Work Text:
2 missed calls - junior school 🤮
“Oh, god,” Phil mutters, “what did the little shit do now?”
He’s been having an otherwise fairly chill morning. (Well, “morning”; it’s gone twelve, nearly one.) With the new contract from the latest client newly signed and ratified, Phil is now set to the task of drawing up preliminary blueprints that go in line with the client’s - well, usually it’s either sketches or verbal ideas at this point in the process, but apparently this client has gone to the trouble of making an entire referential powerpoint for Phil to consult during the initial design period, so he’s working from that. That means he gets to sit about at home for a while doing almost nothing but draw straight lines, ahead of the negotiation process once the client sees what he’s come up with and either accepts the fruits of his genius or asks him to rework the idea from there.
More importantly, though, in between said drawing of said straight lines, Phil’s been having a great time with the house to himself. The boys are all out at school for the day, as usual; he had a really nice, long, relaxing breakfast that he just got to enjoy; Kristin’s still asleep, having got home from work early in the morning and collapsed beside him at about 6am with just enough time for a goodnight/good morning kiss between their two sleep schedules. This afternoon, they’ll spend some time with each other and with the boys, but for now, Phil’s been taking it slow, as he likes to do.
Apparently, though, while he was in the shower, something’s gone horribly wrong.
He checks his voicemail. “Um - hello, Mr Watson, this is Carol from Saint Mark’s Primary, we just wanted to let you know that Tommy’s received an in-school suspension for violent behaviour? And that we’d like you to come and collect him as soon as possible, because he’s not permitted to go back to lessons for the rest of the day. Please do call back as soon as you can if that’s not possible, or let his secondary contact know, if that’s appropriate; if we don’t hear from you, we’ll just be keeping him in the office until somebody comes to pick him up, and we’d rather not keep him too long, you know? He’s in trouble, but he’s not in prison, haha. Anyway, yeah, just get in touch! Thanks for your time, we’ll be seeing you soon, hopefully. Have a good day.”
For fuck’s sake.
Phil pulls on a vaguely suitable outfit and a jacket - he’s not about to get properly dressed on a work-from-home day, even if he’s leaving that home - ties his still-wet hair back, slips on his trainers and gets in the car. Luckily, SMP isn’t far from their house; it’s a walk that Tommy will be making on his own next year, or once Phil and Kristin deem him old enough to have a phone. It’s just a bit of a pain to get round all the twisty residential streets and lanes, and to find a parking spot once he gets there.
Through the window to the office, he can see Tommy, sat there swinging his legs and with an ice pack pressed to his forehead. Christ.
“Right,” Phil opens, once he’s cleared himself with Carol the receptionist and been allowed through to sit across from his youngest, “what happened?”
“It was -!”
“Tommy,” whichever teacher this is speaks directly over the boy, “was caught attacking another student.”
“They were being a dick to Tubbo, dad, you know he can’t read, they were -”
“And,” she snaps, “using highly inappropriate language.”
“They deserved it!”
Phil blinks. Looks between Tommy and the teacher. She’s a picture of stern severity; he’s bouncing in his seat, imploring his dad with his massive blue eyes and that perfected angelic pout he’s been working on for almost as long as he’s been getting in trouble.
Only then does he speak. “So where’s this other kid that Tommy hit?”
“They’ve already been collected,” the teacher replies primly.
“And you’ve got an ice pack because?”
“Well, when I punched ‘em, they pushed me back and I fell over!” Tommy pulls the ice pack away to show his father a nasty red mark on his forehead. “Landed on the gravel and all!”
“We have no tolerance for physical violence at this school,” the teacher continues. “If Tommy heard somebody saying unkind things about another student, he should have reported it to a teacher instead of attempting to take matters into his own hands. Nobody learns their lesson that way.”
“I say they learned a lesson,” mutters Tommy. “Learnt not to mess with me an’ Tubbo. Next time, I’m just gonna set Will on ‘em.”
“Tommy,” Phil chastises, “you can’t threaten to set your brother on the bullies, he’s nearly eighteen.”
“And? That’d show ‘em!”
“Look, mate.” He gestures his head towards the teacher, shifts his voice to something a little more playful. “I’m very disappointed in you. We don’t hit people in this family. Did you at least say sorry to the other kid?”
“Yeah, ‘cos she made me,” Tommy scrunches his nose in frustration.
“We’ll have to keep an eye on Tommy from now on,” the teacher informs Phil, “make sure he doesn’t have any more incidents like this. If he does, there will be more suspensions, and we might have to revoke his playtime privileges, keep him inside with a supervisor.”
That sounds like about the cruellest punishment Phil can imagine for a nine-year-old. “Right,” he says, “well, you’ll not be doing that again, will you, Tom?”
“No,” Tommy grumbles.
“Alright. You come with me, then, yeah? We’ll get you home, get you cleaned up.”
Phil takes Tommy’s hand and leads him out of earshot of the faculty, towards the car. Once they’re a fair distance away, he crouches so he’s face to face with his son.
“Look. Tommy, mate? I am so proud of you.”
Tommy looks confused for a few seconds; then he beams. “Yeah?”
“Defending Tubbo like that? You’re absolutely right for that. I would’ve decked -” not the fucker, he’s nine “- the bully too. But you can’t get caught, is the thing.”
“How do I not get caught?”
“Gotta make a quick thing of it. One-two and make a run for it. If anybody asks, the other kid’s lying.”
Tommy’s eyes are wide and shining. “Right! Thanks, Dad.”
“No problem, mate. Right - you’re out of school early, Will and Techno aren’t gonna be home for a couple of hours yet, your mum’s asleep. What d’you say we go get some ice cream?”
He nods, grinning from ear to ear, and Phil stands again to lead him back to the car. That’s his little fighter, alright; never a dull day with Tommy in your life.