Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

TEMP TA NEEDED AT GREENDALE’S ELEMENTARY, DETAILS BELOW:  

“Aha!” Dawn exclaimed, from across the room. “Here’s a perfect one!”

“What is it?” Marianne approached Dawn warily, overly familiar with her sister’s enthusiasm about things like jobs, boyfriends, and general life activities.  

“It’s a teaching assistant position at our old elementary! It’s perfect for you!” Dawn gushed.  

“Hmm…” Marianne hummed, reading the details of the position and drumming her fingers on the table.

“It does sound good… From eight to two only… And for four months starting from the beginning of the school year!” Marianne allowed a trickle of excitement to rush through her body.  

“That will let me save just enough to move away from here!” Marianne could already picture it: Driving away leaving smoke cloud in Roland’s stupid face, and never looking back.   

New year, new life!  

Dawn’s lower lip quivered at her sister’s words, “You really want to leave Greendale? Leave me?” She gave Marianne the big sad puppy eyes.

“Aww, Dawn!” Marianne groaned, “Don’t do this to me again!”   

“But.. but…” Dawn began to mutter.  

“You’re not even going to be here this school year! You’re starting college!” Marianne was having none of her baby sister’s guilt trips again. 

Ever since she broke her engagement off a month ago, all Marianne could think about is how she wished to get away and move on. Her slimy ex, Roland, kept harassing her, ambushing her in the most unexpected places. She just couldn’t handle it anymore!  

Today, he manifested like a nightmare from hell while she queued at the supermarket, waving a bottle of wine and saying, “Come on, Marianne,” He drawled, flashing a sickeningly perfect smile, “One drink for old time’s sake?” As if she hadn’t caught him tongue deep in anther woman’s throat just a day before their wedding.  

She barely managed to hold off on pummelling him, but she got in a few decent verbal punches, coloured by choice words that caused some older women in the shop to gasp. 

To avoid outright murder, she had to get the hell out of Greendale, And FAST. The summer was almost over, and her temporary job as a waitress in a local restaurant was not enough to save up the money she needed.   

Sure, she could have a position at her father’s car dealership, but she would rather die a slow, agonising death by a steamroller before working with Roland every day.

  “I’m going to call them now,” Marianne said, picking up her phone.  

“Still can’t believe you planning on abandoning me…” Dawn muttered under her breath, sulking and crossing her arms petulantly. 

“Sorry, can’t hear you, on the phone!” Marianne walked off to her bedroom, waving a hand towards Dawn.  

“Hello, yes, I am calling for the temp teacher’s assistant position posted in the paper?”

.

“When can I come in for an interview?”

.

“Tomorrow? perfect.”

.

“Uhh… Will 11am be alright?”

.

“That’s great! See you then!”

 *click*

Marianne sat on her bed for a moment, hoping she’ll get the job. The more work, the more distraction, and the more distraction, the less she has to think about how her whole life’s plan crumbled to pieces less than a month ago.  

She closed her eyes so the tears wouldn’t escape, but one runaway still slid down her cheek, to be wiped off by a hand. 

Marianne jumped at the touch, and her eyes flew open to see Dawn, her hand still reaching out to Marianne’s cheek.   

“I’m sorry,” She said, with tears in her voice, “I know it’s been hard on you. I don’t want to make it any harder.”  

“Oh sweetie, you can’t,” Marianne exhaled a breath she didn’t know she was holding, “None of this is your fault. You didn’t do anything to make me want to leave. You know that, don’t you?”  

“I just… I’ll miss you, big sis.” Dawn’s sky-blue eyes overflowed, causing Marianne to have a fresh bout of tears herself, “I will miss you too, Dawn,” she managed to choke out.  

The sisters embraced, holding on fast to each other. Since the death of their mother, Marianne, being six years Dawn’s senior, had to act as a parent to the younger sister. Dawn didn’t remember much about their mother, and only knew Marianne to fill that role. 

“I’m not even leaving yet, Dawn!” Marianne pulled away from the embrace, laughing and rubbing her eyes. “There's ages still! Maybe you’ll be tired of me by then, huh?” She started tickling all of Dawn’s sensitive spots on her waist.  

“Argh! Mari, HAHAHA, anne!!” Dawn tried to squirm away, but only ended up falling on top of Marianne, both of them bumping heads before collapsing on the bed, breathless, where they lay with their hands clutched together.

“Maybe…” Dawn looked at her sister, speaking after a few minutes of comfortable silence, her big eyes showing nothing but innocent hope, “Maybe… Working at the school… You would remember how much you used to want to become a teacher. Do you remember what you used to tell me?”  

Marianne sighed. She did remember, “ ’Tell me and I forget. Teach me and I remember. Involve me and I learn.’ “ She recited.

“Yeah…” Dawn looked up at Marianne’s ceiling. “Involve me and I’ll learn…” She turned back to Marianne, “Let me help when I can, Mari. I want to. I’m not six anymore. You can lean on me, you know.” 

Marianne looked back at her sister for some time before answering. When she found her voice, she reached to stroke Dawn’s short blonde curls, “Yeah… I know.”

Chapter Text

Marianne hated job interviews. 

They were always so wretchedly stressful, and she wished someone could just look over her resume and let her know their thoughts without her being there to watch it happen. 

How awkward it is to have someone read everything you did in your life in front of you, so they can judge you? It was unreal! 

With a sharp inhale and her shoulders straightened, Marianne tucked a short strand of hair behind her ear, pulled the black pencil skirt she chose to wear lower towards her knees, and made sure the magenta button-down short sleeved blouse was tucked into place.

The school was low but wide building, with a few low steps leading to a set of large double doors. There was an attached parking lot, and in front of the school, on the road, there was a designated aisle for the pick-up queue. Despite having plenty of fond and not-so-fond memories of the school, There were so many things that weren’t there before. It made Marianne anxious, the unfamiliarity layered over the familiar. 

Reaching for the door handle, Marianne swallowed her anxiety and walked into the vaguely familiar halls she had trudged as a youngster, her footsteps echoing, and the school eerily quiet. It was just over a week till it would be flooded with tiny people, but that’s the one thing Marianne was not daunted by.  

She had always found kids to be entertaining and not the least bit stressful. In fact, she felt calm around them. They came up with the most unique perspectives and phrasing, things that made her laugh and smile with ease she couldn't gain around other adults. With children, there were no expectations, just welcoming smiles and sweet acceptance that made the sticky hands and occasional outbursts worth the whole while.

Marianne turned to the left corner she knew to be the way to the front desk, but somehow got turned about. She tried randomly opening doors to find a clue to where it may be, but somehow, to her chagrin, she managed to get herself so lost, that she couldn’t even find her way back to the main hallway junction. 

Only I could get lost in my own school, Marianne thought in dismay. 

Trying one last door, and getting discouraged further when it turned out to be another supply closet, she walked backward with the intention of returning to the main corridor when she bumped hard into something. 

Marianne flailed around for a bit, almost falling to the floor in her surprise, before two very large hands grabbed her around the shoulders to stabilize her. Unfortunately, she had been in a situation before where someone tried to drunkenly grab her in a dark room, and instant panic rose before she could help herself. 

Her right fist connected with a fleshy SMACK sound, and the offender sailed backward through the doorway and into the hall with a grunt, his long limbs sprawled on the floor. 

“Oh no!” Marianne hurried over to the tall, gangly man she had just assaulted. With a hand over her mouth, she kneeled by him on the floor, accidentally bumping his head with her knee, eliciting a quiet “Shit!” from her and another groan of pain from the stranger. 

“Oh, my gosh! Are you ok?” She hovered both hands around his head, not touching but with a horrified desperation to do something. “I’m so, so sorry!” she began, word vomit gushing out of her mouth. 

 “Oh man, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you, you, you just grabbed me and I got startled and then I, I, kneed you in the head, and oh, damn, I’m so sorry…!! I got grabbed at a college party like that once and, and, and I just reacted, and I am just so sorry…!”  

The man opened his eyes and the color of them finally shut Marianne up. They were the most stunning blue she’s ever seen. Shocking in their appearance in an otherwise gruff face. 

She kneeled at the floor, face turning from white to red, as he started to sit up, rubbing at his jaw with one hand, and the other side of his head with the other. 

“Och, it’s all right,” he grunted, with a slight Scottish lilt she was not expecting. 

“It’s not all right, I hurt you!” Marianne said, completely mortified at her violent reaction. 

“Uh, pay it no mind. I used to bash around enough when I was young to take a hit or two,” he said, getting up and rubbing his stubbly jaw, “Ye got a good right hook on ye there!” He looked down at her, still kneeling on the floor. 

 She suddenly realized she was on the floor, at crotch level with this stranger, and nearly stumbled getting up, almost missing the way his ears turned bright red as he hastily took a step back. 

“Are yer knuckles okay?” he asked, gesturing with a pointy chin at her hand. 

Marianne cradled her hand, feeling sore, but hardly comparable to the red mark she could already see spreading over the left side of his jaw. “I’m fine! Don’t worry about me!” She lied, trying to remember to keep her voice down.

The stranger gave her a gimlet eye, obviously suspecting dishonesty but thankfully, didn’t insist by asking again. Since she was still in a state of appalled shock, he took initiative and bent to picked her dropped handbag up from the floor, offering it to her. She took it with numb fingers, and before she could thank him, he walked over to where the paper she printed for her resume had fallen, collecting it as well. 

He took a quick look at it as he brought it over, as Marianne was still standing still and utterly humiliated at her behavior. She hasn’t felt so out of control in years. 

“Here ye go,” he muttered as he half turned his face away from her looking at the floor, shoving the paper in her direction. “Were ye looking for the reception, by any chance?”  

“Thank you,” she squeaked out, then coughed to clear her throat. “Uh… Yeah, I used to go here as a kid, and it used to be around here…” She answered him, her voice far more dignified now, and she looked around her as if the reception was magically hidden until she stated her intentions out loud. 

“The school had some renovations done some years back, and the reception and principal’s office is right from the front doors,” he explained, his R’s rolling pleasantly, and gestured in the correct direction. 

“Oh, I.. Yes, that’s… Right then. I’m going to be late for the interview.”

“I’ll walk ye there, so ye won’t get lost again,” he said with a smirk. 

They started walking, awkwardly at first, but Marianne couldn’t resist retaliating over the implied mockery.  

“I’ll have you know I spent six years of my childhood here!” She defended herself. 

“Hmm… That does sound like a lot…” he obliged momentarily. “But I have been teaching here for eight.” He finished off smugly, his deep blue eyes twinkling.

“What grade do you teach?” Marianne dropped the banter, suddenly fascinated by his facial expressions.  

“I have second grade this year, but I move around first and third grade too. It depends on the class. They stay with me from first to third,” he said, a slight smile on his face while thinking of the children that will return this year. Marianne’s heart squeezed slightly. “They don’t seem to mind my hideous face!” He suddenly grinned at her, showing adorably crooked teeth. 

Marianne smiled tentatively back, momentarily dazed and unable to answer. She watched as his face comically changed, becoming bewildered, as he realized what he had just said.

“OH!, Uhh… I’m… Ahm… Well, here is the reception, just walk in through the door here.” His long arms waved around for a bit while he mumbled and coughed awkwardly before settling on the direction of a wooden door in front of them. Marianne quirked a smile at this display, despite not understanding what he meant by ‘hideous’. 

“Thanks for helping me find the right place, and I’m truly sorry for hitting you,” She said, looking into his eyes again.  

His eyebrows came down to hood over his eyes, and he met her gaze for a second too long before replying. “It was my pleasure, both times.” His gravelly voice was low, and he walked away quickly, touching the side of his face gently, before she could ask for his name or what he meant by both times.

--------------

Mrs. King at the reception desk was a lovely woman in her sixties, though overly casual with Marianne, considering Marianne was a total stranger. 

She had greying red wiry hair sprouting from her head down to her shoulders. Her smile was wide and welcoming that gave Marianne a certain warm feeling she hasn’t felt in over a decade.  

“Alrighty then, dearie, just fill this form up and Mrs. Plum will see you for your interview,”  

“Thank you, Mrs. King,” Marianne said as she took the clipboard from the older woman. 

“Oh, psh, call me Griselda!” She replied, winking one of her brown, beady eyes. 

