Chapter Text
Emily lets out a sigh, brushing imaginary dust from her flannel shirt. She is relieved friday has come. While she is getting used to this new life of teaching, spending 5 days a week with sometimes excited and sometimes moody teenagers does take a toll. Patrick’s invitation came just in time, and with a duty-free Saturday ahead she is planning on enjoying this night. As she goes to knock, the door flies open.
“Professor Cyborg! I knew I liked you for a reason!” he yells, not looking at her, but at the pale ale beers she had brought. His favorite brand, but quickly rising in her list of preferred beverages.
“Shove it, Coach Beefcake.” With a roll of her eyes, she pushes the six pack into his own impressive six-pack, causing him to bend over in laughter. When it became clear Patrick wasn’t going to retire the nickname, she had made it a point of honor to always bite back with one of her own. It was a pleasant game to see if she could make him cackle with laughter, and it had the added bonus of getting onto Larissa Weems’ nerves, as everytime they called each other these ridiculous names, the principal’s left eye twitched. As they were professional enough to not do it around students, she couldn’t say a thing however.
She pushes past him, and drops herself onto his couch, on what had become her spot during their tv evenings. Their taste in nerdy tv-shows aligned surprisingly well, although Emily had great fun ribbing him on the nights his favorite teams played.
“Oh, hi Tom,” she greets the other guest, getting settled in, putting a pillow behind her back. Perfect.
“And just like that, my generous offering of garlic knots has been forgotten”, the vampire jokes. Emily’s eyes light up, she loves snacks. This was going to be an amazing night. She wonders if Patrick has invited a fourth, maybe she can persuade them to play a game of cards?
“No worries, we’ll enjoy this feast soon!”
Patrick hands both of them a can, before looking for a place to sit. He frowns as he notices Emily has spread herself all over the sofa, her bad leg high on the cushions. With an indulgent shake of his head he pulls over his office chair. “Next time, we party at your pad. After all, you’ve got the biggest space.”
Emily laughs. “Bad idea. Remember last time?”
To be fair, deciding to play Guitar Hero on a random tuesday night past 10 pm had not been their brightest idea. Still, the memory of a robed, make-up-less Larissa Weems pinching the bridge of her nose at her door asking them if she needed to set a curfew for teachers as well, never fails to amuse her. After profusely apologizing and sending the principal on her way, the both of them had lost it, causing a giggling fit she hadn’t had since her own school girl days.
Patrick’s slight blush tells her he does remember, but the glimmer of mischief in his eyes catches her off guard. “You mean when I found your ‘literature’?” he says, using his fingers to sign quotation marks in the air.
“There is nothing wrong with reading young adult books,” Emily says in a firm voice, channeling her classroom persona. The books Patrick saw were a gift from Garcia, but when Enid Sinclair, one of her favorite students, had seen her read one on a bench outside, she had squeed so loud an entire posse of preteens had descended on her. She got offered so many title tips and loaner books she would probably be set for the rest of the year.
“Please tell me you are not talking about the books with the pouty teenager and the sparkly vampire?” Tom asks. Emily is glad she was a professional liar, because while she shakes her head feigning indignance, she remembers having seen the movies with JJ. They did critique them off course, but it didn’t mean they didn’t have fun.
“He’s talking about the Laudna series,” Emily explains. “They are good, if you ignore the ridiculous love triangle.”
“Oh,” Tom simply answers, reaching for another snack. “Those aren’t too bad.”
The look of betrayal on Patrick’s face is delicious.
“At least those are written by an outcast,” Tom defends himself. “No ridiculous princes of darkness who cower in front of a crucifix. Or even worse, those semi-erotic werewolf stories with an edgy alpha male.”
Ooh, that was dangerous territory. Emily has already been on the receiving end of one of Patrick’s rants on the subject. It had been a crash course on werewolf society, and how normie literature had gotten it entirely wrong and how pack mentality was much more inclusive than people gave them credit for. In a way John had been right, being a normie teacher was the best way to get a fast education on outcast society. She needs to change the subject and fast.
“And it makes me look cool with the younger Antigone and Ophelia Hall crowd, so there’s that,” she adds.
Tom snorts: “I’m the Maths teacher. I don’t think there is anything that can make me look cool.”
Emily knows he’s underselling himself. She has heard several of the teenage girls in her Hall fawn about his good looks. As she thinks about it, she had not heard many complaints about other teachers. The students might think they are quiet in their gossiping, but these ancient halls carry sound like crazy. She knows who among her coworkers are known as the hardasses and which teachers are overly lenient, but she hasn’t heard a peep about incompetent teachers yet. Weems does a decent job of managing the school, it seems.
