Chapter Text
Early January: Grover Cleveland High School, San Francisco, CA
Thursday. One of his easier days - he only had 3 lessons to teach out of the 5 period day - yet Ryland Grace had a lingering fear in the back of his mind that there was something different about this particular Thursday. Like he was forgetting something important he had to do. He felt like that a lot of the time. He probably just forgot to take his ADHD meds, which would make the day harder, but as previously stated, Thursday was pretty easy on the whole anyway so it didn’t make much odds. The shrill of the bell echoed through the hall and shook Grace out of his dazed train of thought as he hopped over to usher the students of Grover Cleveland High through the door. Two particular students greeted him excitedly as they stepped in.
‘Hi Dr Grace,’ chirped the first girl, her long pastel braids tied up into a high pony-tail, ‘Did you hear about Kelly?’
‘No, and I don’t intend to partake in any of this devious evil gossip you peddle, Carla. It’s beneath me.’
‘Oh, I forgot,’ she rolled her eyes and continued, ‘Anyway, her and Carter got back together and Megan’s party on Saturday.’
‘SATURDAY?? And you waited this long to tell me?’
‘What happened to not partaking in devious gossip?’ Carla’s taller, auburn-haired companion smirked and crossed her arms, the multicoloured kandi bracelets on her wrist clinking lightly on impact, ‘I thought it was beneath you.’
Grace folded his arms and wiggled his head sarcastically, mimicking her. ‘Don’t you dare smart mouth me, Mackenzie,’ he waved off the girls, unsuccessfully suppressing his laughter, ‘Anyway take your seats, I do actually plan on teaching the lesson today.’
The girls giggled and headed over to their desks.
‘Alright guys! Settle down,’ he raised his voice to combat the incessant chatter that filled the room, ‘Yes that means you Lee. Sit, please. On a chair, not on Miles’ desk. Jeez kiddo, I swear you’re gonna take years off my life!’ Miles shoved the dark-haired boy from his perch on the desk, and Lee stuck his tongue out in retaliation as he resigned himself to his own.
Towards the end of the lesson - the first in their current biology topic on pathogens and infection - his class suddenly settled into an uncomfortable nervous silence. That was weird, Grace usually couldn’t get them to shut up. He glanced over at the doorway, and sure enough two figures loomed there, rather ominously silhouetted by the light of the hall.
‘Oh hey Principal Stratt!’ Grace’s eyes darted to the other person in the doorframe, ‘And um… other guy,’ he grinned jovially at the source of his student’s terror, gave an awkward but genuine wave and went back to doing exactly what he had been doing moments before (which was to say, drawing a smiley face and top hat on his particularly shoddy whiteboard drawing of a microbe). One of the shadowy figures, Ms Eva Stratt, a thin, stern looking woman with long rusty hair and a thick woollen jumper, softened almost imperceptibly at Grace’s acknowledgement and gave a half-nod-half-smile in return. Although less familiar to the students, the mysterious man accompanying their principal was no less intimidating, and didn’t seem to soften at all, instead simply raising an eyebrow at the action. Loose dark curls framed his bearded face, coming to about shoulder length, and he wore a dark coarse jumper and black slacks, the former of which was just about figure-hugging enough to give a subtle impression of the muscle beneath. The sleeve of his left arm was folded and pinned up neatly to accommodate his missing arm. If Grace was remembering his basic anatomical and medical biology correctly, he thought it looked likely to be the result of a transhumeral amputation; cut off at the upper arm, above the elbow.
‘So who’s the nerd?’ the unknown man spoke quietly, so as to not disturb the class or allow his voice to carry to the nerd in question.
‘That nerd,’ Ms Stratt replied bluntly, ‘is our head of Sciences, Dr Ryland Grace. You’ll be a teaching assistant for his class while you finish your qualification.’ Despite her firm tone, something in her words hinted that she wasn’t truly chastising the long-haired man beside her, ‘Teaching and learning on the go, if you will.’
‘Wait, Dr Grace?’ he turned to her, taken aback slightly, ‘As in the Dr Grace?’
‘Yes.’
‘As in your only friend Dr Grace?’
‘Only other friend,’ she corrected matter-of-factly, ‘You are also my friend, Simon, otherwise I would not be doing this.’
‘Oh whatever, don’t get all mushy on me now.’ The long-haired man, Simon, averted his eyes, turning back to the classroom.
‘Is it really that hard to believe?’ Ms Stratt asked, ‘That Dr Grace and I are close, I mean.’
‘I mean kind of,’ Simon tilted his head, shrugging, ‘He doesn’t exactly seem like the type of guy I remember you hanging with. He’s a bit more… dorky than I imagined. ’
‘He’s a high school science teacher who decorates his classroom like a kindergarten, I don’t understand why you are surprised by the fact that he is, as you say, “dorky.” Besides, I seem to recall hanging around with you, and it would be a very bold statement to suggest that you are not also befitting of that description.’