“Okay, Griselda it is, then.” Marianne gave her a small smile back as she turned to sit at the short row of chairs across the room from the reception desk.  

Marianne leaned back in the chair and crossed her legs to provide a higher surface to lean the board on. It asked for all the usual prattle and her mind quickly wandered back to the encounter with the strange teacher.  

He didn’t feel like anyone she’d ever met before. His thin, long face was oddly appealing with its transparency; she could tell what he was thinking so easily, it was endearing. He had a long, slightly hooked nose, and it distracted Marianne, as she wished to boop it, if only to watch the blush spread across his sharp cheekbones… And those eyes… They looked like cool, crystal clear lake water on a hot summer’s day, providing relief to feverish heat; the perfect antidote for hot skin… She gently ran the tips of her fingers over her other forearm, raising goosebumps in their wake, subconsciously seeking to put a physical sensation to her thoughts.

.

.

What the hell am I thinking about? Marianne scolded herself, her hand stopping halfway up her arm.  

She suddenly realized she has been staring at the white tiled floor, visualizing electric blue orbs in each tile, not quite able to accurately depict the exact shading. Her fingers itched to hold her 48 piece colored pencils set and her sketchbook.  

Marianne refocused on her half-filled form, and frowned as she contemplated her growing attraction. She wasn’t one to lie to herself about things, fully aware and usually in tight control over her emotions. If she hasn’t only just decided to forgo men entirely, she would have been tempted to jump the mysterious teacher, if he was available and willing, and enjoy the last four months of her life in Greendale. Maybe swap the cringe-worthy memories she has made with Roland with other, more positive ones. 

Surely, a seductive voice murmured, it wouldn’t hurt to cut a little slack…  

But Marianne already turned her back on love, romance, and the gaping hell that was dating. It hurt too much when it eventually fell apart. 

And it would fall apart, She thought grimly, using a little too much force to write the reasons why she wanted to be a teacher on the clipboard. 

—————————————

Principal Plum, Marianne concluded, was a strange woman. 

Marianne never met any school principal quite like her; With her white blue hair stacked high, supported by a silvery headband, multiple golden circlets clinking and chiming around her wrists, and the most hippie sense of fashion Marianne had ever seen in someone running a place like an elementary school. 

Despite of the older woman’s deceptively calm facade, Marianne still felt nervous when Plum questioned her. She had run a silver-painted fingernail down the documents that Marianne handed her, and pasted a pleasant but intent look on her face, mouthing silently while reading.  

This was the part Marianne hated the most. 

The scrutiny, and the anxiety of waiting to hear the verdict was agonizing! 

She hated being pin-pointed that way, being examined. She had enough of that as a teenager, when every counsellor, every therapist, every damn psychiatrist looked her over. Ripples of disgust ran across her skin at the memory of being analyzed, and she tried her best to reign it in. Those days were long past and happened to a different person. She left that part of her behind. Far, FAR, behind. 

Principal Plum finally looked up, having finished her lookie-loo over the resume and the form Marianne filled up earlier. She smiled, showing small perfect teeth behind a pale pink lipstick. 

“Well, I’d say you are just about perfect!” She exclaimed, surprising Marianne with her quick resolution.  

“Ah… Great!” Marianne released a tense breath, “So, I’m hired?”  

“Oh, yes, Ms Fairchild, you are absolutely hired!” She answered, “I do wonder, though…” 

Marianne felt her stomach drop. Here we go… Here start the questions... 

“Why do you apply only for a temporary TA position? You are more than qualified to have a permanent teacher post here.” Plum tilted her head curiously at Marianne, peering closer than Marianne was comfortable with. 

“Well… I mean to leave when the job here is finished. I plan to move to a different town.” Marianne finished lamely, unwilling to share any personal information. 

“I see…” Plum looked as if she saw more than just what Marianne was showing. “Well, In any case, when the temp job is over if you change your mind the offer will still stand. We have an opening for art teacher starting after Christmas, and I see you studied Art History as well as your degree in Education.” She averted her penetrating gaze to the paper, tapping a long, silvery nail on it. 

Marianne squirmed in her seat, feeling put on the spot when the principal’s gaze returned to her. “I’ll consider it.” she conceded, obviously untruthful. 

“Very well, then.” Principal Plum released Marianne from her surveying stare, and turned in her chair to pick some papers out of a drawer.  

“Let’s review the contract, shall we?”

Chapter Text

“Good morning, Marianne!” Dawn’s chipper voice cut through a dream Marianne was having. Something about a blue fog and floating in the air, weightless and carefree… 

“Sis, are you awake?” Dawn’s voice was closer this time. 

Marianne pretended she was still asleep, mumbling a small “Nnngg…”  

“Mariannnnnnne!”she whispered loudly in her ear. 

“Whoa!” Marianne’s eyes flew open, and she sat up abruptly, her head cracking hard against Dawn’s. 

“OW!” Dawn protested falling backward on her butt to the floor, “Why did you do that?!”  

“I should say that!” Marianne said angrily back, rubbing the sore spot on her forehead, “What are you doing, fogging my ear up?!” 

“I just wanted to wake you up.” Dawn pouted, “It’s half-past seven already. Isn’t today your first day at school?” 

Marianne was already on her feet, running to the shower before her sister finished her sentence.  

Damn! she thought. Please don’t let me be late! 

“So… I take it you forgot?” Dawn’s irritatingly smug voice came from the other side of the shower curtain.  

“I didn’t forget! I couldn’t sleep last night, and I guess I slept through my alarm this morning.” Marianne scrubbed her hair and skin furiously, washing herself as fast as she could.

“Hm… Does it have anything to do with all those scribbles and doodles of blue eyes I found in your sketchbook?” Dawn’s voice was superficially blasé. Marianne paused, gritting her teeth, hearing the real unasked question. 

 “NO!” Marianne reached blindly for her towel and saw Dawn’s dainty hand holding one for her at the corner of the curtain. “That’s something completely different.” 

“Oh, you sure ‘bout that?” Dawn taunted her, following Marianne to her bedroom to hassle her more while she put on the clothes she meticulously laid out the night before.  

“Yes! So just leave me alone.” Marianne ran back to the bathroom to brush her teeth. 

“Interesting, that’s very interesting…” Dawn tapped a fingertip on her chin, slowly following on her sister's heels, while looking at nothing in the air. “'Cause I was sure that you hardly touched your sketchpad or your pencils since you met Roland…” 

Marianne choked on the toothpaste, and threw a murderous glare in her little sister’s direction, which completely missed its target since Dawn was still pretending to be Sherlock Holmes. 

“And then, the very same day you went to the interview, you dig them up and start drawing up these… blazing blue eyes, a very specific sort of profile… I… I think I remember who it is…” A deducing smile began spreading across Dawn's face as she trailed off into silence.

Too late, it hit Marianne that Dawn may very well know who she was obsessing over. Dawn was eighteen, and the Mystery Teacher did say he had been teaching for eight years… Meaning that Dawn was in school while he was working there!  

Marianne hurried to spit all the foam out of her mouth. “It’s nothing like that!” she coughed. 

“Is that so..?” Dawn shifted mischievous blue eyes to Marianne’s alarmed ochre ones, staring her down. 

“Damn it, Dawn!” Marianne exhaled sharply, and looked away. “Why are you so snoopy?” She picked up her hairbrush, and began styling the wet strands of her hair.

 Dawn squealed with glee and threw her arms around Marianne. “I knew it!” 

“No, you didn’t!”  

“Did, too!” 

“How could you have possibly known anything when there is nothing to know?” 

“Marianne,” Dawn said, her voice softening. She wiggled a finger in her older sister’s face. “I see you. It’s been tough, but all of a sudden you got that ‘Marianne’ spark back!” Dawn booped her sister's nose, smiling. “You have this weird, jittery vibe around you. And it started when you came home from that interview.”  

Marianne was stumped, hairbrush suspended in mid-air while she stared with horror at Dawn, suddenly realising just how grown-up she'd become. “No, I don’t…” 

Dawn nudged Marianne's shoulder. “I told you, you can lean on me a little. In fact-” at this she walked out of the bathroom, and Marianne took the chance to apply lightning-fast her usual purple eyeshadow and dark lipstick, “-I made you these!” Dawn returned, standing in the doorway with a plateful of home-made breakfast muffins. Their mouth-watering aroma wafted around the younger Springfield sister, like the first golden rays of sunshine in the morning. Dawn must have gotten up extra early to bake them, and even used the fancy parchment paper wraps for the muffins. 

“Oh, come to mama.” Marianne grabbed two soft pastries in one hand, almost groaning at the warmth coming off them. She hurried to her room to collect her satchel and work bag, before going to the door, where Dawn was waiting for a small, pink flowery cloth-wrapped parcel.

"Your lunch!" she declared with a bow, stuffing it into Marianne's larger work bag. "Don't forget to eat it!

"Oh, my God, Dawn, you are an angel and a life-saver and I owe you big time for this!" Marianne put the muffins down for a second, grabbing her keys from the counter by the front door. She paused long enough to snatch up the treats again, and smack a kiss onto Dawn's cheek, making the younger sister giggle.

"Love you, sugarpie!" Marianne called as she headed out, already running.

"Love you, too, honeybunch!" Dawn's chiming voice answered.

————————— 

Marianne devoured the muffins in record time, finishing one before she even got to the car, and the other as she drove. Despite the distractions, she had ample time to get anxious. Chewing on her lower lip during the remaining brief drive to the school, she hoped she wasn’t late, and on the first day too! 

Also… MT will be there… The enticing idea wormed its way to her mind. 

“Oh, no. No, no, no!” Marianne told herself out loud, and if she hadn’t been driving, she would have shaken her head to get rid of the invading thoughts. “This is a temp job. Get in, get out, get paid, get lost. That’s all, and that’s all it's gonna be.”  

Oh, who am I fooling? 

She knew what Dawn said was true. She had been jittery, and weird, and her fingers constantly itched with the need to perfect the striking color of MT's eyes. She hasn’t gotten it quite right, no matter how many times she tried. She even impulsively used some of her savings to buy a new set of pencils, solely for the purpose of capturing the electric, crystal clear lake blue of them.  

Ugh, what is wrong with me?  

She’d never obsessed this way about a subject before. She has had the odd infatuation, like a particularly interesting tree with a multitude of textures on it, some types of butterflies, and the beautiful iridescence of dragonfly wings. But never over a person and never like this… It never invaded her dreams before. The skin on her shoulders tingled, remembering large warm hands on them, and her breath hitched in her chest when she saw the school looming up ahead of her. 

I am in full control.  

Marianne shook off her nerves with a rock-hard mental block of all but the goals she set herself, repeating a mantra to stay focused. 

Get in, get out, get paid, get lost. 

She took a deep breath when she opened the doors to the school at exactly eight O’clock. 

I probably will hardly ever see him. 

She made her way to the front desk, purposefully blocking out the distracting memories associated with it. 

Get in, get out, get paid, get lost.

She coughed to get Mrs King's attention.  

“Good morning, Mrs. King.” 

“Oh, hello again, dearie!” The older woman spun in her chair to face her, a warm smile on her face, and her eyes almost disappearing into her crinkles. “I suppose you will want your schedule now?” 

“Yes, please, Mrs King. Is there anything else I will need to know? Besides what Principal Plum has given me?” 

“Please, call me Griselda. Mrs. King was my mother-in-law, and she was one piece of work!” she cackled as she served Marianne three sheets of paper. "And no, these here have everything you need to know." 

“All right then, Griselda, please call me Marianne.” She gave the older woman a genuine grin, feeling that strange warm feeling again, and wanting to join her in her mirth. 

“Oh, you are such a pretty thing! Tell me, are you attached to anybody at the moment?” Griselda suddenly looked closely at Marianne. 

“Uh… um… No, I’m not?…” Marianne had a vague sense of dread as she saw the other woman’s eye hood over with speculative shadows. 

“That’s too bad!” Griselda smiled much too brightly in contrary to her words. “Well, I see here you’ve been assigned to the second grade, with Mr. King.” She looked over the papers still spread on the counter. 

“Mr King?” Marianne an instant wave of vertigo wash over her. “Second grade?” 

“Yes!” the other replied enthusiastically. “I think you two will get along swell! My boy is a sweetheart!” 

Get in, get out, get paid, get lost. she repeated the mantra to keep her steady. 

