Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Getting a new student in the middle of the quarter was always a pleasant surprise. The benefit of being a teacher was his newfound appreciation for the effort it took to integrate these sudden students. 

But putting in the effort was a treasure he wished he’d been afforded in his youth. It was so simple, really, but it made all the difference to children in these situations. Sudden upheavals were already such a disaster for adolescents, the added variable of puberty certainly wasn’t helping. 

Overall, it wasn’t a great experience. 

Which is why, upon receiving only a day’s notice of the arrival of a new student, Ryland Grace was scrambling to make the transition into his classroom as seamless as possible for them.

Singling this student out to introduce them was a double-edged sword. On one hand, it gave all of his current students the knowledge of their name, rather than twenty-seven individual introductions. On the other, it could be the cause of massive embarrassment for this new student, which he understood to be tantamount to social suicide in the eyes of pre-teens. It wasn’t a fun seesaw, weighing the two options, but he decided going with the first was better as it showed he was making the effort. 

Above all else, he wanted this student to trust him. It was one of the more rewarding aspects of teaching middle schoolers – he saw these kids five days a week, upwards of two hours each day, sometimes more than these kids saw their own parents. It did wonders for building a rapport of trust between them. The single most vindicating demonstration of his effort in building that trust is when students come to him with personal issues. He’d remind them of his role as a mandated reporter (though thankfully he’s only had to invoke those powers once), and they would…talk. Family issues, sibling rivalries, relationship troubles, he’s seen it all.

But it meant the world to him that these children trusted him.

He hoped to the heavens above that this new student would learn to do the same.

Ryland glanced at the sheet as he waited for the bell signaling the start of his morning class. Only a few students were in, some frantically scribbling away at their forgotten assignments for other classes, a few who were doodling while sharing an earbud each. His eyes dropped to the name of the student who would arrive in his sixth period, the final class of the day.

Claire Gentry

He sighed, blowing a stray strand of hair from out of his face before he began drafting a letter for Claire and her guardians. It was the least he could with her coming in during the tail end of February, he thought.

And so he began to write.

——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ———

Sixth period arrived quicker than he realized. As soon as the bell rang for fifth and he smiled at the horde of students packing up their bags and moving with cheerful exuberance to their final class of the day. He waved to all of them, high fiving a few who prompted it, before glancing at the clock.

The five minute passing period was swift, as it typically was. He erased the notes from his last class, prepping the board with assignment instructions for the incoming eighth graders. Today was a day of great excitement for the class who’d spent the last two weeks learning all they could about air resistance and drag – they’d be splitting into groups to design their very own bottle rockets. A hefty few points of extra credit would be awarded to the team whose rocket stayed in the air the longest.

Oh, how he hoped this Claire fit right in. It would be awful for her to feel left out on her very first day.

The students of Mr. Grace’s six period class slowly filtered in. Abby, Rehka, Jordan, the usual crowd. He would never inform any of his students of this fact, but the last class of the day tended to be his favorite. The kids always bubbled with an energy of excitement the other classes typically didn’t share, and it tended to convey itself in a genuine curiosity for science. 

And there it was – the only unfamiliar face.

A girl of average height (at least for an eighth grader) and dark hair walked in, hands clenched tightly on the straps of her backpack. Ryland stepped forward immediately, approaching her like one would a stray cat.

“Hi, I’m Mr. Grace,” he said, pointing at himself. “I’ll be your sixth period teacher, teaching you science.”

“I’m Claire,” she smiled politely at him, but he saw the hesitation that came with it. 

“I saw the note that you have a pacemaker. Is there anything you need for accommodations? I want you to be safe and healthy here.”

All medical issues possessed by his students were at the forefront of his mind. Especially seeing as he taught one of the more volatile subjects, safety was of the utmost priority.

He kept the room stocked with at least two epipens for the five students he knew to have severe allergies. In the storage cabinet were spare blankets he washed every week for the few with poor circulation. He updated the first aid aid kit monthly. If his new student with a pacemaker needed anything, Ryland would make sure she had it.

“I don’t think so. If there’s a glitch in it I might pass out and have to go to the hospital but that’s only happened once in the three years I’ve had it so fingers crossed,” she smiled, as though that were the most normal sentence ever.

But great news! She had a sense of humor!