‘Yes, but he’s especially dorky,’ he stammered slightly remembering how close the two were, ‘Nothing wrong with that, I mean, it’s fine. It’s just not what I expected from the close personal friend of Eva Stratt.’
She laughed at that, like actually laughed. Not loud or outright, but a soft one, almost to herself. Simon couldn’t help notice how much his friend had changed since they’d first met all those years ago. Maybe Dr. Grace had something to do with that, he couldn’t be sure. ‘We’re really not that different,’ Eva insisted. ‘I’m just not as colourful. And I don’t talk as much as he does.’
Simon laughed ‘Oh yeah, he certainly doesn’t have the air of mystery that you do.’
She raised her eyebrows and gave Simon a knowing look. ‘You’d be surprised.’
Just then, the lesson ended and students began to filter out. As they did, Simon vaguely registered Stratt’s occasional comments of ‘spit out that gum’ and ‘roll down that skirt please Keira’ and ‘Miles, do not forget about my meeting with your parents tomorrow’ and other such things, but what he was far more focused on was Dr Grace, who had started to make his way to the door towards them. Dr Grace was ever so slightly taller than Simon, and as Eva had quite adequately put it, very colourful. Over the top of a pale blue and white striped shirt, he wore this yellow cable-knit jumper - not so bright of a yellow to be an eye-sore, but rather a soft one, almost the colour of a yellow rose - and a red tie hung slightly crooked around his neck. He lifted his wire-frame glasses, balancing them precariously atop a head of hair which Simon caught himself thinking looked almost strategically tousled. His look seemed less curated from the waist down, however, with his once deep-blue jeans now faded and obviously worse for wear, and a pair of beat-up white Chuck Taylors with mismatched laces, one green, one blue, both equally threadbare and in need of replacement. A tiny fox key chain dangled from one of his belt loops, which from the geometric shape looked to be either 3D-printed or handcrafted. Suddenly, Simon became conscious of Grace’s extended hand waiting patiently before him and pulled his gaze away from the man’s waist - great start, Simon, really great- and met his eyes . It was a harder task than expected; between the winter morning sunlight which filtered through the windows behind him, his blond hair, and his bright clothes, now that Grace was stood directly in front of him, the golden light seemed to surround him in a glow, almost like a halo, obscuring his face and causing Simon to squint and scowl ever so slightly.
This only made Grace more nervous.
‘Hi, I’m Dr Ryland Grace,’ he introduced himself hurriedly as Simon shook his hand, ‘Uh, you can call me Ryland. Or Dr Grace, whatever you prefer. Or you know, just Grace. Most people tend to go for just Grace. I mean, other than Olesya, but that’s only because she-’
‘Grace, I’d like you to meet Simon Butcher,’ Stratt mercifully cut him off from his incessant rambling, and gestured between them, ‘Grace, Simon. Simon, Grace… You can let go of his hand now.’ Grace retracted his hand quickly, laughing awkwardly and plunging his hands deep into his pockets as he apologised. Simon smiled reassuringly, sensing the man’s discomfort at the seemingly unexpected social introduction, a feeling he could certainly sympathise with.
‘It’s very nice to meet you, Dr Grace.’
‘You do remember me telling you about the new trainee teacher, don’t you?’ Stratt gave Grace a pointed look.
‘Oh jinkies, is that what today is?’
Jinkies?? Who is this guy Velma Dinkley?
‘Yes,’ Stratt replied flatly, ‘One of these days I’m going to have to go back to sticking post-its on your head.’ She looked between the two of them, satisfied that she had given them enough information and checked her watch, ‘I have a meeting in 15 minutes. Grace, I trust you can complete Mr Butcher’s tour of the school building, introduce him to the faculty and help him get settled into the classroom?’ Grace nodded, and gave the principal a mock salute, and she turned on her heel and marched down the hall back to her office. He gestured for Simon to enter.
Simon took in the classroom: the rack of specimen jars (one of which that looked suspiciously like just some spaghetti and an egg) that decorated the back wall, those old glow in the dark stars plastered on the ceiling where a DIY solar system model hung from ribbons and fishing wire, the assortment of random sci-fi posters and thank you cards on the wall space behind his desk, which was almost invisible beneath the assorted piles of books and papers scattered across it. Simon already felt out of place, he wasn’t used to this much stuff.
Grace swung on the doorway slightly watching as his new teaching assistant acclimatised himself with the surroundings. ‘So um, Mr Butcher right?’
‘Simon is fine.’ he replied, not turning around, still engrossed in mentally cataloguing each item in the room.
‘Right, yes,’ Grace clapped his hands together. Simon turned around at that, ‘So Simon,’ he gave a cheesy grin accompanied clumsy finger guns gesture, ‘Where do you want to start?’