Marianne didn’t hear herself wish the receptionist goodbye and good day. She didn’t feel her feet take the steps and her hands hold the papers she was given. She hardly saw the hallway leading left of the front door where the first, second and third-grade classrooms resided. 

Get in, get out, get paid, get lost.  

She came back to herself as she held the doorknob to the classroom, noticing the sign hanging on the inner side of the glass rectangle on the door, written by hand in a beautifully elegant script: Mr A.B. King, Second Grade. 

Get in, get out, get paid, get lost 

Marianne entered the classroom, and her eyes immediately found the one thing she half-hoped to avoid. His narrow-waisted, wide-shouldered back was turned towards her, clad in a white button-down shirt. A pair of grey cotton slacks covered his lengthy legs. His dark brown hair was cut short at the back, but she knew it drooped slightly to his eyes at the front. She could see the defined muscles of his wide shoulders as he easily moved heavy plastic boxes from a low cubby to a higher shelf.  

Get in, get out, get paid, get lost. 

Her mouth felt like the Sahara desert, and she wished for nothing more than a tall glass of Mr A.B King.

Get in, get out, get paid, get lost. 

Marianne pulled herself together, swallowed hard, and found her voice. “Good morning, Mr King.” 

Get in, get out, get paid, get lost. 

Her heart stopped when he stiffened at the sound of her voice. The thin cotton shirt strained against his shoulders as he slowly turned around to her, a box still in his arms, and the floored expression on his rapidly reddening face made it all too easy to see the shocking blue of his eyes.  

Get in, get out, get paid, get lost. 

Get in, get out, get paid, get lost. 

Get in, get out, get paid, get lost. 

Get him, get out, get laid, get… wait, what?

.

.

Shit.

Chapter Text

Bog hated the summertime.

Ever since he was a child, summer only served to remind him even more of his strangeness and difference. His classmates and neighbours would point out the length of his limbs and their skinniness. They would laugh and make up cruel names based on his appearance. His facial features were always too sharp, too rough and ugly and unappealing. Names like stick bug, and goblin, the latter being based on a particularly underhanded reversal of his name as well as his hideousness stuck with him for years, from class to class, school to school.

As a result, he had isolated himself—hiding long, scrawny arms and legs beneath unseasonable clothes. Bog stayed away from pools, refused to wear shorts, became frustrated with every attempt his mother made to dress him with summer-appropriate clothing. Even as an adult at the height of summer, the ingrained habit of covering up remained. He wore long-sleeved shirts, full-length trousers, concealing the condition of his body.

Fully grown, he still didn’t enjoy his summers. Bog was sorely lacking in social connection, and threw himself into different solitary activities. He missed work, and his life in the school. He missed the children. The kids were eager and brought happiness to an otherwise empty life. 

Bog thought it was a privilege, an honorable duty, to take care of his class. He had about twenty to twenty-five students each year, and most stayed with him for three years. He got to see them grow and change and mature, Bog got to be a  part  of the process. When they moved on, he remembered them all fondly, their little faces, and hoped to dear God he had done all he could to make a positive impact on their lives. 

Eight years of teaching provided him with many memories of small, volatile faces and expressions, amusing things the students would say, countless small gestures that warmed the dark, hollow part of his chest that longed for a family of his own. 

Teaching was a calling for Bog. It was his purpose. He enjoyed coming in every day, welcoming the kids, teaching  and  learning from them.

So, Bog’s summers sucked. They were boring and dull and grey. The sun was hot and mocking as he wandered, overdressed where ever he went. He still got funny looks for the way he was dressed, but at the very least those looks could only assume, could only imagine. There was the benefit of doubt. He could take that, at least, rather than undeniable proof of his state. 

To fill in one such horrible summer day, he drove his mother to their shared place of work, where she was a receptionist. There was a meeting taking place later in the morning, and Griselda was needed to be there to welcome the prospective employee. Bog decided to may as well join her and get a head start on the class preparations. He waved goodbye on his way to look over the second-grade class, and spent half an hour perfecting a class sign with his name on it. After five attempts, he was pleased enough with the results, and rose from his desk to search for a string with which to hang the sign.

 A small sound of frustration alerted him to the presence of another person in the hallway, and a soft  click-clack  told him it was a woman in heels. 

Perhaps the possible new staff member? 

The poor woman would be startled at the sight of him, so he kept quiet, hoping to make it to the supply closet before reaching where ever she was wandering around. 

Was she lost? Should I try and help?

The door to the small supply closet was unlocked and open inwards, and a short, brown-haired figure was backing out, just as Bog was stepping in. She hadn’t seen him behind her, and her head bounced hard on his chest. The woman jumped in surprise at the unexpected contact and leapt forward, tripping over the corner of a box and almost pitching into a paint bucket that was carelessly left open. 

Bog reached out automatically, grabbing her before she could fall face-first into the white paint, and pulled her straight again. 

Before Bog could run away after touching the stranger, the short woman turned around, and he caught a vanishing glimpse of wide, fearful light-brown eyes, just as her closed fist connected with his jaw.

Whoa! What the hell is going on?!

He was suddenly sprawled on the floor, when Bog heard a shout, and felt another knock at his head. The little viper that hit him was kneeling close by, and Bog heard her curse quietly, before asking if he was okay,

It hurt, not a bit, and he thought of the power in her fist before the long stream of words she was muttering finally registered. 

“…I got grabbed at a college party like that once and, and, and I just reacted, and I’m so sorry…!”

Ah, the poor thing feels bad. Better put her out of her misery.

Bog opened his eyes, and a beautiful vision swam in front of his face. Her brow was crinkled with worry, and her mouth grimaced with dismay. She looked like a fairy, or a pixie, or some other kind of magical creature that one only ever read about. Slowly, her heart-shaped face turned an attractive pink. And she was  apologizing to him . 

Putting distance between them, he sat up, rubbing his hurt jaw, trying to hide his face from her gaze. It was bad enough to get disgusted looks from regular people, but a gorgeous woman like this one cringing away would hurt—a  lot .

It took some reassurances to soothe her kind heart, but she clearly felt uncomfortable in his presence. Bog took pity on her. 

“Ye got a good right hook on ye there!” he said, trying to distract her as he got to his feet. 

Too late, he realised he stood much, much, much too close to her still kneeling figure. Bog took a hasty step back, feeling out of sorts as the woman stumbled her way back to her feet. Ears red and burning, heart racing, and hands trembling, Bog disguised his anxiety with awkward talk.

“Are yer knuckles okay?” 

The little pixie-like woman brought her hands to her chest, and Bog spied the right hand cradled within the left, clearly hurt. But she was adamant that she was all right. There was not much Bog could do, other than narrow his eyes at her with suspicion.

Still shaken, he went to gather her fallen belongings, handing them back as he collected them from the floor. A sheet of paper, with a resume format, confirmed his earlier suspicion. The fairy-looking woman stood stiffly, hardly moving a muscle.

Oh, my God, I hope I didn’t scare her. 

“Here ye go,” he said, looking away from her wide-eyed stare as he held out the hand still holding the resume. Those butterscotch eyes were too much for him to bear looking into for too long. “Were ye looking for the reception, by any chance?” 

“Thank you,” her voice squeaked slightly, and Bog struggled not to smile as she cleared her throat. “Uh… Yeah, I used to go here as a kid, and it used to be around here…” She looked around the empty hallway, as though expecting a miraculous manifestation of the front desk before her very eyes. 

The urge to smile was stronger still, but Bog swallowed it back. 

“The school had some renovations done some years back, and the reception and principal’s office Is on the right when ye come through the front doors.” He lifted a hand, palm up, to show her the way.

She mumbled a few words, before confessing to almost being late. Truly, she was lovely. Plum painted lips, and large eyes made larger by the dark shadows over her eyelids. The pixie twitched hands and shuffled from foot to foot as she spoke. 

Stop staring, stop looking, stop, stop, STOP.

“I’ll walk ye there, so ye won’t get lost again.” Bog gave her a smirk, internally screaming at himself to just go back and finish the class sign.

What are ye doing?!

Pixie straightened herself, nettled by the small tease. “I’ll have you know I spent six years of my childhood here!”

Don’t answer. Say nothing. Just leave her be.

“Hmm…” he heard himself say, from a distance. “That  does  sound like a lot… but I have been teaching here for  eight .” 

Ye smug arsehole. What are ye even saying??

To his immense surprise, Pixie continued the conversation, undeterred by his rudeness. Even more surprising was how she kept trying to get him to turn his face entirely to her. 

His mouth moved, breath stirred in his chest, sound left his throat, his legs walked, but Bog saw it as though someone else was at the helm. Whomever it was, left the wheel unsupervised when Bog said, “… They  don’t seem to mind my hideous face!” And to his horror, he turned to face Pixie fully, grinning widely with idiotic delight.

Pixie gave a blank, empty smile. It would have been funny if not for the dawning realisation of how much he had just fucked up.

“OH! Uhh… I’m… Ahm…”  Say real words, you twit!  “Well, here is the reception, just walk in through the door here.”

The beautiful woman smiled shyly, and tucked a strand of hair behind one ear, obviously confused by his ridiculous, erratic behaviour. 

“Thanks for helping me find the right place,” she said, her voice low, and Bog felt a hitch in his breath when she lifted her eyes to meet his. “And I’m truly sorry for hitting you.”

Knowing he was about to leave, knowing Plum was somewhat harsh with new employees, and thus unlikely to hire anyone at all, knowing he would probably never see her again, Bog allowed himself to meet her gaze full on. No holding back. No averting his attention.

Just for a second, just for a little while, no hiding.

“It was my pleasure. Both times.” He said, referring to helping her, and sharing the sparse few minutes of talking to her. A pleasure that will not happen again, no matter what. 

Bog turned on his heel, and walked away quickly, before he could do something  really  crazy and dangerous, like ask for her name or touch her again.

.

.

About a week later found Bog at his home, getting pestered,  again,  about the state of his face. 

When Griselda had finished at the school, she went searching for her son, finding him with an ice pack to his jaw in the teacher’s lounge. She asked and nagged with hardly a break to breathe in her questions about his injury. All he said was he’d done something stupid and got hurt from it. 

There was no torture that could ever make Bog admit to have spoken to a woman while in the same room as his mother. For all she knew, he thought women were repulsive and unappealing, and they were formed from unrecognisable blobs of random shapes and colors.

If Griselda knew what impact Pixie had on him, Bog would  never  live it down. He wouldn’t put it past her to track the poor woman down. The older lady still attempted to play matchmaker with him, bringing all manner of females randomly over for dinner. Bog loved his mother dearly, but some days, it was hard to remember why.

The mother and son drove to the school on the last day of the summer holidays. Bog’s heart stopped for a second when he thought of the slim possibility of Pixie getting employed by the school. It was certainly possible that Griselda would flex her longtime friendship strings with Plum, to help secure a spot for the young woman. 

His mother was nothing if not tenacious, and it would be cruel to put Pixie in such a position--to force her into his company solely for the non-existing chance anything between her and Bog could begin.

Saying all that, though… Pixie sure left her mark on him.

Literally—his jaw was black and blue on the left side for days, and only now was beginning to fade into the yellows and greens that singled healing. 

Bog would find himself touching the bruise multiple times a day, as his mind wandered to the stranger. Tingles followed the pain with the memory of the small contact. His hands would feel as though they burned as he recalled the warmth of her shoulders. 

It had been many years since anything stirred in Bog’s black, twisted hearts--since anyone, or anything, had such an impact on him. 

For the millionth time, he went over the short conversation, picking it apart, replaying the sweet tones of Pixie’s voice as she spoke.

“I got grabbed like that in college,”  she told him.

He accidentally snapped a pencil in half as the meaning of the word washed over him. Grabbed, she said. 

Bog knew all to well the sort of things that happened in the reckless abandon of youth when mixed with alcohol, having suffered the consequences when he was younger. But, thinking of Pixie, picturing her in a dark room, light pulsing all around her small frame, demonic-looking, clawed hands reaching for her from the shadows, surrounding her and giving her no escape…

Hands fisted around the broken remains of the pencil as a violent urge to keep Pixie safe flooded his system with adrenaline. Rage made his vision turn red. Why do some people assume themselves so important that other people’s wishes no longer matter? They grant themselves permission to touch, grab, caress… To  take  without consent.