“A-Ah, alright. Do you mind if I introduce you?” he asked with a reassuring grin. “It’ll be real quick I promise.”

Surprisingly, she nodded, before following the others to take the spare seat in the second row. When the bell rang, he moved to his standard position at the front of the class and cleared his throat, allowing for the pre-class chatter to die down. 

“Good afternoon! I’m sure many of you have noticed we have someone new joining us today. I’m sure everyone will join me in welcoming Ms. Claire to our class,” Ryland gestured to his newest student. 

She flushed under the attention but gave a little wave.

He went on to continue the lesson plan for the day before allowing the formation of the rocket groups. He watched from the corner of his eye as Claire was invited into a group without him ever asking and he smiled proudly. 

When the end of the school day came at last, Ryland breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t a complete disaster. In fact, he thought he did pretty damn well!

“Remember your preliminary bottle rocket designs are due on Wednesday! Have a great rest of the day, everyone!” he called over the calamity of the bell. “Claire, can I speak with you?”

She waved at her rocket group, even exchanging numbers with a few others, before bouncing over to him.

“I have a letter for your parents or guardians. You had fun today?” he asked with a grin. She nodded, grabbing the letter and putting it into her bag.

“You’re really nice,” Claire suddenly said before turning on her heels. “Thank you!”

Ryland felt the heat rise to his cheeks before wishing her well and waving as she closed the door. 

He rode the high of making that child smile all the way home.

——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ———

Courtland Gentry did not hover. He did not fret, he did not worry.

So why was Claire starting her first day in a real school suddenly like an ambush in his mind? She was fine, he’s sure she was, but it didn’t stop him from wanting to stake out a middle school with a sniper rifle. 

When he received a phone call from her at the hour of her lunch time, he picked the phone up with a tad more urgency than he intended.

“I hate it here,” was the first thing she said to him. He breathed a sigh of relief. Teenage angst was something he could deal with. If she hated it, it was boring, which was safe.

“You haven’t even finished a whole day,” he snorted, sliding the phone beneath his ear as he stretched. “And aren’t you supposed to be off your phone?”

He heard her sigh loudly through the speakers.

“I’m in the bathroom during break. There’s loads of girls here on their phone. Do I really have to do this? Why can’t I just keep getting tutors?”

“You need to interact with people who aren’t CIA. Preferably around your own age. Just give it a chance, sweetheart,” he said, pulling out a packet of Trident Spearmint.

“Are you chewing–?”

He hung up on her with a grin, tossing his phone aside. 

Court had expected her to curse him out the moment she crossed the threshold of their new residence, only a short eight minute walk from the school.

Which is why when she arrived home absolutely beaming, Court was both puzzled and intrigued. What had happened in the last two hours of the school day to change her attitude that much?

“My science teacher is awesome,” she laughed, as soon she walked through the doors, tearing off her backpack. “We spent the entire hour designing bottle rockets, y’know the ones that you fill with water and then shoot into the sky? We’re gonna launch them next week and I want my group’s one to be the best. We’ll get extra credit for it, Mr. Grace said so.”

He had looked up all of her teachers ahead of time (being cautious was a virtue, sue him), but one certainly stood out like a sore thumb.

Dr. Ryland Grace. 

Frankly, he was grossly overqualified for his position, which raised a few alarm bells in Court’s mind. The man held a doctorate in molecular biology, what the hell was he doing teaching at a middle school?

A few more searches revealed the likely reason for the step-down in his employment. He’d been a renowned academic before he was quite literally thrown from his field. Who knew speculative xenobiology was such a pressure cooker of an environment? Not him, that’s for damn sure. He hadn’t even graduated high school.

The video of the famed UNESCO conference nearly had him howling. Calling the leading scholar a staggering waste of carbon in retaliation before being dragged out kicking and screaming? Yeah, that’s exactly who he wants teaching his kid science. Someone who isn’t afraid to fight for themselves.

“Oh?” he asked, feigning ignorance as he watched her pull out a drawing of a rocket. “What’s so special about him, huh? You were all but begging me to take you home a few hours ago.”

“He’s just so cool! And he really made sure I wasn’t out of place, even asked if I needed accommodations for my pacemaker,” Claire replied. “Do we have trashbags? Like those big ones? We’re gonna need a parachute for the rocket.”

