Things like parts of speech and algebra had given her some trouble, and her penmanship could use some improvement with highschool essays getting closer. Socially the girl is well liked and she has gotten better at working with others instead of just taking charge of group projects (a note that makes him bite back a small grin), and she's noticed an increase in her willingness to go to her teachers for extra help when she needs it.
“There were some times throughout the year where I noticed her productivity and attention decrease, as well as her seeming more fatigued, like maybe she wasn't sleeping well? Do you have any ideas as to what could have caused them?”
Cor frowns. “She's never mentioned having trouble sleeping. When was this?”
Ms. Whitby winces. “Well within the past few weeks most recently, but given that you've become her guardian in that time I assume there was some… stress at home.”
The teen grimaces. “We haven't had any issues aside from… that , though. Well,” he begins to correct himself, “a… work incident landed me in the medical wing for a night a few months ago, but nothing other than that. Do you have dates?”
She does. As she lists the first few spans of time she picked up on he leans back in the chair. She pauses, looking at him.
“I was on assignments,” he says quietly.
“Do you have odd hours that cause a change in routine?”
“N- well… outside of the Wall, I mean.”
“Oh!”
“I get sent away sometimes. She probably just gets worried.”
“I see,” she says quietly. “And… who is responsible for her when you're away?”
“Our neighbors have always kept an eye out, Miss Wendy is on her emergency contacts list if something ever happens at school when I'm not available.”
Ms. Whitby nods. “Well, other than that there have been no concerns. She is eligible for our summer school programs to help her in her more troubled areas however, if the two of you would be willing to consider it.”
“I'd have to talk to her,” he frowns.
She nods again, glancing over her shoulder as she hears one of the janitors wheeling a cart in the hallway. “We have a pamphlet with the details you can take with you,” she says, grabbing one from the small stack on her desk. She opens it, pointing out which program she recommends and the sign up dates, paying only a glance to Michael as he walks in with his tools and a ladder, his prosthetic knee joint still clicking slightly. He’d been complaining about that, she thinks briefly. The young man has his back turned when Cor looks over his shoulder at the noise.
“There are also tutoring programs held at the public library in the next neighborhood, but you would have to ask around there for more information.”
“Are we able to go there when we don't live in district?”
She nods. “They've been allowed to issue cards to residents around here ever since our library was closed. Her public school ID would also be enough to enroll her in their children's programs.”
“And that works over the summer?”
“So long as the new school year has not begun an ID for the previous year will be accepted,” she affirms. As she does she notices that Michael has paused in setting up his tools. Instead he's staring at the back of Cor’s head with an odd expression.
The younger man opens his mouth tentatively. “Leonis?”
Cor's eyes widen and he turns in his seat. They stare at one another a moment. “Velox?”
A broad grin splits Michael’s face. “Well I'll be damned,” he laughs, “I thought something about that voice sounded familiar!” He looks at her, then, and the grin turns a bit sheepish. “Sorry Anne, didn't mean to disrupt.”
“We were nearly finished,” she smiles with a wave of her hand.
Cor stands to greet him properly. When he puts his hand out to shake Michael grabs it and pulls him in for a hug instead. It's a firm squeeze, but not held long. Michael claps him on the shoulders when they part.
“I hear you've been out there making a name for yourself, huh?” He laughs again. “Keeping an eye on the royals now?” It seems to be the boy’s turn to look sheepish as he's released from the embrace. Ms. Whitby’s eyebrows raise at the comment, but Michael keeps talking. “Is his Highness still trying to single handedly keep every infirmary he passes stocked on potions?”
Cor rubs a hand down his face with a quiet groan, aging himself with the tired expression she feels too familiar with. “Not while we're looking.”
Michael snorts, putting his thumbs through his belt loops. “Hey, it was always good to know he cares, honestly. What's got you here of all places? Pretty sure you're too young to have a middle schooler.”
Cor shifts his weight awkwardly. “My, uh, sister goes here. I'm her legal guardian now.”
Michael allows whatever grim assumptions can be made from that statement wash over him without comment. “Sister? Is she the tall one?”
The boy seems to bite back a grin. “Yeah, that would definitely be her.”
Michael's gaze wanders, and his eyes meet Ms. Whitby’s.
“I take it you know one another from the service, then?” she comments.
Michael nods. “I would've died out there if it weren't for his scrawny little self somehow dragging me with him.”
“I wasn't that scrawny.”
“You certainly got tall very quickly,” she chuckles. Usually she wouldn't tease him, but… it's good to see him act the way a teenager ought to. Cor looks embarrassed as Michael tilts his head.
“You knew him back then?”
“He was one of my first students.”
“I thought you've always taught seventh grade?”
“I have,” she confirms simply, pulling out her folder of lesson plans for the day.
“I… joined a bit younger than I should have,” Cor admits. The severity of the understatement could almost make her laugh, if she didn't cry first.
“Well we all figured that , but so did Scotty and Ambrams. They were what, six, eight months out from sixteen before we got deployed? We were all high school drop-outs,” he chuckles. “The few of us still around meet for drinks every month or so, by the way. If you're interested. I know Scotty’s said he's asked, but….” He turns to grab the screwdriver he needs to remove the cover on the light fixture instead of continuing.
“I can't.”
Michael looks over his shoulder. “Hm?”
“I'm…” Cor shifts his weight awkwardly, “still seventeen for another couple of months.”
Ms. Whitby busies herself with counting out worksheets for each class period so she doesn't have to see the look on her coworkers face. Michael himself is only twenty-one, she knows. Was still a teenager himself when he was deemed unfit to serve after losing his leg, used up and discarded by Mors’ war. She doesn't want to think about the way he said ‘the few of us still around’. She takes a deep, steadying breath. She can't let her thoughts linger there, or she'll be forced to bite back her simmering anger for the rest of the day. She's missed part of the conversation by the time she's calmed herself.
“We just put in a correction on my file once I actually turned sixteen, same as everyone else. No one really says anything about it.”
“Of course they don't,” Michael mutters. “You are… way too stubborn for your own good, Leonis.”
“People tend to say that, yeah. Pretty sure they could have said that about most of us.”
Michael agrees, somber. “Yeah… we had one hell of a group, huh?”
Cor nods silently, and Michael finally climbs the ladder. Ms. Whitby meets his eyes in the silence that follows.
“Well.” She slides forward the summer program pamphlets for both the school and the library for him to pick up. “I'm glad you were able to come for a conference this time. If you find that you have any questions about what we discussed we can schedule another time to talk.”
Cor nods, thanking her quietly as he takes them from her desk. They say their goodbyes, and she can't help but hate the uniform as he turns his back and leaves.