Chapter Text
George Washington had always been fond of being the fly on the wall.
As a teacher of his age and experience, he had long mastered the art of acting as if he wasn’t paying an ounce of attention while actually listening to every word being said in his classroom. This ability was handy in the ways of catching cheaters and keeping a closer eye on his students, or course, but also held the undeniable plus of being able to constantly eavesdrop on conversations, which never failed to entertain.
He knew of many other teachers that flat out despised students chattering during class, forcing them into absolute silence whenever possible and griping to Washington about the few that refused to shut up like the kid had committed a personal offense to them. Washington would usually respectfully listen to these teachers’ rants, even pretending to agree from time to time and nodding understandingly as if he felt the same way, when, truthfully, he generally hated these educators and avoided them as a rule. But, when you were trapped in the teachers’ lounge with them, there truthfully wasn’t much you could do and he’d had to sit and endure their complaints more than once.
But, really, Washington had always been different than those people. Hell, half the time he actually encouraged his students to talk. It allowed vital communication time on top of helping the concepts he was teaching to be properly absorbed, and kept the kids from getting deathly bored when they were having a bit of a slower day in class. Also, the bits of gossip thrown into intelligent conversations never failed to be extremely interesting, tactfully overheard from Washington’s desk as the teacher mindlessly graded papers and expertly hid his shock that Theodosia Bartow and Jacques Prevost were back together yet again.
And although sitting behind or upon his desk, depending on what time of day it was, and eavesdropping on his students was easily one of his favorite activities, there was an entire new layer of interest that came with overhearing the kids he considered his own.
That would be where he supposed it started, a Monday morning, before the bell rang for first period to begin and already Alexander was getting pissed off at his friends. The boy sat at his desk with his books in front of him and an air of eagerness surrounding him, batting off Lafayette’s fretting hands and defiantly ignoring Hercules’ warning lectures to take it easy while John watched with a sort of vexed but acceptingly defeated expression.
For this insistent mother-henning, though, Washington really couldn’t blame the boys. It was Alex’s first day back to school after a week in the hospital and another week at home during their two-week fall break, finally returning to school after the memorable events of picking up pneumonia, passing out in the boy’s bathroom, George King’s arrest and the custody switch to the Washingtons as their second foster kid. Really, Washington had a feeling that Alex was more than ready to get out of their house again, but that didn’t stop the other boys from fussing over him like a bunch of mothers over a ornery six-year-old with a scraped knee.
Washington, however, had already spent a good week worrying about Alex with the rest of them and felt it was past time he step back into the role of teacher, let the poor kid breathe a little. So, even when Lafayette shot Washington a desperate, exasperated, pathetically-pleading-for-help look when Alex literally shoved him away from his desk, Washington just shrugged from his chair and pointed to the clay I’m WashingDONE sign sitting proudly on his desk (a student had made it for him a couple of years prior in Intro to 3D Art as a joke, but then Washington just seized the crudely done plaque like a hard-won trophy and proudly sat it right where everyone could see it, much to the student’s horror) and let the boys handle it themselves. He’d still be keeping a careful eye on them, of course, and wouldn’t hesitate in the least to step in the moment he thought he may be needed, but he could at least give them the illusion of independence.
“Hercules, I swear, if you ask me one more time if I ate this morning-“ Alex was saying vehemently, glaring up at his friends fiercely as Hercules promptly returned then stubborn stare. There was laughter traced in each of their features even as Alex tried to put up a irritable front, expression defiant but faintly smiling eyes betraying his good humor. That boy was drawn to learning like a fish was drawn to water: Washington wasn’t surprised that even his friends’ neurotically worrying tendencies could bring him down.
“Dude, you literally forgot to eat for nearly 36 hours once,” Hercules reminded bluntly in response to that, leaning against the desk with one hand planted on the wood and the other set on his hip, almost ironically mom-like in its finality. “And you’ve dodged the question repeatedly. Did you eat or did you not?”
Now, Washington knew the answer to this easily, considering it was his own wife that forced the banana upon Alex this morning. For heaven’s sake, he was in the kitchen at the time, sipping his coffee and watching with faint, badly-disguised amusement as Alex attempted to bat off the fruit Martha insisted he take. But, again, teacher-mode. So he instead just propped his feet up on his desk and continued subtly listening to the conversation while pretending to scroll through his email on his phone. He even took the occasional sip of his coffee for added effect.
Thankfully, Laf soon came to Alex’s rescue. ”Oui, he did!” Lafayette piped up helpfully from his place banished to his own desk across the room, voice raised in order to be heard but expression cheerful. His hands were folded before him, calmly resting on the wood of the desk even as his knee bounced with an energy that simply refused to be restrained. “Martha made sure of it before we left for school, je l'ai vu moi-même.”
Hercules’ gaze flickered back to Alex almost smugly at that, a small, triumphant smile on his face. He tipped his head complacently, raising an eyebrow in vague amusement.. “See? That’s really all you had to say.”
“That’s what I did say!” Alex squawked in protest, sitting at his desk and staring up at Hercules in offense. His expression was almost exaggeratedly betrayed with a dramatic hand splashed across his chest, the excitement that came with finally getting back to school after two stressful weeks away bleeding into each of them. Even in the mock argument with actual purposes, the glint of humor never left Alex’s eyes. “Seriously, guys, would you lay off the worrying already?“
“Nah,” John responded easily, obvious amusement at the situation tugging the corner of his mouth up. He perched on the edge of Alex’s desk, one hand supporting his weight as he leaned back to see Alex better and the other twirling a drawing pencil between his fingers absently. Washington noted the open sketchbook still residing on John’s own desk a couple of feet over, a half finished sketch light and rough upon the snowy white surface. “It’s way too funny to see you get all worked up. Besides, you’re cute when you’re flustered.”
Alex seemed to be trying very hard not to smile, stubbornly keeping his grumpy front up as he crossed his arms over his chest defiantly. “John,” he said flatly, looking up at John from his chair with his chin jutted up in clear, stubborn independence, but his laughter crept into his words despite his best attempts.
John held up his hands in an act of mock surrender, hopping off Alex’s desk and turning to his own as the bell rang, plopping down in his own seat as the announcements began over the loudspeaker and Hercules made his way to his seat as well. “Just saying,” John said passively, but the smile that followed was enough to coax a grin out of Alex as well.
Washington kicked his feet down from his desk, rolling his chair closer to the table and folding his hands upon the wood. He swiped his coffee again with one hand, taking a long sip from the thermos as his students settled into their seats, the announcements completing a moment later, signaling to the teachers to begin first period.
Setting his coffee back down, Washington leaned forward slightly with his hands folded upon his desk, reveling in the quiet that soon settled over his class and the expectancy that came with it. The teenagers stared back at him in varying degrees of interest, some appearing engaged and prepared and others half asleep, but his gaze soon settled on his boys again in that moment of anticipating quiet, with the students waiting for him to begin. Hercules was smiling faintly, clicking his pen mindlessly as he waited, while Lafayette just seemed to be excited for the day in general and John was watching Alex with a distinct fondness in his expression and his sketchbook still in front of him, Alex watching Washington in turn eagerly with a pencil in his hand and a spark in his eyes.
“Good morning,” Washington said into the classroom, voice low and eyes smiling, and class began.