Work Text:
“Okay, Shirogane, you can do this.”
Mitchell Iverson paused in the midst of reaching for the handle of the supply closet. He might be missing an eye, but his ears still worked perfectly fine. So why the hell was he hearing things?
“Just… just walk up to him. It can’t be that hard, right?”
No, that was definitely the voice of one Shirogane Takashi coming from inside the closet. A quick glance at the crack beneath the door told Iverson that the light was off, too. So, unless he was beginning to hallucinate, the Garrison’s star student, the most talented pilot Iverson had ever seen, his protégé, was inside a dark closet, giving himself…
A pep talk?
“Kogane! Do you—no, that’s not…” A sigh. “What’s up, Keith?” A frustrated noise. “Dangit. Hey, Keith. Do you want to grab a coffee or something?” A thud and a sigh of exasperation. “So, I was thinking, I like you a lot, and…”
Oh. Well, Iverson couldn’t say he was particularly surprised, neither at Shiro’s intentions nor the fact that he was being a complete headcase about it.
But he was here to teach, not give dating advice. He made a face, making an abrupt turn back in the direction of the faculty offices. He didn’t know what Shiro was so worked up over. One look at Kogane’s big eyes whenever Shiro entered the room would have told anyone with a brain that Shiro had nothing to worry about.
He’d steal some post-it notes from Montgomery.
—
Iverson, however, had plenty to worry about. Chief among these things was the fact that the next day, Shiro looked positively… goopy.
There was no other word to describe it. Iverson had spent roughly forty-five minutes wracking his brain for one before acquiescing in defeat to the term. God. Shirogane Takashi, a sap. Iverson should have seen it coming, but he didn’t think anything could have prepared him for this.
He at least seemed to be trying to control himself. Shiro performed his usual duties of TAing Iverson’s class with the same professionalism as always—even with a constant dreamy expression, even if his eyes did seem to stay fixed on Kogane for most of the time, while Kogane had the opposite problem, unable to look anywhere near Shiro and sporting a constant flush on his face.
Iverson didn’t have to like it. In fact, by the time class was over, he couldn’t see any situation involving Shiro’s dating life of which he might approve. Shiro deserved to be happy, of course, but did anyone deserve Shiro? He was such a hard worker, so dedicated, and would undoubtedly put all of that effort into any relationship he entered. Either way, Iverson was going to keep a close eye on Kogane.
…It was probably a good thing he’d never had kids.
—
Shiro seemed to have himself slightly more under control Friday evening, when the two of them settled into Iverson’s office to grade that day’s exams. The smile hadn’t left Shiro’s face, sure, but that was hardly a cause for concern. He had responded eagerly to Iverson’s questions about his studies, excitedly shared his latest simulator score, and praised the exam results of a student he had been tutoring. For several blessed moments, Iverson thought that things might return to normal.
Until Shiro picked up his datapad, opened the first set of test results, and his face immediately fell.
Iverson took a few moments to see if Shiro would bring up whatever plagued him on his own; he didn’t exactly want to seem like he was spying. But Shiro didn’t say anything, instead simply staring at the screen, clearly forlorn.
Dammit. He’d bite. “Something wrong, Shirogane?”
Shiro’s head jerked up, and for the briefest of moments, he looked like he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“What? Oh, I just…”
Iverson’s instincts, honed over decades in the military, warned him that this conversation was about to take a turn into a territory he would very much dislike. He cast back to earlier that day, and his memory hit on one very specific image: Kogane, brilliant as always, finishing his test twenty-five minutes before anyone else, turning off the datapad, picking up his bag, and leaving.
Ah.
“Sir, I’ve never asked before. Never really had a reason. And I still don’t,” Shiro added quickly. “But… is there a policy on if students can date teacher’s assistants? We’re—uh, they’re both technically cadets, but…”
Sweet fucking jesus, someone save him. He debated drawling “Don’t ask, don’t tell,” but he’d been in the military long enough that the words carried a lingering hint of bitterness to them, and it technically wasn’t the official policy—just Iverson’s.