Something cold and slimy slid down his spine, along his arms and down his throat as he tried to swallow. A horribly familiar voice spoke in his mind.

But, aren’t ye the same, ye fucking hypocrite?  A taunting voice garbled.

No… No… I’m not.

Yeah, ye are…. Ye did that… just like all those fuckers…

No… It’s not the same… Stop…

Ye took…ye had…

Shut up.

She wasn’t a happy receiver…

Shut up!

Screamed right in yer ugly, disgusting face, didn’t she?

SHUT UP!  

And ye just laid there, like a MAGGOT! 

SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP!!!

Bog’s mental roar seemed to have finally quieted the demon.  At least for now , he thought with desperate resignation.

I deserve whatever I get.  Bog stood in the classroom, hand fisted over his stomach as he fought to keep his gorge from rising, sweat beading across his skin.

It didn’t matter whatever happened from that moment on. Bog would keep to himself, as he usually did, and whether Pixie would be employed or not, was none of his business. Her position would not likely be around where Bog worked, and if he had to eat his lunches in the classroom to avoid the common areas, so be it.

That is,  IF  she got hired.

Yet another crushing wave of temptation rose to greet him as he longed to go to his mother’s desk and ask for details. What was the woman interviewing  for?  Did she get the job? If so, when would she start?  What is her name?…

No! You stop that kind of thinking, ye big oaf. Yer curiosity will only torment ye.

Bog groaned. This was just the sort of thing he fought so hard to avoid. Obsessing over a person that existed more in his mind than in reality.

Really,  he thought,  I need to grow the hell up.

At least today wouldn’t be so terrible for Bog. The last day of the summer break was set aside for the teachers to prepare their classrooms. And none took it more seriously than he did. He arrived extra early, planning his schedule carefully to fit everything in. He began with a meticulous check of all the furniture—testing every little chair and table for uneven wobbles, correcting what he could, and exchanging the ones that couldn’t be fixed for others in the storage rooms. Bog filled the marker containers, taking care to set every possible color in abundance to avoid squabbles. 

He was in the middle of examining the arts and crafts corner, shifting things around, lifting heavy boxes and swapping between them to see what would work best where, when it happened.

Even with the distraction of getting the class ready, another snippet of Pixie’s voice swam to his fore-mind.  “I used to go here as a kid…” 

Bog’s mouth twisted as he wondered if a kind person like Pixie would have joined in on the bullying from his childhood. 

No, no, no. I don’t even know her, and I can tell she’s a good person. 

Her kindness and concern were a balm to Bog’s sore soul. He wrapped cold hands around the small flame she’d chosen to give him, giving off light in the darkest reaches of his heart.

No matter if she worked in the school. No matter if Bog saw her every day. No matter if she ignored him, and pretended he didn’t exist. The tiny candle was lit and burning, staving off the darkness.

Distantly Bog heard the classroom door open as he moved plastic crates around. He paid the visitor no mind, assuming it was his mother or one of his teacher colleagues, likely there to pass a message on. Bog was too distracted to turn around, his thoughts revolving around a soft voice and a hard fist when that very same voice spoke something new. 

“Good morning, Mr King.”

Oh, no. It can’t be… She couldn’t be…

How could one’s body feel like a block of ice and a pillar of flame simultaneously? 

Bog supposed it was one of those mysteries of life, as he froze and burned at the same time. Her presence was magnetic, and he felt himself turn without choosing to--slowly, reluctantly, like a planet orbiting the sun. 

The plastic box full of glue bottles, colourful bundles of pipe cleaners, and bags of googly eyes was clenched tightly to his chest, providing little defence against her.

It was…! She was… Right here…?

Golden-brown eyes were huge in the small, fairy-like face, full of what Bog saw as apprehension. She wore a simple sheaf dress of dark purple, a satchel slung across her body, resting over one slim hip. It seemed his memory did her a  little  justice, as she still looked just as delicately magical as she had the week before. Her brown hair tidied to a careless flyway style. Black gladiator sandals wrapped her small feet to her ankles, showing off shapely legs.

But, oh. Ever more heartbreakingly beautiful than Bog remembered. More now, there was no remains of regret and sorrow on the soft lines of Pixie’s face.

 She regarded him almost as intensely as he regarded her.

.

.

Shit.

Chapter Text

There was silence all around. The air stood still. The classroom was empty, except for the two of them. Arranged around the room were five low hexagonal tables, each equipped with six child-sized school chairs in a variety of bright colors. In the center, there were containers filled with a colorful array of markers, scissors and other creative tools. Along the right side of the wall, there were large windows, and lower down, there were cubicle cubbies, with pillows on the topside, making comfortable seats. Two metal closets stood on both corners of the wall.

By the farthest closet, MT stood frozen and unmoving.

Holy smokes. Wow. Damn it, wow.

He stared, and unlike the first time they met, MT did not avert his gaze. 

Marianne’s breath caught in her throat. Every intention of further introducing herself was halted, along with the train of her thoughts.

Oh, no. Oh, boy. Uh, oh.

For three long, wasteful years she’d been with Roland, and never—never—had he, or any other man, looked at her that way. Not once, not even close. As if… As if she was the sun, and he was a flower thirsty for the sweet, warm rays of her presence.

What is happening here? What’s he doing? How is he doing that?

Goosebumps erupted across Marianne’s skin, starting from the crown of her head, traveling down fast and violent to coat her with tiny electric tingles. She only barely held back the shudder that desperately wanted to follow in their wake, but couldn’t stop the soft sigh from escaping her lips.

All the while, her feet hadn’t moved an inch, her hands still clenched at her sides.

Why is he still staring? She wondered dimly. Why am I still staring? 

There seemed to be nothing to do about the suspense. Marianne was trapped, and it looked as though MT was too. So, they continued that way. Held outside the grips of time and space. The background faded to smudges of dull color, and Marianne felt herself tip forward without moving a muscle. The shock of blue eyes loomed closer, and it was as if someone or something had taken a magnifying glass to him, even though he stood still as a statue across the room.

Marianne’s breathing accelerated, and the pressure in the air was almost enough to make her pant.

Even though she knew his name, or at least, his last name, Marianne couldn’t think of him as anything other than Mystery Teacher. The curious energy that crackled between them only added to the enigma. Seeing him like this—tall, lean, his long features clean-cut and expressive—only rekindled the flames of attraction.

Oh, my God. Not here… This can’t be happening. Marianne, get a frigging hold over yourself! Look away, just look away. It will stop if you looked away.

But she couldn’t. Like a bird under a snake’s hypnotic gaze, MT had her pinned.

A bubble of air began forming in her lungs. What she would have done with it, she had no idea, and had no chance to discover.

“Dearie! Ms. Fairychild!” 

Griselda’s loud call snapped the cord that bound Marianne and MT together. Instantaneously, it felt as though the air that was sucked out of the room whooshed back in, allowing the pair inside to breathe again.

Marianne jumped like a cat. Her short brown hair all but bristled at the sudden intrusion, and she hastily turned back to the door in relief when there was a loud crash, and an exclaimed “OW!” from the direction MT stood.

She ignored it.

“Oh, there you are, dear.” The older woman came through the doorway and popped her head around Marianne’s unmoving body in search of her son.

“Bog! You all right there, Son?” she called out. The son in question buried his head in the closet as he shifted things around the floor. His ears and nape were lobster red, and his voice squeaked when he answered.

“Ahh, yes, Mother. Hm, mm!” The poor man crouched down, still facing the corner, and began gathering the contents of the box he held before.

“…Okay…” Griselda looked suspicious, but seemed to shake off her doubts as she turned back to Marianne. “Anyway, Ms. Fairychild, you left your bag by the front desk, so here you go.” With that, MT’s mother held out Marianne’s work bag with a wide smile. 

After Marianne took her bag, Griselda proceeded to walk a little further into the classroom, calling on MT, or Bog, or King, or whatever.

“Bog, I hope you Introduced yourself properly to this young lady!” she whispered too loudly, her hands on her hips.

Bog rose from his crouch, legs and arms unfolding in a magnificent display like a fan unfurling. Still pink around the edges, but in more control over himself, he walked between the little tables and stopped about ten feet away from Marianne, looking somewhere around her chin as he spoke.

“Good morning. My name is Aloysius Boggart King,” he spoke formally. His usually soft Scottish accent morphing to a rumbling burr with the utterance of his full name. Marianne’s already weak knees almost buckled under her.

He didn’t offer his hand, choosing instead to tuck them behind his back as he bent imperceptibly forward.

“Uh…” Marianne said lamely, before clearing her throat and trying again. “I’m Marianne Fairchild. I’m starting here as…a…temp…?” Her voice faded as Bog’s eyes seemed to be pulled reluctantly higher to meet hers.

Now, this is just plain ridiculous. What is it with this guy?!

Thankfully, Griselda came to her rescue not a moment too soon, the sound of her excited voice breaking any tendrils of the wildly irrational connection, saving Marianne before she could catch on fire and turn to ash. “I just knew you two will get along marvelously!”

At his mother’s smug tone, Bog’s face twisted and he tore his eyes away from Marianne.

She thanked Griselda, smiling weakly after being released.

“Oh, think nothing of it, Ms. Fairychild. I wanted to see if you managed to find the classroom, anyway.” Griselda’s eyes twinkled as she looked from the tall, slouched form of her son to Marianne.

On cue with this shady behavior, MT further slumped and tucked his hands into the front pockets of his trousers, as if not restrained, he might strangle his mother. Marianne understood the urge, after witnessing first-hand the fishy, speculative way Griselda was smiling.

The poor guy was painfully uncomfortable, and Marianne felt sorry for him. She decided to take pity and divert his mother’s attention. “Please, call me Marianne. And Griselda? Could you please show me the way to the teacher’s lounge?”

Two birds one stone. I need some coffee STAT.

“Oh, dear. I’m afraid I can’t.” The older woman’s forehead wrinkled, and she put up a halfway decent show of looking regretful. “But Bog here can walk you there!” Griselda brightened again, and reached an arm out to grasp her much taller son’s elbow, dragging him closer to Marianne and the door.

Well, that backfired fast. 

He turned an adorable red, and Marianne felt her heart, which managed to settle over the last few minutes, accelerate again, flooding her own cheeks with heat.

Oh, no. This is bad. This is very, very bad. 

“All right!” Bog snapped, pulling his arm back from his mother’s vice-like grip. He stepped closer to the exit, walking in a broad curve around Marianne, to stand by the door and wait politely for her to leave first. 

.

.

The hallways echoed with memories from Marianne’s childhood. Ghostly images of running down these halls, only to be reprimanded by the hallway monitor replayed over and over again. Parent-teacher meetings with her mother and father, competitions, school events, friends, enemies, teachers. Things she thought she’d forgotten. 

Marianne walked slowly, pensively. Taking her time to look around, and try to relax her stiff posture as Bog strode along, matching her pace. He kept his hands in his pockets, and if she didn’t know better, it was almost as if he tried to make himself as non-threatening as possible.

The strange teacher walked as far as the hallways allowed, further than Marianne’s arm could reach. Was he afraid she would touch him?

Hm. Maybe he’s a germaphobe? 

No, no. His mother touched him without an issue. But then, during their first meeting, he didn’t reach for a handshake, either. Nor did he hold a hand out to help her stand…

Still wondering what the deal was with her companion, a photograph in one of the showcases lining the long corridor caught her eye.

“Oh, my God!” Gasping, Marianne hurried over to look closely at the small grouping of picture frames.

“Eh? What’s wrong?” Bog asked, startled.

“Come here, look at this!” She half-turned, inviting him to peer through the glass at the collection of slightly blurry photographs.

After a moment’s hesitation, Bog stepped closer, bending down to follow her pointing finger. “What is it?”

“It’s me!” Marianne grinned, the sense of nostalgia overwhelming everything else as another flood of memories washed through her. Life before her mother got sick and how happy her family used to be.

Penelope Fairchild has been a light in the lives of any who knew her. Kind, considerate, witty and fiercely protective, she possessed Marianne’s soft brown hair, Dawn’s deep, blue eyes and a smile that made the world seem brighter. Marianne still recalled the lullabies her mothersang to her and her sister when the girls were young and in need of comfort. The sweet voice would croon Marianne’s favourite song—'lavender’s blue’. 