“We should–”

“Oh, and he has something for you, too,” she interrupted, holding a letter. He reached for it curiously.

The back had nothing but the word Gentry written on it. The seal on the front was held taut by a sticker of Saturn. He slid his finger beneath the seal and opened the compartment to reveal a hand-written letter, which he began to slowly read. 

To the Guardians of Claire Gentry,

Welcome to Grover Cleveland Middle! I hope Claire has an excellent time here both at the school and in my classroom. I know mid-year transitions can be tough so I just wanted to write to reiterate that I am here to answer any questions! 

I also see that she has a pacemaker, so if she needs anything at all please don’t hesitate to reach out! With that being said, in case of medical emergencies, I am leaving my contact information. I would appreciate the effort in establishing a connection beforehand so information can get to you ASAP in worst case scenarios. 

Lastly, I wish for Claire to succeed in this classroom, and with that comes a few videos and movies that require a parent/guardian’s signature (PG-13). These videos are meant to be supplemental to the material taught in class. I’ve also attached these forms to the back of this letter. 

Here’s to a wonderful rest of the school year!

Sincerely,

Dr. Ryland Grace

Science (6th-8th)

What appeared to be a fox was hand-drawn next to the man’s signature. Cute.

Court’s nose twitched as a scent accompanied the letter. It was calming, like the salt of the sea mixed with a vanilla carried on the winds. 

Omega, his mind supplied easily. He’s not quite sure what to do with that information. On the one hand, it was impressive. The man held a Ph.D and fought his way into academia. Not stereotypical of an Omega. On the other hand, it was comforting. Claire hadn’t had any meaningful interactions with Omegas, this would be a good learning opportunity for her. 

“He sounds pretty great,” he supplied to Claire from behind his shoulder.

She doodled on her rocket ship sketch without ever acknowledging his words.

——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ———

He’s not sure what possessed him to email Dr. Ryland Grace a few minutes shy of midnight. But long after Claire went to bed and he’d analyzed the perimeter twice, he reread the letter. Over. And over. And over.

After about the fourth reread, Court pulled out his laptop with determination.

He wasn’t expecting a reply back at this hour, so he shut the lid of his laptop and decided now was as good as ever to get some rest.

——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ———

New Message from [Unknown]

🦊 :)

Chapter Text

To [Unknown]

Assuming this is Dr. Grace?

Courtland stifled a yawn between his fists, eyeing Claire as she tore up and down the stairs. He hardly had to yell at her to brush her teeth this morning and he watched with something akin to fascination as she rushed to get out the door. At break-neck speed she was combing her hair, adorning her jacket, grabbing a pre-made waffle from the toaster in between her teeth, and now tying her smudged converse.

Yesterday, he had very much felt like Sisyphus, attempting to push a thirteen year old girl-shaped boulder up a hill. Getting Claire to do something she didn’t want to felt like the punishment of the highest order. But now? 

It was all smooth sailing. Her steps bubbled with excitement as she packed her backpack. No longer did she drag her feet, no longer did she groan with every breath. Court even caught smiling as she looked at her phone, likely chatting with her newfound friends. This was more than he expected, but it was beautiful. 

Claire was finally given the opportunity to just be a normal kid. It had been a long few months on the run and Court knew how tough it had affected her, no matter how hard she tried to brush it off. Looking over their shoulder had become second nature, but in doing so, she’d lost how it felt to be mundane.

But look at her now. Going to school, making friends, being happy? 

And it was all thanks to one amazing teacher.

Speaking of which – his phone buzzed again.

From [Unknown]

Oh, good morning! You’d be correct :) And Mr. Grace is fine.

Fine by him. Though it was curious he elected not to go by his proper title. 

Contact saved under Mr. Grace(Claire Teacher)

To Mr. Grace(Claire Teacher)

You have a Ph.D, don’t you? In what, if you don’t mind me asking?

He omitted the fact he already knew, but something in him wanted that information to come directly from the source. It was…tactful. That’s all.

From Mr. Grace(Claire Teacher)

Molecular biology, emphasis in speculative xenobiology! 

To Mr. Grace(Claire Teacher)

Wow. Quite the resume.