“You’re right about that, Numbers boy!” Patrick jokes, earning a garlic knot to the head. Emily leans over to the table, desperate to save the food before it turns into more ammunition.
As she munches on snacks, Patrick is distracted by his phone chiming. He smiles broadly at the message. “My dear newbies, I have a confession to make. I did invite you today for a fun night, but I have … let’s say ulterior motives.”
Emily looks at Tom, who looks back at her equally confused.
“You guys know how the students have a Nightshades club? Us teachers have the Friday club. Which - in my opinion - is the superior club.”
“And you’re telling us this, why?” Tom asks.
“Because you are now teachers, Tommy boy. And if you want to join us tonight, you can.”
“And what is this club?” Emily asks, just a little bit wearily. The Nightshades might be a bunch of rich kids making cocktails, but they are supposed to be the leaders of tomorrow and she really doesn’t need extra responsibilities like that.
“Ah, the first rule of Friday club is you don’t talk about Friday club.”
Tom and Emily groan in unison. That was hardly helpful.
“Don’t worry, you’ll like it.” Patrick smiles and invites them to leave his chambers. It isn’t until Emily sees him grab the last three cans of beer she relaxes. Friday club can’t be that bad, if she’s allowed alcohol.
—
As soon as they enter the teacher’s lounge, Emily easily spots the different atmosphere. The lights have been dimmed - are those lava lamps? - and soft music is playing. On the table stands an enormous amount of bottles of alcohol.
“I have brought the newbies!” Patrick almost yells when he enters. They are greeted with loud cheers, so loud Emily wonders how this can be a secret club.
“Oh, I’m so in.” Emily answers the unasked question.
“Do we… urhm, need to chip in?” Tom asks, gesturing at the bottles.
Patrick slapped him round the back, misjudging his strength as the vampire almost bends double. “One of the perks of having rich kids in a boarding school. They all think they can smuggle this stuff in.” Emily remembers her run-in with Bobby and stays quiet not to incriminate herself.
“We’ll have to bring our own next month, unfortunately,” Manon chips in, whilst producing wine and other glasses from a cabinet Emily could swear had been empty before. Magic? There were not that many witches around. Emily had learned that the witch trials - while killing a lot of innocent women in the process - had also managed to severely set back the magic community. There were no powerful witches or warlocks anymore, but there were several ancient magical items that would be dangerous in the wrong hands. And while it wasn’t advertised, several of those were on the premises. Making Larissa Weems more than just a principal. Speaking of.
“So, how secret is this club? Does the principal know?”
While their working relation had gotten better with Emily even earning a compliment on her color coded lesson plans - all the years of filing reports for micromanager Hotch finally paying off - the two women kept on butting heads. Their latest spat had involved a fidget toy she had handed a young werewolf to stop him from repeatedly showing and retracting his claws… not knowing the very strict policy would earn him detention in the very next class. It hadn’t been a shouting match, but it had gotten close.
“Who do you think started this tradition, my dear?” came a voice from behind her, dangerously close to her ear.
If questioned later, Emily would emphatically claim she did not have a jumpscare. But her heart sure skipped a few beats. As she looks the other woman up and down, she notices that the headmistress has lost her signature high heels, which explain her quieter-than-normal entrance. It is the only visible concession to comfort, as the high end clothing and immaculate make-up is still present.
“Here at Nevermore we work very hard, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun.”
With a wave of her hand, Emily and Tom are led to join some of the other teachers at the table. Some others have already retreated towards the couches in the corner. Nila waves to her, before returning to her knitting, chatting lively with another colleague.
As soon as their asses touch the seats, Larissa Weems leans over the table, just a little bit menacing. “I’m not really one for threats, but I don’t need to explain why it would not be wise for the outside world to know about this little tradition of ours?”
The both of them nod, but Emily could swear Weems just stares at her a little bit longer. As if she’s going to call the board of directors on a bunch of wino teachers.
“Of course, principal Weems,” she says, just to get her off her back.
It earns her a smile, one that doesn’t quite reach the blonde's eyes. “I’ve told you a million times, please call me Larissa.”
Emily smiles back, knowing full well Larissa has not offered her first name at any opportunity, very much preferring things to stay professional between the two of them. Of course, with all these witnesses she had no other choice but to offer, and Emily was going to take this gift with both hands.
“Of course, Larissa,” she demurs, but doesn’t get an opportunity to see how it affects the other woman, as she turns towards Patrick.