Bog knew none of that, though. Marianne directed a megawatt smile in his direction, and the poor guy stared, clearly confused at her delight in a group of elementary school photos. His mouth fell open slightly, making her aware of just how close their faces were.

Too occupied with her reminiscing to linger on the way warmth rolled off Bog in waves, she broke the connection first.

“It’s my fencing club when I was ten,” she explained, moving aside to allow him better access. “Can you guess which one is me?”

Bog swallowed loudly before answering. He hummed as he deliberated, squinting at the pictures--One of a team of six kids in their white uniforms, posing for the camera, two candids of mid-match stills, and one more.

He peeked at Marianne out of the corner of his eye, making his choice.

“…This one?” A long finger pressed against the glass in the direction of the last picture, depicting a young girl with a wild mane of brown hair floating around her head, proudly holding her fencing mask and saber in one hand while the other gripped a trophy.

“Ah, hmm!” Marianne still felt just as smug as she had the day the photo was taken. “I was the only girl on my team, and I won every single bout.” 

Mom was so proud…

“Really?”

“Yeah. I won the school that trophy, there.” She pointed to the gold plated figure of a fencer mid-stance, standing close to the pictures.

“Ye really are a tough girl, aren’t ye?” Bog looked at her with admiration, making Marianne flush, flattered by both the nickname and his easy acceptance of her skills.

But, such self-assurance was not for her to maintain. Whispers of never being good enough, the dismissive way Roland would shrug off her accomplishments and achievements. The sound of his scoff at every outstanding thing she did, and how he always managed to twist it, so he was the one who was better, smarter, more successful during their college years. 

When Marianne attended college, Roland was a shining star of the campus. Popular, handsome, well to do in his classes. Roland had the entire student body under his thumb. 

Including Marianne.

Ugh. What the hell was I even thinking, listening to that idiot? How did I even tolerate him?

But, residues of the constant feeling of inadequacy forced her to speak again. Even as she internally flinched at the words, even as she knew it was dumb and stupid and oh my God, what am I even saying, they began spilling out.

“Well…” she started, meaning to downplay her victory.

Surprisingly, Bog interrupted her. His normally soft-spoken demeanor sharper than before. “If yer about to say anything like ‘oh, it’s no such a big deal’ I’ll tell ye right now, ye should be proud of that trophy, ye should stand tall as ye tell that story, and yer right hook colored me black and blue for almost a week.” Bog’s eyes flashed as he nodded stiffly, heavy eyebrows lowered to darken the bright blue of them. “False modesty is just as bad as arrogance.”

With his speech done, he snapped straight again, leaving Marianne opened mouthed and staring at the sudden passion in which he told her off. Bog stepped away, waiting for her. She took a last lingering look at the past self’s happy, carefree face, still hearing ghostly remnants of her mother’s loud cheers, and went to join him.

Chapter Text

Only footsteps were heard as uncomfortable silence stretched. 

Marianne was not at all inclined to speak, still miffed at the way Bog talked to her. He scolded her like she was a child! It was not his place to make assumptions about either her or her life. And what more, she was irritated by how much it bothered her, what Bog thought.

Why should I care? I’m out of this town in four months, and I’ll never look back. This job here will be nothing more than a weird, strange memory, and Bog King will be nothing more than an odd inhabitant of my past. 

A flash of recognition told Marianne they had reached the teacher’s lounge when the long hallway reached another junction. By the time she and Bog reached a few feet away from the room, Marianne was so wound up, she gave in to her childish impulses and rushed ahead to open the door first. Bog leaned back in surprise, widening his unfairly blue eyes at her, curling his lip in confusion. 

Marianne kept a pleasantly blank expression, smiling with one eyebrow lifted, challenging him to argue.

It took him a few seconds, but eventually, he caved and walked in with his shoulders slouched. Internally, Marianne danced a little victory dance.

Point to Marianne!

The teacher’s lounge was basic but homey. It boasted two mismatched upholstered armchairs, and one faux-leather three-seater couch with a small rectangular coffee table directly across the entryway. The left side of the room was lined with one long table, with eight basic wooden chairs all around it. On the right, there was a small food area, with an old coffee machine, a mini-fridge, and a sink counter that also had a microwave resting on it, and a small round table with three folding chairs. The windows covered the entire back wall, and had old curtains with an ancient print tied back to let in the bright morning sunshine. The A/C gave a comfortable whirr in the background.

The room was not empty; by the coffee machine, four other staff members were standing close together, gripping coffee mugs and engaged in conversation. By what Marianne could glean, it was mostly about how their summers have been, where they went for vacation, and how various family members are doing.

Bog flickered his eyes nervously at her before trudging his way around the circular table, heading in the direction of his colleagues. One of them, a small-statured man, almost as short as Marianne, stopped mid-sentence, the words halted and he gaped at her and Bog as they approached the group.

With that as an opening act, the other three turned their heads as one to follow the first man’s gaze like meerkats in the savannah, and together all four of them gawked at Marianne, making her blush with the uncomfortable scrutiny. 

Jeez, do I look that weird?

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bog’s hands shifting restlessly around his torso. It was easy to assume he had noticed the strange reaction from his fellow co-workers.

He cleared his throat with a cough before introducing Marianne. “Good morning, everyone. This is Ms. Fairchild.” He gestured hand for Marianne to step closer. “She’s the temp we’re going to have until Christmas.”

Marianne smiled blandly, and an older woman broke out of the formation to give Marianne what almost looked like a smirk. “Welcome to Greendale Elementary. I’m Esperanza Stubbs.” She reached out a hand for Marianne to shake. “I teach first to third Spanish class,” she said, her voice pleasantly hoarse and slightly accented. 

At Stubbs’ lead, the other teachers introduced themselves. Marianne put a name to the short man that first noticed her walking in—Mr. Jason Zhang, the school’s music teacher—he had a slightly misshapen jaw that jutted out on one side, and receded on the side, but he smiled with eagerness, his eyes crinkled at their corners, and appeared to be genuinely happy to meet her.

The other teachers present were Mrs. Alison Reyes, a becoming older woman in her later fifties with a somewhat flirty smile, that taught geography for the whole school. The last one was Mr. Arnold Brooks, a younger man in his mid-thirties with large, brown doe-eyes, that readily declared himself as the science teacher to the older classes.

They all seemed kind enough—with their biddings of welcome and hopes of Marianne’s enjoyment of her time in the school—but Marianne knew better than judge people by their spoken words and friendly smiles. She’d been through enough in her life not to be so easily swayed by such superficial things. Whether these people were indeed what they appeared to be or not, only time could tell. Marianne was content enough to wait and see.

Each of the teachers had asked Marianne to call them by their first name, so she responded in kind. She noticed Bog pulling an odd expression each time it happened, scowling and acting as though he wanted to say something.

He chickened out each time.

What’s up with him? Just say what you want to say!

Twenty minutes later Marianne was still in the lounge, wiping sticky fingers on a rough napkin, leaving sugary residues on the brown paper after the doughnut she ate.

She had answered all of Esperanza’s questions with the bare minimum information, and tolerated Arnold’s excitable curiosity to the best of her capacity. It was by far the most extended session of idle chit-chat that she ever had to endure (which, if she was honest with herself, she only lasted that long for the sake of watching Bog squirm awkwardly—a highly amusing sight in such a large man), and was more than ready to get to work. 

The spell of their odd encounter was still coursing through her veins. Weaker now it was diluted with the presence of other people, but still potent. Potent enough to make Marianne dread leaving the safety of the lounge. She avoided direct eye contact, and thought it was possible Bog had the same thought.

Could he have been as affected as I was? Maybe it’s a shared delusion due to a gas leak or something…

Marianne wasn’t even sure what had happened back in the classroom. It was so bizarre and strange, like a hallucination come to life. She must have been imagining all of it, a side effect of lack of sleep, or perhaps an over-active imagination. It was unthinkable that after Roland crushed her life and aspirations to pieces like glass under his shiny dress shoes that she would even pretend to find someone attractive. Yeah, sure, she wasn’t blind to physical beauty. She could appreciate the things that made Dawn crush on every guy she meets. 

But it’s a different story to find something distantly beautiful, and another to have something that pulled you to it as it stood right there, in a stupid long sleeve dress shirt in the middle of summer, on big, stupid feet that were tapping unceasingly, infuriatingly, on the floor, a stupidly attractive profile, and stupidly gorgeous eyes that were now staring stupidly right at her.  

This is so unfair. Why is this happening to me?

Another flood of heat rushed to her cheeks at the sudden interest Bog was directing towards her, and Marianne completely blanked on Esperanza’s last words. She quickly brought the coffee mug to her lips, taking a large gulp that she swallowed too fast. Coughing, she hoped it was enough to cover her lapse in attention.

“Oh, sorry. What was that?” Marianne glanced from Esperanza to Bog and back again, catching the other woman’s eyes doing the same thing before she tipped her head forward, looking at Marianne under her long dark eyelashes. Esperanza smiled, and there was something in that smile that made Marianne flinch unconsciously.

“Right, then. That’s quite enough with the natter.” Bog found his voice at long last, grumbling gruffly. Marianne struggled not to sigh in relief at the salvation it offered. Despite her worries, talking with so many strangers had exhausted her mental resources. “Ms. Fairchild and I need to finish the second-grade classroom and you lot have yer own tasks to do.” At this, he shot a glare at all involved in what he obviously deemed a waste a time. Marianne was included, and she smiled back at him.

That’s funny—he thinks he can intimidate me.

Further heightening her amusement, Bog’s ears turned red under the dark hair as he took in her smirk, and continued flustered. “Uh… So… yeah, let’s get ready for the students tomorrow and… and… well… Let’s go get ready, everyone.” He finished lamely.

There was a subtle snort from Marianne’s table companion, but the other teachers seemed to take Bog’s instructions more seriously as they made up to leave to their respective classrooms. Esperanza rose from her seat at the same time as Marianne with another Mona-Lisa smile on her lips.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Marianne,” Esperanza said with a knowing look in her eyes.

What’s that about? Weird…

“Thanks for being so nice. It was great to meet all of you, and I hope we will get along well while I’m here.” Smiling Marianne looked at each of the teachers carefully, turning to Bog last, smile still plastered on her face.

He practically jumped at this expression directed at him, and looked away hurriedly, but not before Marianne noticed his throat bobbing as he swallowed and his cheeks warming attractively.

Oh, damn. How can he look so… so… cute?!

It was beyond adorable how easy it was to make Bog blush. With that in mind, she set herself up for the challenge to count the times she could incite the reaction from him, and to see if there was a limit to the amount he could do it in one day.

In her mind, Marianne cackled evilly. She never got to have fun like this, and this felt more exciting than anything else had in a long, long time.

Chapter Text

It didn’t take long for Marianne to see what buttons she had to press to get the best, most satisfying reactions out of her teacher-companion.

Bog was unusually sensitive to love songs, she discovered. Humming’ Burning Love’ by Elvis had him drop a container of pencils in a knee-jerk response to the music, and when Marianne crouched beside him to help pick it up, he went beet-red. Marianne almost brought the blood, biting her lip to conceal a grin.

After seven different songs, varying from old-timey classics like Elton John, to newer modern songs by Beyonce, Marianne felt quite bad for the poor man. It seemed that his face was perpetually red, and in fact, it looked like he became more than indignant at the teasing. Bog’s mouth twisted and he refused to look at Marianne, even as he threw instructions over his shoulder at her. He shrugged his shoulders, as if his shirt was too tight, at each song. His teeth ground audibly, and while feeling self-accomplished, Marianne began regretting her actions.

It was mean—but funny—she knew, to put a stranger on the spot like that. Especially one that seemed as shy and reserved as the beautiful creature she was about to spend most of the next four months with. But at the same time, Marianne started to feel like a bully. Her delight at getting a reaction out of Bog turned sour. He seemed genuinely disturbed and affected. 

She halted the experiment, not wanting to push him too hard, and eventually Bog relaxed. They worked well together after that, Marianne was happy to find, albeit awkwardly with tiny stutters and tense synergy. Before long, the classroom was fully set. The teacher’s desk still had papers and files and other things to be done later, after lunch, but the learning pages and study books were prepared and laid out neatly in a layered pile over one of the small tables.

Marianne had already done her homework--memorising the documents and information needed for the coming term--and when it was time to go over the student files, she found Bog to take on a more confident appearance. He was in his element, talking and explaining about the kids from the year before, and the two new ones that joined for that school year. It was far less awkward for her to communicate with him about the kids than anything else.