“Well,” he began, choosing his words carefully, “it depends. If the TA is in the same class, it would technically be against the rules, since most people would favor the person they’re dating.” Iverson hoped he had been clear enough, since he knew Shiro would voluntarily swan dive off the Grand Canyon before allowing that to happen. Still, he added more, just to emphasize his point: “So, not the sort of thing you’d want to share with a professor.”
Shiro nodded solemnly, shifting in his seat. Iverson could spot the relief in his expression; he was clearly under the impression that no one knew about him and Kogane. Iverson had no intention of dissuading that notion. For a moment, he thought that his hints had worked, that this entire situation wouldn’t be a problem.
But no, that would be too fortunate.
Shiro seemed to steel himself, taking a deep breath, his mouth opening. This idiot was actually going to tell. This brilliant idiot was going to out himself and Kogane, forcing Iverson to make Shiro either break up with his new boyfriend or step down from his TA position. Goddammit.
“Anyway,” he said, pitching his voice loudly enough to startle Shiro, judging by the slight jump, “let’s divvy up the tests to grade. I’ll take everyone with a last name of A through K. You take L and onwards. Work for you?”
All of the tension visibly drained from Shiro’s form, and he smiled faintly. “Yes, sir.”
—
Post-it notes.
Montgomery had only given him a small section of her stack the other day, and Iverson had made his way through those in less than a week. Ideally, this time, he wouldn’t be stymied by another of Shiro’s pep talks to himself. He paused in front of the supply closet, just to be sure.
No sound. Good. With a relieved sigh, he reached out to grip the handle, pulling open the door.
Now, however, he could hear something, an alarmed gasp as his remaining eye took several moments to adjust to the darkness. No—his ears identified two alarmed gasps.
Someone up there must have it out for him.
He blinked a few times, and though the last sight in the world he wanted to greet him when opening a supply closet was Shiro and Kogane, both with backs pressed to the shelves after clearly jumping apart when the door opened, the universe clearly didn’t care what he wanted.
Iverson reached over to flick the light on with an unapologetic, stiff motion. Both of them squinted as the light flooded the room, indicating exactly how long they had both been in here. Wonderful.
Iverson crossed his arms, taking in the state of the two of them: panting heavily, rumpled clothing, certainly out of dress code for the Garrison. At least a few buttons on Shiro's jacket open, complete with an extraordinarily guilty expression as he watched Iverson. Keith, of course, wore one of mulish resentment, as if it were Iverson’s fault he had burst in on them, but Iverson caught a bit of wariness, too. He had a feeling that if he tried disciplining Shiro, there would be a much fiercer reaction.
Melodramatic and unnecessary, of course.
"S-sir," Shiro stammered, finally straightening and saluting, though so flustered that he used the wrong arm. "I was just... uh..."
"Shirogane." Iverson kept his tone neutral and uninterested, though with a hint of chastisement. "You know these materials are only for the seniors and faculty. The younger cadets should be using the supply closet on the third floor."
Both of them stared at him like he had just grown a second head.
"...Sir?" Shiro choked out disbelievingly.
"You know the rules. The more expensive supplies are only for upperclassmen." He slid his eye to Kogane, not reacting to the bewildered squint now leveled in his direction. "But I'll let it pass this time if Kogane promises not to take them again. And you promise to make sure he uses the other supply closet."
"O-oh." Shiro cleared his throat, lifting his right hand to run his fingers nervously through his hair. "Yes, of course. Sorry, Sir. We were just... studying, and this one was closer, and—"
"Won't happen again," Keith interrupted, snagging Shiro's sleeve and tugging him away from the shelves, expression still cautious but not quite wary anymore. "We'll go now."
"No, not yet."
The two of them froze, and Iverson wasn't sure if he had ever seen such matching expressions sheer panic on the faces of two cadets.
"Grab me a package of sticky notes. Actually, grab me five."
—
Grading tests that evening had him home two hours later than he would have liked, and by then, he was expecting dinner to be cold. Bennett, however, saint that he was, had kept chicken con queso in the oven, teasing Iverson that he always knew when he'd be home a little late. After all, as a civilian married to a military man, you developed a sixth sense for this sort of thing.
Maybe this entire situation was karmic backlash for managing to convince someone like Bennett to marry him.
