Chapter Text
Edward’s palms were clammy as he headed up the control tower and his heart pounded in his chest. The higher he climbed, the louder the sounds of Sarge’s lesson became - grunting and yelling and the familiar sound of metal hitting metal as kids learnt how to swordfight. Edward himself should’ve been in English with Mr Moley right now, but it was his fourth year at St. Churnley’s and he had pretty much written English off as a lost cause. The words swam on the page and Mr Moley’s attitude sure didn’t help - it was the one lesson he was always more than happy to skip.
He entered the classroom as they were finishing up. It was a first year class - all small and clumsy like Edward’s classmates once were (and like Edward still was, annoyingly). They all looked up at Sarge with either respect or fear - Edward couldn’t help but smile at this. Sarge was a big teddy bear, really. He felt a small sense of pride that he had clocked this on day one.
“Weapons down!” Sarge’s voice boomed as the bell went, signalling the end of class. “Nice work today, cadets. Now - get out.”
Edward stands to the side of the door as the class scurry around, haphazardly packing away their weapons with no small amount of chatter. They leave in little groups, some of them smiling at Edward and saying hi as they leave: the school isn’t largely populated, and he’s always been more than happy to help the younger years find their way around when he can.
Soon enough, the first years clear out, leaving just Edward, Sarge, and her bolas.
“Mr Gadfly,” she says, and straight away, the title makes Edward’s stomach twist.
“Miss Sarge,” he says, because he knows that it annoys her. “How are the first years?”
She sighs, long suffering. “Tiring. How’s the bugs?”
Edward grins. He’s not come up to the tower alone; there are ants in his hair, worms in his pockets, and spiders on his shoulders.
“Fine,” he says. “They’re glad I’m not in English. They don’t like Sinister.”
Sarge raises an eyebrow but says nothing. She knows of Edward’s proclivity to skip Mr Moley’s class yet has never told him off for it; similarly, Mr Moley has never mentioned it to Ed either. Edward isn’t naive enough to believe that these two things are unrelated.
He wanders further into the classroom, taking a seat on a large bit of rubble overlooking the Plagueround. The mist swirls threateningly beneath, strange sounds carrying upwards. It makes Edward shiver.
“You didn’t come all the way up here to talk about my first years, Gadfly,” Sarge takes a pew next to him, arms crossed. “And I know Mr Moley can be… unpleasant, sometimes. But there are much nicer places to hide from his classes.”
Edward just hums.
“Wanna spar?” Sarge offers, and Edward laughs.
“I’m not Ollie, Sarge. Fighting doesn’t make me feel better.”
Sarge sighs. “Don’t I know it, kid.”
They sit there in comfortable silence, watching the swirling fog. Somewhere in the school, Edward’s classmates are sitting in a boring English class, probably wondering where Edward has gone this time. Some of them are probably annoyed with him - if he’s going to skip, he doesn’t usually do it alone.
“Are you here for a heart-to-heart, kid? You should know by now, that ain’t my area. You want me to get Kelly?”
Edward laughs again and shakes his head. It’s a well-worn song and dance, by now. Sarge loves to insist that she’s no good at emotions, yet it’s her that Edward keeps coming back to when he needs advice or comfort. He finds her no-nonsense, logical approach to life a perfect contrast to his own slightly chaotic, disordered way of thinking. He finds her more helpful than Mr Kelly’s well-meaning yet somewhat smothering way of caring, and she is well aware of this by now.
“I - I need to… I need to say something. But - I’ve never… I haven’t said it to anyone before.” He frowns, then amends, “Well. Never to anyone human.”
Spiders chirp their approval in his ears.
“Right, well. I’m about as human as you’ll get around here, boy,” Sarge offers him a wry grin but the noun makes Edward wince. Sarge frowns.
“Edward? What’s wrong, lad?”
Edward shuts his eyes. It’s only Sarge, he reminds himself. She won’t mind.
“I’m not a lad,” he says, his voice small. “I’m not - I’m not a boy. I don’t want to be a boy.” Sarge makes… a noise. Edward can’t quite decipher it. He thinks, maybe, for once he’s actually managed to surprise her. He would find that funny if he wasn’t so terrified. Neither of them say anything straight away, and Edward’s words hang heavy in the silence. It’s almost unbearable.
Eventually, after countless, painful minutes, Sarge clears her throat.
“Right,” she says. “Okay. That’s - okay, kid. You wanna talk me through what you mean by that?”
She must see something in Edward’s expression; some flash of panic, or fear, because she is quick to add:
“You’re not in trouble. I promise you, you can relax, alright? I just want to know what this means for you - because what you just said is pretty big, yeah?”
Edward opens his eyes and looks at Sarge. Her expression is serious, but there’s a softness in her eyes that makes him relax. He nods, and Sarge gives him a small, rare smile.
“Okay then. Take a breath, yeah, and talk me through it.”
So Edward does. He breathes in deep, letting the air fill his lungs, before letting it go slowly.
“What I mean is that… I’m - I’m not… I’m not a boy. I’m not supposed to be a boy, I - this is all wrong. Everyone calls me ‘mister’ and ‘lad’ and ‘boy’ and it just - it feels wrong. Like… it makes me itch. I hate it.”
Sarge is still looking at him with that serious, kind expression. Edward’s glad. If he had Mr Kelly’s big, sympathetic eyes staring back at him he probably would have broken down before he could even say anything meaningful.
“Okay,” Sarge says. “Alright. You’re not a boy. There are lots of things to be, instead of a boy.” She puts a hand on his shoulder. “Have you given that a thought?”
Edward wants to laugh. He wants to cry. Has he given that a thought? Only every time he looked in the mirror, wanting so badly for his stick-straight body to turn soft. Only every time he went shopping, and watched from the food court as girls his age arrived in groups, giggling over milkshakes and trying out samples in Sephora, their friendships easy and gentle.
“Yeah. I - yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Sarge gives his shoulder a squeeze. He gets the feeling that she’s laughing at him, a little bit, but he doesn’t mind. It’s just Sarge.
“You wanna talk me through it?” she says again, and Edward finds that he does.
“I - I want to be a girl,” Edward winces, and starts again. “No. No, that isn’t right, I - I am a girl. I am. I know I don’t look like one, or sound like one, and I know I go to a boy’s school, but… I’m a girl. I’m a girl.”
“You sure?” Is all that Sarge says.
Edward nods.
“Okay.” and then Sarge is smiling - it’s a little sad, Edward thinks. But a little proud, too. “Nice work, kid.”
“Yeah?” Edward says. Her eyes are a little watery, but she’s smiling too. “...You’re not mad?”
“I’m always mad,” Sarge replies, but Edward knows it to be a joke. “But not about this. Never about this.”
“Good.” And then Edward is burying her face into Sarge’s shoulder, and she’s crying but she’s happy, and Sarge wraps her arms around her awkwardly which makes Edward laugh because that’s just so like Sarge.
“Alright, kid, that’s enough,” Sarge says after a while, and Edward pulls back, wiping at her face. “Can’t have the only other gal around here crying all the time; it’s bad for our reputation.”
Edward grins. “Understood, Miss Sarge.”
Sarge rolls her eyes, unbearably fond.
“Get out of here, Miss Gadfly. I’ve got work to do.”