He pulled out the pile of files of the coming year’s students and went over personal details and last year’s notes. There was a small number of kids that he expected to need some extra assistance and Bog went over their names, preparing Marianne for her job.

“There’s Timothy Banks. Last year he was diagnosed with ADD and ye may need to sit with him some during the class. He’s a good lad and just needs to have the personal encouragement. He will make jokes, so be ready for it.” Bog smiled, looking at the eight-year old’s file. His eyes shined, and Marianne wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

“Next is Anthonina Mazur. She’s from Poland, and her parents put her in a slightly younger class, to learn English more easily. Last year she had some issues with her phonics, but I recommended her parents to have some extra tutoring over the summer to help her—we’ll have to keep an eye on that, this year. She’s a sensitive girl, and very smart.” Bog suddenly lifted his eyes to meet Marianne’s. “I’d hate to see her fall behind her classmates and feel left out,” he said, frowning in dismay at the thought. 

They went over all twenty-three children in the same detailed way. Sometimes Marianne had questions, but mostly she simply listened to Bog’s leveled, deep voice, taking mental notes as she could, reading over the files as he spoke. 

Bog bent over, his elbow resting on his knee as he took a last look at the student files. Marianne busied herself with the Autumn Term curriculum plans, focusing on the task and not on the fact she could see his shoulder blades shift under the white cotton shirt, or the way his long legs stretched the pants, showing the curved calves and solid thighs. He was deceptively slim, she concluded, but it looked like--

Nope. Not thinking about it at all. 

He looked up and opened his mouth to say something. Those cute, crooked teeth showed. His eyes caught hers, and the room went silent again.

Uh, oh, not this again.

Marianne got up quickly, her chair making a loud screech over the linoleum. 

“When’s lunch?” she said, interrupting whatever Bog was about to say. 

“Uh…” Bog checked his watch. Marianne noted it to be a simple black leather strap one, with a silver face. “Now, I guess.” He straightened in his seat and looked back, confused. “Do ye—?”

“Yes, please.” Marianne wanted to reach for her work bag, which rested under the table. Close to Bog’s feet. Close to Bog. Too close to Bog.

She eyed it with growing agitation. 

“Ah…” He glanced from the bag to Marianne, his eyebrows coming together. “Do ye—?”

“Yes, please.”

Bog picked the bag up gingerly as if it was a bomb. “Here ye go.”

“Thanks,” she said, taking the bag and putting it on her recently evacuated chair to rummage through, searching for her lunch.

“Ahh, well, I suppose… I suppose… I—we—better go to the cafeteria?”

Retrieving the mysterious flowery pink bundle Dawn packed, Marianne put distance between her and the source of her unrest. 

“Yes, please,” she said from the doorway.

————————————

It was standard design—large and open-spaced, with high ceilings. Round tables with attached seats were set in neat rows all around the room. On the far left, there were coin snack machines. Tall windows faced the outdoor play area to the right, with a set of double doors leading outside. About fifteen people were already there, sitting by themselves or in groups. More filtered in behind Marianne and Bog after they entered.

Esperanza and Jason were already seated in the right corner by the windows and waved the other pair to join them. 

“I can eat somewhere else, if… if you don’t want me to intrude,” Marianne said quietly, not looking at her companion. Bog had a life and friends, and he may not welcome her following him like a puppy everywhere.

He stared at her offer. “Do ye want to eat somewhere else?”

“I don’t want to be a bother.”

“Ye are not!” he said quickly, too loud. Alison, the geography teacher, snickered as she passed by, and Bog ignored it, turning his back to her. “Yer not a bother, Ms. Fairchild.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Of—of course. Would ye… rather I go so that ye can eat with the others?” he asked tentatively and hunched, as though bracing for a punch.

“No, no!” They stood a few feet apart, and Marianne took a step forward, her free hand moving out without thinking to touch him on the arm in reassurance.

Bog widened his eyes at the overreaching gesture, and she snatched her hand back. 

Yeah, he really doesn’t like being touched, huh?

“No, I—please, don’t leave on my account.” 

“All—all right, then.” 

——————————————     

“Ugh.”

“What’s wrong?” 

“Oh, it’s nothing. Sorry.”

“What for?”

“Uh… I don’t know, I guess.”

“Okay.” Bog returned to his food, a wax paper wrapped sandwich, smelling of cured meat of some kind, and a side of mixed fruit. He focused so hard on it, Marianne thought maybe his future was written in it.

Staring in dismay at her own lunch, she decided never to let her sister prepare her food ever again. Either Dawn mixed their meals up, or she’d chosen to torment Marianne with her choices.

The small cooler bag was packed full of heart-shaped cut vegetables in one of its segments, a cheese and lettuce sandwich in the other and a pink sticky note—also heart-shaped—with a smiley face and a large ‘I love you! Good Luck!” written in red marker.

Real subtle, sis. I’m gonna pay you back for this… don’t know how, don’t know where, but Dawn, sweet baby sister of mine… you’re going to pay.

Cheeks burning, Marianne lifted a slice of carrot to nibble on, her appetite quickly fading into nausea.

“What’s that, Marianne?” Esperanza asked over the open lid of her lunch container. She had something that smelled enticingly like curry and white rice, with another small plastic box full of fresh vegetables.

Marianne felt like a child, wishing she could swap her lunch for the other woman’s. It looked far better than her own.

“Oh, it’s… Uh… It’s…” Marianne fumbled, searching for words. How could she describe the horror that was her lunch? “It’s nothing.” Sighing, Marianne zipped the bag shut, her stomach turning over in disgust. 

“I’m going to get a drink,” she said, rising and walking dejectedly to the drink machines, pulling her wallet out of her bag as she went.

————————————

Bog watched her go.

 He noticed the shape of the vegetables and sandwich, and if he were more comfortable around Marianne, he would have laughed at the ridiculous packed lunch. Only kids got food like that, and he wondered whether someone else had prepared it. Bog didn’t blame her for not eating, even though he was concerned for the way her mouth turned down in the corners when she got up. It seemed like an excessive reaction for an innocent shape.

“So, when are you going to ask her out?” 

His leg jerked out in reflex under the table. Zhang grunted at the impact.

“What did you do that for?” he complained.

“Ugh. Sorry, Zhang,” Bog said distractedly. “Ye need to stop, Stubbs. I saw what ye did in the lounge. Leave. Her. Alone.” Bog grumbled menacingly under his breath, glaring at the Latina teacher. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. King,” she said, tranquilly lifting a spoon of her yellow Thai curry. 

“Just stop, all right?”

“I’m helping the new girl to settle in, and finding more about her is necessary for that.”

“No, yer not! I know ye talk to my mother!” Bog accused, dropping his sandwich back down to the paper.

“Oh? Why would your mother care about the new girl, anyway?” Stubbs quirked her dark eyebrow. She had him trapped. 

Bog felt heat rise from his chest all the way to his ears. Was it not enough that he had to tolerate Marianne’s humming? Was it not enough he had to be around her all day, tauntingly close? It was a day of torture. Was everyone out to get him? For God’s sakes, why was he being punished this way?!

“Ye know if all were right in the world, my mother would not care!”

Esperanza sighed and shook her head like she did when dealing with the students. She looked like the model of martyred patience. “This girl… Bog… Don’t you get it? Can't you see--”

“No! I do not, and ye will leave her alone. I swear, Stubbs, I’ll make yer life very difficult if ye don’t listen.” 

With that threat, Bog rose from his seat, wrapping the half-eaten sandwich loosely before taking long strides out of the cafeteria with it in hand. 

He did not look back. 

——————————————————————

When Marianne came back to the table, Bog was gone.

“Where’s Bog?”

“He had to go,” Esperanza answered out of the corner of her mouth as she chewed. 

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry, Marianne!” Jason piped up. He looked wide-eyed and tense but tried to give her a reassuring smile. “Bog does stuff like this all the time. He’s a bit of a loner.”

“Oh.”

“Just don’t mind his little tantrums, will you?” Esperanza winked. 

“O…kay.”

“He’s probably back in the classroom. He practically lives there, you know.” Jason glanced towards the cafeteria’s doors. 

“All right.”

“Why don’t you bring him a soda, when you go back?” the Spanish teacher suggested. 

“Will that help?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Um, I guess I’ll get one, then.”

“Finish your lunch first, sweetie. Don’t worry about him. He’s a big boy.”

————————————————————— 

Marianne was not quite what Bog expected. 

Not that he expected anything at all. It was just that in his mind, there was Pixie—a woman he created a fantasy around and make-believe dreams. Her existence in his world, the life, experiences, and history he imagined for her were a far cry from reality.

Clearly, the person Marianne really was, didn’t quite match up.

Still lovely, still interesting, still kind, but with a streak of fire and tenacity he hadn’t fully perceived the first time. 

Somehow, that made her even more appealing. Each time she got close on her own accord was a jolt to his nervous system. The very nearness of her was enough to make him squirm. It was really unfair. He’d managed to get this far in life with few to no infatuations besides the first disasters. Why did it have to hit him again now? 

And that is all it was, Bog told himself, standing in the middle of the classroom. An infatuation, a passing fancy. Nothing more. And that’s all it’s going to be. Indeed, with time that eerie...something... that happened earlier would be all but forgotten—left in the past where it belongs.

And in your dreams. Nope, it won’t.

Oh, yeah, it will. Ye’ll be thinking about the way she looked at ye for a long time. No, I’m sure I won’t.

She looked like she--Nope, no, she didn’t.

Ye really think seeing her every single day for four months is going to make ye like her any less? I do not like her!

Yer a dumbass. Shut up, will ye?

Just don’t be a prat about it. Bugger off.

Demented internal arguments aside, for a wild, untethered moment, Bog thought Pixie had almost felt like he did, and that was terrifying. 

Even in the extremely unlikely case she felt remotely close to what he felt—even if it were a tenth, a hundredth of Bog’s own impression—she wouldn’t keep it up for long. He wasn’t soft-headed enough to think Pixie would find any lasting interest in him. And trying would only result in more pain. Better stay professional and distant and—

“Hey.”

Bog jumped. There were three separate spots of fire on his back, and he flinched away from them, lest they burned him to a crisp.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you!” Marianne. Marianne was there. Marianne touched him. She cradled one hand to her chest, and the other had a can of coke in it. “You didn’t seem to hear me when I called, and… I brought this for you.” 

Her face did that glowing blush again, bringing the whiskey colour in her eyes and the shape of her cheekbones into his immediate notice. Bog wanted to groan out loud; she was so beautiful.

He really was in hell. 

And she still held out the can.

No one bought him drinks. Ever. He never accepted anything he didn’t personally buy or bring from home himself.

And she got him one.

JUST TAKE THE CAN, YE IDIOT!

He took the can.

“Ah, thank ye, Ms. Fairchild.”

“Marianne.”

“Eh?’”

“Please, call me Marianne.”

“Ah. Call me Bog.”

She smiled. No, she beamed. Her straight, white teeth showed pearly and perfect between the double curve of her lips. Those large eyes narrowed into triangles as her cheeks rounded in a grin. Bog felt his intestines twist into knots. 

“Bog, then. It’s nice to meet you.”

And her hand shot out. Tiny and soft-looking like a child’s. She held it, waiting.

Bog grasped it, his freakishly large palm swallowing hers, and the despite its size, the warmth from Marianne’s hand seeped into his.

Oh, yer in trouble now, mate. Huge, IMMENSE trouble. 

Chapter Text

When she returned home, Dawn went on the immediate attack to find out everything about Marianne’s first day.

“So… how was it? Who was there? Did you see Mr. Gordon? What about Mrs. Lopez? Ugh, is that awful gym teacher still around? What about Mrs. King in the front desk? Oh, I loved her! She used to give me cookies when…”

Dawn went on for a long time after that, hardly waiting for answers before throwing question after question in Marianne’s way. But then, there was one question that was… different.

“Did you make any friends?” Dawn asked delicately, hesitantly, as if afraid to offend her older sister. 

Marianne always struggled with the concept of friendship. As a teenager, there was too much responsibility on her to keep her family together and being the second support pillar for her father and Dawn. The consequences were panic attacks and at times crippling anxiety—things she still struggled against to that day. Trust came slow and hard for Marianne. 