“Caught Shiro and Kogane making out in the supply closet today,” he grumbled between bites of chicken and rice. “Do they think this is being subtle? Goddamn, I thought I’d been clear to make sure they didn’t let any of the professors know.”
Bennett let out a bark of delighted laughter. He’d taken the news of the situation with more good humor than Iverson,; that was for sure. Iverson lifted his eye to glare at his husband. Bennett lifted his hands in capitulation, but his grin hadn’t faded. “How long will they be in detention?”
Iverson paused, then returned to his food, this time determinedly not looking at Bennett. “Didn’t give them detention,” he sighed. “Told them Kogane wasn’t supposed to be taking supplies from the faculty closet.”
Bennett choked, staring over at him. “Mitch—there isn’t any way they believed that.” At Iverson’s resigned shrug, Bennett laughed again, but this time it was disbelieving. “They did? Aren’t these two supposed to be top of their classes?”
“Shiro definitely thinks he got away clean. I’m not sure about Kogane; he’s harder to read.” Iverson sighed. “I just hope Shiro sorts his shit out before one of the other professors catches on. If they haven’t already.”
A knowing hum from Bennett’s direction, and Iverson’s gaze snapped back to glare at him. “What’s that for?” he asked, though given the smug look half-visible from behind Bennett’s mug, Iverson wasn’t exactly sure he wanted to know.
“You’ve just changed a lot, is all. Loosened up since we met.”
Iverson rolled his eyes, shoveling down another bite of food. “Not a chance. I’m still the same hardass I’ve always been.”
—
Three days later, Shiro was at least subtle about avoiding Iverson. Kogane, however, didn’t bother concealing his disdain.
“Something wrong, cadet?” Iverson asked sharply as Kogane shot him a particularly poisonous glance when passing by his desk to leave. “If there is, you’d better speak up now.”
Iverson could see the conflict warring on Kogane’s features. Interesting, he mused; back when he had started at the Garrison, Kogane had been willing to object to any hint of authority that even wafted in his direction. Now, however, he seemed to be considering not only which words to use, but if he should even engage at all.
Iverson tried not to think about who might be responsible for that behavior.
“You kept Shiro late,” Kogane finally said, almost accusingly, the scrappier side of his nature apparently winning out. “On a Friday. A Friday night. Are you punishing him or something?”
Iverson inhaled through his nose, counting to four, held his breath as he counted to seven, and exhaled through his mouth as he counted to eight. “Yes, Kogane. He’s my Teacher’s Assistant. Participating in the duties he’s assigned as part of his scholarship isn’t punishment. It’s literally his job.”
Kogane set his jaw. “Right, Sir , but even you have to agree that the timing—”
“The timing,” Iverson interrupted, “is because I had an exam that day, across three classes, and needed his help in grading them. Ask him; I’m sure he’d be happy to tell you.” Iverson lifted his chin, fixing Kogane with a hard look. “What I want to know,” he began, voice flat, “is why it seems to matter so much to you what Cadet Shirogane does on his Friday nights.”
Iverson had to clamp down harder than he ever had in his life on his instinct to burst into laughter as Kogane turned an impressively brilliant shade of crimson at the question.
“Uh…”
Admittedly, seeing Kogane speechless instead of ready to argue had its own satisfaction to it.
“Just wondering, cadet,” Iverson drawled, now having a bit too much fun.
Kogane opened his mouth, stammered for a moment, then hoisted his bag over his shoulder and turned to flee.
Iverson counted to five after Keith had vanished before allowing himself to snicker to himself.
—
And yet, life went on. Shiro’s availability didn’t change too terribly much, though he still seemed to be walking on clouds every time Iverson spoke to him. Still, not something he could really complain about, since his work was still top-notch. Kogane continued to impress on the training simulators. If they could instill a sense of discipline and responsibility into the boy—and they had already made a good amount of headway in that direction—he’d be an incredibly valuable asset to space exploration.
It was for reasons like these that Iverson had become a professor, and as much of a twist as things might have taken lately, he didn’t regret it one single bit.