“You didn’t invite Marilyn?”
Patrick sighs loudly. “I did. She refused, claiming she was going to spend the entire weekend working on a pet project. I didn’t press.”
Emily isn’t that surprised. Marilyn is pretty good with the students, but doesn’t really interact a lot with the teachers, preferring to stay in her greenhouse if her presence isn’t mandatory. She was probably breeding some kind of new plant. Emily is honestly a little bit afraid of some of the flesh eating plants she has seen the one time she visited.
“Aldric is on a date,” someone interjects, to which makes several other people cheer. It’s clear it’s mostly the younger, single teachers who live on campus who are present. Which makes sense, because it's those who live on campus and not in Jericho.
“Enough talk,” one of the vampires yells. “Who wants to play poker?”
Emily raises her hand. This was going to be an amazing night.
—
Emily had no idea how this happened. One moment she was playing poker, the next about seven of them had dropped themselves near the couches, playing truth or dare with an empty wine bottle.
Most of them were sloshed. Even Emily had gone a bit farther than she had wanted too. She had stuck to wine, refusing to do any shots, not wanting to get too drunk. Undercover work and alcohol was always a bad bad idea, as she needs to keep her stories straight.
At the moment everyone was doubled over in laughter, as Tom with a very red face had to admit who he had been caught snogging behind the bleachers seven years ago when he was a student. Apparently the teachers here had good memories…
He quickly spins the bottle and just a second too late Emily realizes the neck is pointed at her. She had been distracted by Larissa’s nylon clad legs, who were in her line of sight, with her sitting on the floor - legs outstretched with a pillow under her bad knee - and the other woman sitting on the sofa, claiming her skirt was too short to do the gymnastics the other teachers were. Said skirt had risen a bit as the game progressed giving her a pretty attractive view. Emily might not like the woman, but she wasn’t blind to her … assets. .
“Uhm, truth.” As everyone before her she chose the cowards way. Then again, there was not so much they could offer as a dare, as their secret club activities were contained to this room.
“Emily, I’m going to assume you are single…. That’s not the question! Don’t answer… unless you’ve got like a secret.. urhm… partner or something.”
Tom was nearing his breaking point, slurring his words. Emily sees Nila leaning forward - sitting quietly in the back with her knitting, nursing her what Emily suspects is still her first glass of wine - probably considering if she needs to accompany to his bed.
“But what is your type?”
She blinks for a moment. Her backstory is that she had been married, but had left Canada after her marriage fell through. She doesn’t think she has devoted a single word to her imaginary man the last few weeks. Even with Patrick she hadn’t really breached the subject of relations.
Who did she have in mind again as a model for his character? Not Doyle, that’s for sure. Hotch would be weird, no?
Oh, she’s taking too much time. They are staring at her. She needs to say something.
“I’m .. uh, newly divorced, actually.”
That got a response, with several people talking over top of each other.
“So, husband or wife?” someone asks.
Emily blinks again. How did she spend years in the closet at the bureau, surrounded by accomplished profilers, while these teachers clocked her within the month? It’s the plaid shirts, isn’t it?
“Husband actually. But I don’t … I don’t mind…”
Manon rises to her defense, glaring at her coworkers: “Hey, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. Private life is private. Just take a sip, and we’ll continue with this silly game.”
“Oh I don’t mind,” she blunders through the next sentence. “It’s just …” Just in time she gets a hold of her feelings and backstory. She’s bisexual, so why couldn’t Emily Mitchell be. “ Don’t ask, don’t tell was still a thing when I was in the army. I’m not used to talking so openly about it.”
The others fall over themselves to assure her she could be herself, referencing the Gay-Straight Alliance club that was present in the school. It warms her heart, both for herself and the teenagers somewhere in the building.
“So, anyone caught your interest here?”
Emily just hears Garcia’s voice in her head, teasing her about her so-called crush on Larissa Weems. Well you mention her an awful lot for someone you don’t like. She just chuckles as she shakes her head.
“Happy single. Sergio is currently all the man I need in my life.”
This causes a new eruption of loud voices calling out in wonder and confusion.
“Her cat.” Weems answers dryly in her stead. “A little black bugger that likes to skulk the hallways in the dark and seems to end up before my feet every time.”
“Oh, shit, sorry,” Emily apologizes. She likes that Sergio is exploring after she made him move yet again, but she doesn’t want to get him into trouble. She does enough of that for the two of them.
“Don’t be, he’s rather sweet in his own way.”