Roland was the first in a very long time to break through Marianne’s defences, and in result she’d had her heart shattered and her fragile trust betrayed. 

Yeah. Friendship did not come easy for her.

But… Even as she opened her mouth to let her sister’s hope down gently, she found herself confronted with a sudden image of blue eyes scowling in defiance in her mind’s eye. 

Against all odds, Bog was kind. He treated her with respect and consideration and challenged even the small mentions of self-deprecation she’d shown. Marianne had met no one quite like him, before. Wasn’t that how friends were meant treated you? The pause was only for a few heartbeats, but that was enough for Dawn.

“HAH!” Dawn jumped off the couch where the two were sitting together, her cup of tea spilling a little on her hand in her excitement. “I KNEW it!” 

“No! No, no. You knew nothing!” Marianne lifted her hands in the air in defence against her little sister’s enthusiasm. She cringed back as Dawn shoved a smug finger in her face.

“You don’t get to do that, Marianne!” she did a little wriggle and smiled hugely. “You don’t get to retreat to that little place and hide away! I want all the deets, I want to hear everything!” 

“Oh, for God’s sakes! Why are you so nosy? I didn’t teach you to do that!” 

“No, you taught me I had to dig, and dig deep if I want to know anything about your life. You’ve always kept things from me, and I’ve had enough! I’m an adult now.” Dawn struck a pose, a hand on her hip and her nose in the air.

“You’re barely an adult. You had your birthday two months ago.” Marianne rolled her eyes at her sister’s dramatic tone.

“Well, I’m eighteen and that’s adult age, so there!” 

“Yeah, and I’m driving you to college in three days. Why don’t we talk about that?”

“Oh, my goodness. You’re right!” Dawn sat back down on the couch, her expression undergoing a comical change from self-righteousness it had before, to shocked awe at her realisation. “I’m going to college.”

Marianne took the tea out of her hand, using the distraction to divert the younger girl’s attention. It was a trick she was well-versed with. Dawn was caring and loving, but easily distracted. It wasn’t too difficult to navigate her mood-swings with the right practice.

“Yes, you are.” She stroked Dawn’s soft, blonde curls. “You’re going to be amazing! You’ll have the best time, I know you will.”

“You’re still coming with me, aren’t you?” Dawn shifted her wide eyes to Marianne’s, imploring her. “To the campus?”

“Of course I am! We’ve had this plan for months. Nothing will keep me from driving you there myself and settling you in,” said Marianne. Did Dawn really think she would miss her college move in? “And you can come home whenever you want, of course.” 

“Do you think I’ll make friends there?” 

“Dawn, you can make friends if you stand still anywhere just thinking hard enough—it’s that easy for you. How many people are you still in contact with from middle school, again?”

“I guess that’s true…” Suddenly, Dawn’s face looked like the sun breaking through the clouds. “Maybe I’ll get a boyfriend!” 

“Yeah, maybe you will.” Marianne tried not to picture Dawn sobbing and crying from having her heart broken by a boy. If that happened, she just may have to bring her saber out for a little air. “Just promise me you’ll be smart, and careful and don’t believe everything people say, okay?”

“I know, sis, you’ve drilled all that into me for years. It’s not that much different from going to high school parties, is it?”

“No, but there will probably be other things in the places you’ll go to in college. Alcohol almost certainly, drugs maybe. You need to keep your head out of the clouds and look around you.” 

“Yeah! I will!”

Marianne tried not to worry at the dreamy, far-off gaze spreading across the younger girl’s face. There was a panic building in her chest. She knew firsthand of the dangers young people, girls in particular, faced while alone on a college campus. She would be too far to come to her sister in time should anything happen, and the mere thought was enough to bring Marianne to the brink of full-blown alarm.

“Just… Please, promise me one thing, Dawn.” The urge to protect Dawn overpowered the desire not to project Marianne’s own fears on her. “Promise me you will never blindly accept drinks from anyone and never leave your cup or bottle or whatever you use unattended.”

Dawn deflated at her sister’s intense voice, sobering up.  “Okay, Mari.” 

“I need you to say it.” Marianne grasped Dawn’s hands, trying to convey the severity she felt.

 Contrite, Dawn made her promise.

“And to save me from having grey hair in my twenties, please use a condom. Every single time, Dawn!”

“Ohmigosh, Mari!” She blushed, her face turning puce red.

“I mean it!” Wagging her finger in her sister’s face, Marianne felt heat across her own cheeks. However, as uncomfortable as it was to talk about, it was vital she told Dawn what’s what. “It only takes once, for STD’s and for pregnancies.”

Dawn groaned, covering her face with her hands at the direction of conversation. “I know, I know!”

“Right, then. Now the awkward, cringy sex-talk is over with,” Marianne got to her feet, pretending to dust her knees, “what do you want for dinner?”

————————————

“So, the new girl sure is sweet, isn’t she?”

He knew it was coming. He knew it, but nevertheless, when the words washed over him, he flinched, grateful for small mercies for the fact his mother couldn’t see him. 

In the kitchen, hand wrapped around a wooden spoon, Bog stirred the Mariana pasta sauce he made from scratch. In another pot was the penne and in the oven, Bog had a tray of antipasti almost done. The smells of fresh herbs, tomatoes and the vegetables wafted across the entire house, making his stomach gurgle with hunger.

After eating very little at lunch, Bog started cooking as soon as he and Griselda got home in the early evening. Unlike the other teachers, he usually had more responsibilities that kept him in the school for longer. It worked out well for both him and his mother, since as she was the receptionist and her shift ended past the school day, too. 

Somehow, she held off asking anything about his new co-worker on the ride home, thank God, but he could tell it was eating her up inside. Those insistent side-looks, suspicious shifting in her seat, the way her wide mouth opened and she would inhale, but then sigh and deflate again. 

Griselda was acting superbly discreet—far beyond her usual tendencies and inclinations. 

And yet.

Despite her best attempts, Bog knew it was only a matter of time until his dear mother cracked under pressure and would inevitably ask about Marianne.

It took her almost an hour, and she spoke with such a forced casual tone, that even though Bog winced as though wounded, he also almost laughed. He wondered whether she had been practicing. 

“Is she?” he went for a placid, non-committal tone in his blatant lie. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Instead of a reply, Griselda came in from her seat in the living room, and Bog could feel the scowl on her face. 

“I saw you, Bog.”

This time, Bog halted the cringe before it happened. His mother had indeed seen that weird staring thing in the classroom earlier that day. He had no explanation for it, himself. What had gotten into him to stare like that? What had gotten into her?

“Saw what?” Yes, better keep his answers short. Fewer words mean less information, and less opportunity for his voice to betray him. 

“You. The way you looked at her. And the way she looked at you,” she said logically. As if it was so typical for Bog to show an interest in anyone, and obvious that anyone would show an interest in him. 

“I’m sure ye saw only what ye wanted to see.” Twisting to meet Griselda’s eyes, Bog lifted a doubtful eyebrow, even though inside he reeled. 

No, I imagined it, and so did Mom. Pixie didn’t look at me like that at all. 

Sighing, Griselda came closer and wrapped her arm around her son’s torso. “One day you’ll see what I see too. I only hope you wouldn’t have wasted too many years of your life till then.”

————-

Sleeping had its own challenges that came in many forms for Marianne. Some were obvious—like anxiety. Other were more subtle—like the way some nights she had nightmares, and she rarely could tell when she would have them and when she wouldn’t. 

And sometimes, not often, but it had become increasingly more common, Marianne simply did not want to sleep. There was a peace that came with the night time. The busy street by hers and Dawn’s apartment would quiet down. People would go to their slumber and the buzz of electronics would fade into silence. By then, Marianne would lie in her bed, in the middle of the darkened room, and listen to the natural music of the night. Small bugs and nocturnal critters sang their songs, and she could pretend they chatted about their day and wonder what had kept them busy.

In the night there were no expectations to preform or act a certain way. There was no pressure, and her mind was free to roam anywhere it liked. 

Tonight, it went much in the same direction it had gone for the past week. 

“Bog King,”  Marianne said to herself. It was a name unlike any she had heard before, but it was unique and interesting. She wondered where the name was from, but dismissed the resolution to ask as soon as it formed. 

He wouldn’t appreciate her prying. A very private person was Bog King. And really, wasn't that for the best? She was one such person too, and knowing herself, she recognized it in her new colleague. 

Regardless, knowing more about him wouldn’t help anything. Sighing, Marianne reached for her nightstand to open the drawer, pulling out a small notebook and a pencil. 

If she can’t, or won’t, sleep, she may as well doodle. 

—————————

By six in the morning, Bog was up. He started the coffee machine before jumping first in the shower. More than usual, he felt the need for caffeine, having spent the night going round in circles in his head. The same thoughts cropping up in a cycle of repetitive visions. 

Whatever kept him up wouldn’t keep this day from going perfectly. It was the first day of school, and he had a full schedule with welcome activities from start to finish.  

By seven-fifteen in the morning, he and Griselda were in the Honda. They were among the first to arrive to the school and Bog tapped the Welcome banner for good luck, stretching to his full height to reach it over the school’s front door.

He wished his mother a good day as they passed her desk on the way to the classroom, the box of paper folded animals held in his arms, a large binder balanced on top. In high spirits, Bog began humming to himself a song Marianne sang the day before that got stuck in his head.

He had to use an elbow to open the door, and spun in place, humming the old-timey tune. The prepared classroom was spotless—the notebooks placed in their cascading pattern on the tables closest to the door, containers fully stocked, and the itinerary for the first day already written on the board behind Bog’s desk in vivid colors from the brand new white-board markers. It was all ready.

“Good morning, Bog.”

“ARGH!” The folder, box, and the bag on his shoulder all went flying across the room as he jumped. 

From where she crouched on the floor by the cabinets, Marianne straightened up, her butterscotch eyes wide and stunned. She shoved the drawer back in without looking at it, rising to a stand.

“I… guess maybe not a good morning?” she asked sheepishly, after a few long seconds where Bog held a hand to his chest, breathing in and out to slow his heart-rate down. 

What’s she doing here this early?!

By the time he gathered his wits enough to breathe a full breath, she had already come around, bending to pick up what he dropped. 

“Well, this is how we first met, minus the punch. I guess it’s fitting I help you pick your things off the floor, too, right?” her voice held the barest hint of laughter, and Bog’s lips twitched reluctantly at her too casual to be really casual tone. “Sorry, again, about that.” 

“Yer here early. The teachers start at eight.” He hadn’t meant to make it sound so accusing, but his normal functions were still restarting. 

Marianne came up again, her slim arms around the box with the binder held under one arm. “I was already up and thought you would probably be here, too. I’m kinda surprised I beat you to the class!” She dropped the box down on the teacher’s desk, and set the binder on top, before going to get Bog’s bag. Luckily, she didn’t seem to mind his rudeness. 

He took a step, hand out to stop her, but she was too quick. Bending from the hip, one sandaled foot rising slightly behind her to balance her weight, Marianne reached for his bag. The lines of her body showed clear and plain through the knee-length, dark green skirt she wore. Matched with a pretty white blouse that had rounded short sleeves, her outfit did things to his heart that did not help to slow its pace in any way. 

Upright again, she looked down at the brown leather bag, running her hands over the metal clasp that held his initials. 

“Boggart Aloysius King.” She smiled, raising her eyes up, handing the bag back to a frozen Bog. “It’s a nice name.”

“Uh…” She likes my name? Or is she just being polite? Either way, I need to say something! 

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Before he could speak, Marianne suddenly turned, her skirt swinging in a graceful circle as she stepped behind the desk. She picked up a blue shoebox from the floor and brought it over, placing it over the origami animals box. “So, I remembered that years ago an old teacher of mine would bring a small gift for the children for their first day. I don’t have your number or how to contact you to ask whether you had already planned something, so I went ahead and got these ready.”

These being a stack of brightly colored three-inch glow-sticks, each tipped with a gold paper star, forming the shape of a fairy wand. There was a little white ribbon glued onto each wand, coming out from underneath the double-sided star, which had an encouraging, ‘You will GLOW in 2nd grade!’ cheerfully handwritten on one side, and ‘The best way to have a friend is to be one’ on the other, with tiny embellishments along the edges of the star.