What he did, regret, however, was not becoming one earlier. Tenure, he thought sourly, staring at the ugly backside of a building, was a bitch. And he’d only missed the seniority that brought with it an office in a coveted spot by maybe a year, too. God, he couldn’t wait until Reyes retired. Maybe then he’d get an office with a good view instead of one that the ass end of two buildings—
A flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he looked down.
Kogane had slipped into the gap between the two buildings and was jogging through the alley. Iverson straightened immediately; when cadets ran, something was often wrong, or they were up to something they shouldn’t be. He focused on the form—
—and it propelled forward, leaping into a waiting Shiro’s arms.
Iverson snorted at the sight as Shiro buried his face in Kogane’s neck, spinning him around. The noise didn’t even sound convincing to himself.
Maybe the view wasn’t that bad.
—
“Cadet Kogane, exactly what do you think you’re doing?”
Iverson glanced up from his desk at the stern voice, nearly unrecognizable for a few moments before he realized that the speaker was, in fact, Shirogane Takashi. And that the object of his ire was, in fact, Keith Kogane.
“Uh,” Kogane said, looking as bewildered as the rest of the classroom had to feel; Iverson had no idea if he had ever heard Shiro turn such a stern voice on another cadet. “Going… to my seat?”
“Class started five minutes ago,” Shiro said stiffly.
Iverson raised an eyebrow. Shiro could be an impressive disciplinarian when need be, but to jump on someone—to jump on Kogane, especially—over such a minor infraction, especially when Shiro had turned a blind eye to students with such a punctual reputation arriving late before…
Ah. So that’s what this was.
“Yeah, I know, but I—”
“Being at the top of the class doesn’t excuse you from being here on time.”
Christ, he couldn’t even pretend to be a hardass without complimenting Keith. Iverson and his secondhand embarrassment had had enough. He stood.
“Shiro, Kogane has prior approval from me to be late to class.”
Iverson could practically see Shiro deflate as he turned, slowly, to face him. For a moment, his expression seemed as if he didn’t quite comprehend what Iverson had just told him.
“What?”
“Yeah, Shiro. I had an appointment with the career counselor.” Keith watched Shiro, more concerned and confused than irritated, and Iverson couldn’t blame him. “I told you yesterday. Did you forget?”
“Oh,” Shiro said, voice faint, looking like he was questioning every decision he had ever made in his entire life. “Right. I guess I did.”
“Go take a seat, Kogane,” Iverson sighed, waving him off and shooting Shiro a look. “Shirogane, go… grade some papers or something.”
The two of them slunk off, and Iverson now knew this karmic backlash had to be for something far worse than he had originally thought.
—
“It was the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever seen in my life. ”
Bennett didn’t even glance up from the newspaper. “Even more embarrassing than the time you tripped and fell on your face when you first met a certain handsome reporter who had been sent to interview you?"
The look Iverson leveled at Bennett was one of deep betrayal, but Bennett didn’t even look up.
“I just don’t give a damn,” Iverson grumbled. “And I wish Shiro would realize that. He’s just giving himself away at this point. Someone else is gonna find out, and then they’ll get in trouble, and—”
“And then they’ll be forced to break up, and Shirogane will be a mess, and you’ll have to deal with his pining again … Mitch, you’ve got to start coming up with new material.”
“Christ,” Iverson muttered. Had he gone on about this that many times? “But it’s only around me, too. They think I’m gonna figure ‘em out and…” He shook his head with a sigh, swirling the whiskey in his rocks glass, but his eyes lingered only on Bennett. “If Shiro knew that I wasn’t gonna tell, he’d probably relax a lot more, but admitting it to him…”
Bennett nodded slowly, and Iverson knew immediately that he understood. Outright telling a student that you were fine with breaking regulations, even something as insignificant as this, could land Iverson in a lot of trouble. Bennett tilted his head thoughtfully, and something inside Iverson curled, soft and fond. Iverson might have been teaching for years, might have the experience with students, but that didn’t equate to being qualified as a relationship counselor. Bennett was brilliant, and much better at romance; he would know what to do.
“Maybe,” he began slowly, “you could leave a box of condoms on his desk with a post-it note that just says ‘I know. It’s fine.’ He won’t be able to prove anything.”