Claire thumped up the stairs one more time as she realized she forgot something. Court waited for her to disappear around the stairwell before his lips moved into a grin. There was something about this man that was entirely too addicting. 

From Mr. Grace(Claire Teacher)

It certainly is a mouthful! It’s why I don’t usually bring it up with preteens, they get fixated on the alien life hypotheticals and forget to pay attention in class. So Mr. Grace it is :)

Contact saved under Mr. Grace

His young charge returned with cheeks rosy from exertion.

“Leaving now!” she announced with a smile, attempting to brush past him.

Courtland gestured for Claire to come near him, before embracing her. Despite her insistent tugs, he damn near smothered her in his scent, pressing one last kiss to her forehead for good measure.

“Dad!” she groaned, exasperatedly attempting to squirm away.

“Have a good day,” he chuckled, relinquishing his gasp at last. “Don’t call me from the bathroom this time.”

From Mr. Grace

One last thing before I prep for my morning class, please remember to have Claire bring those forms I sent her home with! We’ll be watching a movie at the end of the week and I’ll get in trouble with the district if I don’t have every parents’ permission. (It’s a secret though don’t tell Claire!! 🤫💫)

“You got the permission forms right?” he called out to Claire as she stepped across the threshold.

She didn’t look back at him but held a thumbs up in the air, practically slipping onto the path that would lead to the middle school. Court kept watch until her form disappeared around a corner, slinking back to the comfort of his kitchen.

To Mr. Grace

She’s walking out the door with them now. She keeps going on and on about her rocket design and how she can’t wait to show it to you.

That last detail was unnecessary. But he couldn’t help himself. 

From Mr. Grace

I’ll be looking forward to it! :D

From there on the messages paused, likely because Mr. Grace was at his place of employment and was getting ready to do his job. He knew that fact, and yet it didn’t stop the feeling of mourning that accompanied it.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt a meaningful connection to another person, besides Fitzroy and Claire, one of which was dead and the other being thirteen. So he won’t apologize for seeking companionship from his daughter’s teacher, it was natural.

At least that’s what he told himself.

If he gave the letter pinned on the refrigerator one last hearty sniff before retreating to his office for an urgent phone call, that was no one’s business but his own. 

——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ———

The texts don’t stop. And Courtland can’t really decide if he really wants them to. 

Sometimes he’d lay awake in the late hours of the night, fingers itching to reach out to that one contact in his phone burning a hole in his pocket. His mind would…wander mid-conversation, drifting precariously to the Omega teacher he was suddenly drawn to.

He could deny it no longer – Ryland Grace had found a place in his head and was particularly keen on staying there. So much so it threatened to break his meticulously maintained walls he’d placed between his personal life and his line of work.

The hotel room he’s staking out in wasn’t grand by any means, but what it lacked in amenities it made up for with an incredible view. The California coastline couldn’t be beat, crystalline blue waters, boats lining the marina. Frankly, it was a beautiful afternoon, but his target chose a bad day to sunbathe.

This particular job was a far cry from what he’s used to – waiting for the target to leave the crowded outdoor restaurant. Court is man enough to admit he’s fucking bored, not even the one with his fingers on the trigger this time. He supposes it’s not too bad, it beats living like a shadow. It beats obeying orders from handlers.

It beats being a number.

When he took Claire from that Virginia safe house, he’d thought that was his chance to leave the world of covert ops behind him. Start his life from the ground up, take Claire and disappear from this mess. As it turns out, the CIA weren’t exactly done with him.

But he was of no value to them dead and even less than that angry, so they struck a deal. A new start, with some conditions. 

He wanted his name on paper. Badge and everything. No longer a ghost, no longer covert, no longer in the Gray. He wanted to be present – with Claire. Allot them both an established house, not a safehouse, not a hotel room, a house. A normal house with a normal yard and get her enrolled in a normal school.

And in a shocking turn of events, he’d gotten all of it. The contract he scored was the culmination of two decades of work, ruthless determination, and a hell of a lot of spilt blood, but he’d done it.

Sierra Six was dead.

Courtland Gentry, in his place, was reforged.

He’s had enough action for a lifetime. He’d take mundane jobs like this any fucking day.

Should he really be on his phone during a mission? Of course not, he’s supervising a new recruit for God’s sake. Supposed to be setting an example and all that jazz. But when his eyes flicked to the contact name, all caution was thrown out the damn window.