“I know you said we have twenty-three kids this year, but I thought there might be some younger siblings, or accidents, or who knows what, so I made forty.” She ran her hands in the box while speaking, stroking the paper with her small hand. “Well, actually, I made forty-one…”

“This one is for you,” Marianne said shyly, lifting a much bigger wand, at least eight inches, and handed it to Bog. One side claimed ‘No. 1 TEACHER’,  while the other had ‘Mr. BK’ written on it. 

Too moved for words, Bog shifted his bag so the strap hung off his crook of his arm, taking the gift she’d made him with two hands. He rolled it gently, the two sides of the golden star flashing in the classroom’s lights. 

“If… if you don’t like it… I brought extra paper. I… I can change the star to something else or… um, or you can just give it back without worrying about hurting my feelings,” Stammering, Marianne tucked her hair behind her ear nervously, and at the mention of taking the wand back, Bog’s brain restarted. 

“No!” Too loud! You’re too loud! “No, please, Ms. Fairch—Marianne, I do like it.” Bog looked down again, the fairy wand still warm from her hand. “I like it a lot. Thank you.”

“Oh, good.” She breathed out in relief, before a smile cheeky enough to be called a smirk spread across her face. “If you want, I can make a crown out of the gold paper, and you can be the Fairy King of the classroom!” 

Surprised, Bog erupted in laughter at her words. But, even as he laughed, a feeling of dread rose in him. 

Charming, funny, beautiful, kind, clever, thoughtful…

She’s absolutely perfect. How am I going to survive four months of this? 

Chapter Text

Marianne could have fist-pumped the air at her success.

First, she beat Bog to the classroom, something she felt was going to become a regular habit, if only so she could hear the soft humming he made when he came in every day. He hummed 'I Only Have Eyes For You' by The Flamingos—an all-time favorite of hers—and it tickled her to no end to hear it from Bog.

Oh, but he had a lovely voice. Deep and rich, the tones of it flowing smoothly like water in a mountain stream. She wondered whether he sang, and smiled to herself, tucking her head down to hide her face, another plan forming in her mind.

Secondly, he liked her gift! She had seen the larger glow stick in the party store in town when purchasing the children's and got the idea to make Bog a wand too. It was a risk, as some men may have taken offense to what they would think is a 'girly' thing. But Marianne wanted to make up to Bog for hitting him, and for all the weirdness that followed. The look on his face was more gratifying than anything she could have hoped.

Maybe it was possible for her to make a friend in him, even if it's only for the time being.

Wouldn't that be something?

In any case, they made quick work of setting the rest class up, displaying the gifts and going over some more of the day's plan. At one point Marianne went to get herself yet another cup of coffee. She had been up from six in the morning after sleeping very little, and by eight o'clock, her blood ran more mocha than red.

Time flew as she worked with Bog, getting more and more used to the small ways he moved and talked and was. It wasn't quite like what she was used to from other people, some otherness to him that made her feel more at ease than on edge once she allowed herself to relax.

Eventually, twenty minutes before the children would begin to arrive, the entire school staff congregated in the auditorium for a brief speech from Principal Plum.

"Thank you all for coming," she began, standing on the low stage. She was dressed more formally than the hippie style she had on during Marianne's interview—elegant, peasant-style white dress hung down her slim body to her ankles, where it was embroidered with red floral designs that ran along the edges and her waist. She had her white-blue hair fluffed up into a thick coil that she rolled into a bun on the top of her head. Plum looked on at the school's employees with confidence and smiled as she spoke, nodding and shifting her gaze over everyone.

It was over within a few minutes, and Marianne shifted in her seat by Esperanza, throwing curious looks all around. She got introduced to everyone at the end of the previous day, a nerve-wracking experience that left her making her escape to her car abruptly after. They all smiled pleasantly enough, but it was far more comfortable for Marianne to enjoy the auditorium's back row and watch people's back of the head than the front.

"You'll be fine, Marianne," Esperanza whispered when she caught sight of Marianne's nervous tapping on her knees.  

"I know." She smiled, trying to emulate confidence and calm as Plum had.

"Then why are you bouncing like a yo-yo?" Smiling back, Esperanza lifted an eyebrow. "Is it because of Bog? Are you nervous about working with him?"

"Bog?" Confused, Marianne stopped her squirming and glanced at where Bog sat a few chairs left on the row in front of her. He frowned as he took in Plum's speech, a long finger tapping his cheek. As if he felt the quick look, he slid his eyes without turning his head and caught her staring, prompting a flush of embarrassment from Marianne, and she hurriedly turned back to the Spanish teacher. "Nope, I'm not nervous about that at all."

It wasn't within Marianne's nature to lie, but she hoped the darkness in the auditorium covered the redness of her cheeks.

Never blushed so much in my whole damn life. What's wrong with me?

"Ah, huh," Esperanza looked dubious. "I'm sure."

***

"Welcome back, Tracey!" Bog grinned, greeting the little girl entering the classroom. She had a nervous smile on her face, and her parents stood at the doorway, waving awkwardly. "Please, find your seat and settle in."

With the last student arriving, a tad late at quarter to nine, the school year's first day could officially begin.

Bog went over the fundamental class rules, his and Marianne's names, and together they all recited the pledge.

After that came everything the children would need to know while attending class, such as hallway manners, conducting answers and questions, bathroom breaks, classroom etiquette. The entire process took a good few hours to be done right, including a few walks up and down to the cafeteria and the nearest bathroom for practice.

All in all, by the time lunch had rolled up, Bog was already exhausted and had to subdue more than one meltdown from one of the more awkward kids, cope with a few that were reticent and uncooperative, and generally already had an ache where his new shoes had rubbed his ankle.

And he couldn't have been happier about it all.

Despite every exhausting and exasperating moment, he was back where he belonged, back where he was meant to be. The school was his kingdom if he was so bold as to declare it so. These halls were where he felt most alive, where there was meaning to everything he did. The children were a good group, from one mischievous kid to the one that was eager to please and another that was easily startled and frightened.

All in all, an excellent class, and Bog couldn't wait to show them what he had in store for the upcoming year.

On the way to lunch, one girl tripped and fell, hurting her knee in the process. Bog halted the procession, about to move along the length of the line to where Gilly W. fell.

A flash of green and white moved quicker than he could, and Marianne was already there, one knee to the ground, her hands around Gilly's shoulders. Carefully, she swept the girl's hair back, to look at her scrunched up face. Marianne began murmuring to her, and though the words were lost on Bog through the general chaos, her eyes held such gentleness, that his heart squeezed.

She cared, too. Really, really, cared.

Just then, Marianne raised her head, catching Bog's eye. She gestured with her chin for him to continue, and with a start, he did, glad he had a good reason to stare, at least for that time.

The entire morning his new colleague had been hesitant, while still keeping close to his side. It took some getting used to, as the previous TA he had since he began working for the school had been an older woman with far more experience than he, thus requiring little to no instructing. As a matter of fact, until her sudden appearance yesterday, Bog was under the impression he would not be having an assistant that year and made a mental note to talk to Plum and his mother about the change in plan. This whole thing stank of conspiracy. Typically, any new teachers and TA would take a bit longer to get familiar with each other, and the fact he met Marianne only the day before school began was suspect. Almost as if the two in charge were leaving him no room to wriggle out from under their thumb. 

In any case, unless he wanted to stomp to Plum's office and make an official complaint about her and Griselda's meddling in his personal life, Bog refocused his thoughts. Before she retired, Mrs. Brandston had been a competent, capable teacher's aide and taught Bog some of the trickier ways to maintain the children's attention.

For example, as his group entered the cafeteria, he felt a shiver pass them, especially the new kids when they saw the doors to the outer play area and knew if he didn't take control, they would scatter like a clowder of cats. Bog clapped his hands once, and suddenly twenty-two pairs of eyes looked in his direction.

"Now, just like we practiced, all right?" He motioned to the far corner, where a group of lower tables resided, fit for the small students.

Usually, the teachers are a rota of lunch supervisors, but that was for later in the year. For the first week, Bog and Marianne would need to attend the kids at their lunch and snack times.

By the time Bog settled all of the kids, with only one minor incident of the children swapping seats around to find their friends, Marianne had brought Gilly in, a bright yellow bandaid with a Paw Patrol picture on her knee.

She settled the little girl next to her friend, even going as far as helping her unzip the insulated lunch bag, smiling at the gap-toothed grin and polite "Thank you, Ms. Marianne," Gilly bestowed on her.

Bog was only marginally distracted by the children comparing lunches and swapping their desserts amongst themselves, taking more careful note of the kids with allergies. So he felt, rather than heard, Marianne's heaving sigh when she came to stand close by, again.

"Gilly's fine. We sprayed some antiseptic and gave her a bandaid, and she was all better," Marianne gave him the run-down. Bog looked at her from the corner of his eye, keeping half his focus on the kids.

Her eyelids drooped some, and she didn't buzz as she had in the morning. Honestly, even for a teacher with ample experience in dealing with all manner of hyperactive children day in and day out, the energy level she had was a little overwhelming. It seemed out of place on Marianne, and Bog wasn't sure what to do about it—even had it been his place to do anything at all.

Maybe he made her nervous? Marianne wouldn't be the first to be intimidated by working alongside him. Or was she only worried about the first day? Something personal may have happened?

He didn't feel right to ask. After the wand, which was tucked safety in his drawer, Bog had withdrawn some. Marianne was too… too everything. Too beautiful, too intense, too friendly.  

Friendly! 

Especially when remembering the whole shtick with the love songs and the humming she performed the day before, and Bog was sure she did it just to watch him squirm, he didn't know what to think, anymore. He acted like an arse at lunch, following that debacle, by leaving so abruptly. Even if it seemed like Marianne held no grudges, after buying him the soda… who knew what was going through her head?  

Every tiny thing seemed like such a disaster and as it's been one fiasco after another that made the short time he's known Marianne feel that much more cataclysmic.

Something was in the works, and Bog tried his best to push it away. He wished he had someone to talk to about it; someone who would understand and could help him make sense of it all. But after years of keeping most people at bay, it was almost unthinkable to open up again.

Marianne huffed, the corner of her mouth quirking and the one golden brown eye he could see rolled in his direction.

Her crossed arms twitched out, her elbow getting close to Bog then retreating again before she spoke. "No hearts in my lunch today."

"Oh?" Bog took the window of opportunity and allowed himself to turn a few degrees to the side, while keeping his head mostly facing to the kids. "Some other offensive shape, then?"

The quirk grew into a smirk, and she copied his movement, her shoulders following the direction of her head. "Nah. Just a good ol' tunafish slapped between two pieces of bread. Can't go wrong."

"I'd say slapping any fish or bread could go very wrong, but if ye say so, I'll trust ye," Bog grinned, his voice going high pitched with facetiousness.

Marianne laughed explosively, her eyes glittering as if she didn't expect the joke. Bog's veins filled with warmth. He made her laugh.

"That's true. Very true, actually," she conceded when she finished. "Okay, so maybe it was a gentle toss, rather than a slap. What do you have today?"

"Leftovers from dinner and a protein bar," Bog told her, just barely catching himself beginning to elaborate with more details. Luckily, he stopped in time and closed his mouth again. 

She's only being polite. She doesn't want to know all the inner workings of your meal. 

"Ah, very good." Marianne nodded sagely. Then, her eyes flitted up and down his length real quick, and she looked to the kids again when one asked for help with refilling a glass.

When she returned, her arms didn't cross, but she clasped them in front of her. Marianne yawned, in that funny way when one is trying to hide the fact they're yawning, but Bog saw the eye-squint as it happened.

"Did ye not sleep well?"

Before he could stop himself, the question slipped out, and Bog hunched, shoulders coming in defensively. "Er, I mean—Ye don't have to answer—-"

"It's okay, I don't mind the question," Marianne said, though she was pointedly not looking in his direction. "I… I don't sleep very well. In general," she confessed, almost inaudibly.

And what could Bog say, to that? That was a very personal detail, given willingly and unexpectedly. He opened his mouth, trying to find words, any words, but Marianne beat him to it.

She perked up, pasting a smile on her face that looked just that little bit too forced. "But that's why humans invented coffee, right?" She laughed, throwing another smile that made Bog uneasy over her shoulder as she moved to the other side of the table where two kids began squabbling over their juices boxes and the question of whose juice was whose.

Not all rainbows and sunshine, eh, Pixie?