Iverson very carefully set the glass down on a coaster before he chucked the couch pillow at Bennett’s face.
—
Less than a week later found the two of them in Iverson’s office, Shiro seeking one last meeting with his mentor and adviser before…
The two of them stared at the papers sitting on the desk. Everything signed, in order, and prepared. Neither of them said anything for several moments.
“Well, Shiro, you ready to graduate?”
When had Iverson’s voice become so gravelly? His throat didn’t usually feel so thick like this. He’d have to get it looked at; he didn’t want to be sick for graduation.
“I… I think so, Sir,” Shiro replied, voice faint, almost awed, as he stared at the completed paperwork on the desk. “It’s just hard to believe that it’s actually happening.”
Iverson’s face softened. He and Bennett had never wanted children, but if they had…
“I can believe it,” he said firmly. “If anyone deserves to graduate, Shiro, it’s you.” A pause, and then he continued. “I’m proud of you, son.”
Shiro’s eyes lifted, and there was so much hope in that grin, so much anticipation for the future. “Thank you, sir.”
Iverson made a pleased noise, leaning back in his chair. “You’re absolutely welcome, Shiro.” And there was more news, too, that he couldn’t wait to share. “So, what are your plans after graduation?”
He knew the answer to this one; he and Shiro had talked extensively about open positions and which he might apply to.
Or so he had thought.
Shiro’s eyes lifted, and Iverson could see something in the back of them, something he hadn’t expected. An inkling, maybe, that something was off.
“Sir?” Shiro asked quietly. “When did you know you wanted to marry your husband?”
Iverson’s brain halted to a complete, jarring stop. Husband? Bennett? Shiro had met him several times, of course, during visits to the campus and at formal events, but he’d never really been a topic of…
Oh. Oh, hell no. Shiro was asking—
Through his shock, he wasn’t able to think through his words first.
“Longer than six weeks after we started dating, that’s for damn sure!” he snapped.
A beat, then two, and then Shiro’s eyes widened in abject horror.
“Wh—Sir, that’s not—I mean—how— how! ”
Iverson sighed tiredly. The pretense was up; no need to continue it. “I don’t care, Shiro. Please realize this. You’ve TAed your last class for the semester. You’re allowed to date whoever you damn well please.”
Shiro swallowed, and Iverson rubbed tiredly at his forehead. “I mean it, Shiro. Give him some time to finish school before you do anything… permanent. You’re both still young. You’ve got all the time in the world.”
Shiro didn’t look convinced, so Iverson clasped his hands together and rested them on his desk. “Remember, Shiro, everything you’ve learned. Patience—”
“Yields focus, yes, I know,” Shiro interrupted, sounding irritated, but in a way that told Iverson the irritation came from the knowledge that Iverson was right. “How could I forget?”
“Well, I was gonna say that it’ll serve you well in a relationship, but that too.”
Shiro nodded, looking as if he’d swallowed something bitter, but didn’t argue. Iverson thanked whatever deity might be listening; at least he had forestalled an even bigger mess that could have come from this.
They sat in an awkward silence as Iverson gathered his thoughts. He’d meant to tell Shiro, but how did you transition from something like that?
It came to him, finally.
“Do you really think what you have with him can last?” he asked quietly, not a trace of doubt in his voice, but with the tone of someone who truly wanted to know. “A year, at the very least?”
Shiro straightened, eyes flashing, and for a moment, Iverson thought that a large, nasty fight was in their future.
“Of course,” he gritted out, making a visible effort to keep himself under control. “Absolutely.”
“Good,” Iverson said matter-of-factly, and surprise immediately replaced the resentment on Shiro’s face.
“Good?”
Iverson nodded, reaching into his desk drawer and withdrawing a folder. “Yes. Good. Because now, you’ll get a chance to prove it.”
He held up the folder, and Shiro’s eyes immediately went wide. “Sir, is that…?”
Iverson nodded, his mouth curling up in a smile. He dropped the folder onto the desk, where Shiro stared, excitement slowly dawning on his expression.
“Congratulations, Shiro,” Iverson said, pride ringing clear in his voice. “You’re going to Kerberos.”