She must really like her cat, Emily thinks as she realizes she has just gotten away with a swear word.
“Oh!” Tom exclaims: “the black cat that likes to ride on Bobby’s mail cart!”
This triggers a new round of giggles in the room, with people showing pictures on their phone to the ones who have not witnessed Sergio’s carriage yet. Emily’s might be the loudest. It was al Garcia’s fault of course, she had gotten the cat addicted to riding around on her roomba. At least Bobby seems to like the company.
“Your turn, Professor Cyborg.” Patrick stretches out and kicks the bottles towards her. She glares playfully at him.
“I’m gonna make you do jumping jacks till you barf if it lands on you, Fabio.” she threatens, as she launches the bottle into a spin.
It doesn’t. Of course it lands on Weems. It takes all of Emily’s self control not to swear.
With an eyebrow raised the principal locks eyes with her and goes: “Dare” as if she’s throwing a gauntlet in the arena. She might as well be.
Kiss me.
Where the fuck did that thought come from?
She looks at the principal, very aware that a) the entire room is now collectively holding its breath at the potential explosive moment unfolding before them and b) the woman is still in a way her boss and probably has the ability to kill her especially now when she could not run away. So she needs a tame dare, but goddamnit, she also wanted to win one over on the smug goddess.
Drawing it out, buying herself sometime, she eyes her up and down, as if she was gauging her competition. And a worthy competitor she was. Sat on the couch, lording high above her employees - yes, Emily understood the logistics of not stretching out on the floor with a tight skirt, but she could be a bit bitter about it - she hardly looked like she had been drinking. Not a hair out of place, lipstick still perfectly red on her lips, and dressed in a tan elegant two-piece like she just stepped out of one of her meetings. Chanel? Hèrmes? Emily was pretty sure she had never seen the woman not wear a dress or skirt.
She just blurted out: “Don’t you have any jeans?”
The eyebrow rose just a tad higher, accompanied by a smirk. “That is a truth question, dear. Not a dare.”
Deciding to just go with it, Emily doubles down “I dare you to go to your room and change into jeans, so you can join us on the floor.”
“And what if I don’t have any jeans?” Weems counters with that annoying little smirk of hers.
“Sweatpants, yoga pants, whatever you wear when you’re cleaning your rooms.”
While the teaching position came with full room and board, everyone was expected to keep their own rooms clean. And Emily knows for a fact Weems regularly cleans, because she hears the vacuum cleaner, accompanied by seventies soft rock ballads, in the room next door like clockwork on Wednesday nights and Saturday mornings.
“Challenge accepted,” Weems simply says and rises to her feet. As she slightly wobbled before straightening herself out - just a tad drunk or maybe just stiff from sitting down too long? - Emily can’t help but smirk at the tiniest crack in the other woman's perfect image, before getting distracted by the nylon clad legs passing closely by.
As the door closes, Emily realizes she’d been staring. Thankfully, she wasn’t the only one.
“You know what, you’re right. I’ve never seen her in pants before,” Manon speaks, breaking the silence.
“A toast to pants!” Patrick bellows and gestures to the others to follow suit. Glad that her glances had gone unnoticed, Emily complies. “We should switch over to some water soon, though.”
Nila pipes up from the back of the room: “I’ll start brewing some coffee.”
The conversation quickly devolves from talking about pants into a lively discussion of whether you really couldn’t wear white after Labor day.
When the door clicks open again to reveal Larissa striding in, wearing the promised pants. They are linen, in a dull ochre color which was a slight departure from her usual style and they hug her hips perfectly. As Emily’s eye travels up, she meets a beige shirt, worn loose and not buttoned up. It merely accentuates a darker t-shirt that has clearly been worn a lot, the print on it faded beyond recognition, but Emily thinks she sees the silhouette of the Nevermore school of arms. She is distracted by the soft swell of her breasts however, to give it much further thought.
Larissa blushes profusely when the cheers start up again with at least one howl from one of the fang teachers. She mock-glares at them, urging them to take a seat, but toasts with them as they salute to “Pants!” again.
Emily comes back to herself when Larissa settles on the ground and grabs the bottle to spin it. As it lands on Manon, the game continues without further complications, while the smell of coffee starts to permeate the room.
Knowing the evening will soon come to an end, Emily relaxes. This was just what she needed. It had been an amazing evening.
Patrick crawls closer to her, to whisper gleefully in her ear. “I saw that look, my darling cyborg. I thought you hated our principal.”
Scratch that, Emily thinks. This night was just the start of a nightmare.