From Mr. Grace

Claire had an amazing time today! Her group took home first place! :)

> 8394.MOV

A video? He glanced back through the scope, and upon seeing the target had ways to go with finishing his meal, he leaned away and pressed play.

“Ok, Group 6! We have Hannah, Emily, Annie, and Claire. Got your rocket filled?” came Mr. Grace’s voice from behind the camera. They weren’t inside a classroom, but rather out on an open grassy field. 

Claire was absolutely beaming, nodding in tandem with 3 other girls, hands clenched around a 2-liter bottle-turned-rocket. Construction paper nose cone concealing a hastily stuffed parachute nestled at the very top.

They approached what appeared to be a pole fitted with an air pump, spinning the bottle around and attaching the hole of the bottle to the pump. Slowly but steadily, the bottle began to expand with air. 

“Alright, we’re going to count you down. Stopwatch people be ready.”

As the girls held the line attached to their rocket, they all giggled. When the countdown came they each gave their mightiest tug, and the rocket shot up into the sky.

The camera shakily panned upwards, floundering for a few seconds before it landed on the bottle rocket. The nose cone popped off just as it reached its highest point, and three 9-gallon trash bags attached with copious amounts of duck tape gently inflated.

“Look at it go!” Mr. Grace cheered again.

The rocket stayed in the air for nearly half a minute, smoothly lowering back onto the grass, where dozens of children clapped and paraded its return to its owners.

“Amazing work! I think that was our best one yet!” the voice behind the camera laughed. It was heavenly.

The video concluded. 

Courtland huffed, trying and failing to not let a smile cross his lips. Few things did, like Claire, bubblegum, and now, most recently, Mr. Grace. 

To Mr. Grace

That’s my girl

A fair response, if he did say so himself. 

Claire would probably think he’s acting like an idiot.

From Mr. Grace

Hi Dad! Stole his phone!!

Speak of the devil and she will appear. 

Attached was a selfie. Claire was smiling so widely it looked like it hurt while a man in the back was frantically reaching for her. It was slightly blurry, painting the idea this was a very rushed endeavor, but there he was.

Mr. Grace had messy golden hair, kind eyes, and a softness that he wouldn’t have otherwise expected. If ever there was an embodiment of the word sunshine, he’d be in top contention. It’s the first time Court had gotten a good look at him. Half a decade old conferences with shitty camera resolutions didn’t count. This was real. Tangible.

Something in his chest twisted.

To Mr. Grace

Give it back gremlin

He typed the chide with little bite, eyes flicking back onto the target in the square below. He’d get a mouthful if they caught him on his phone during a mission, but truthfully it failed to worry him.

From Mr. Grace

>:P ur supposed to be working stop texting my teacherrrr

Court stifled a chuckle with a cough, once again double checking the target was still in position. He even radioed the newbie of the unchanged environment. Part of this job was simply sitting around and waiting for the opportunity to strike, no matter how long it took.

From Mr. Grace

Sorry about that! They know I’m not supposed to be on my phone during class 😅

To Mr. Grace

I’m sure they can let it slide. You seem like an amazing teacher. I don’t think I’ve seen Claire that happy in a good minute

From Mr. Grace

oh thank you Mr. Gentry!

His fingers moved like lightning across the screen. Biting his lip nearly to the point of bleeding, Court decided to push it.

To Mr. Grace

You don’t have to be so formal. You can call me Courtland.

The reply that came seconds later had him swallowing thickly.

From Mr. Grace

Ditto :)

He pocketed his phone as he spotted the target on the move, radioing the signal and watching as the body dropped within seconds.

The hotel room was left spotless with not so much as a scent left behind. 

Contact saved under Ryland

——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ———

Ryland Grace has a problem.

An Am-I-Infatuated-With-One-Of-My-Students’-Parents kind of problem. This was not good for him. He hadn’t even met the man. And yet he’s kind of obsessed.

In deliberating his dilemma, he’s started a mental diagram of all the things he knew about Mr. Gentry. First, he wasn’t Claire’s biological father. The young girl had mentioned the demise of her parents and uncle to her friends when Ryland had walked by, though he tried to preserve the privacy of the moment by pretending not to hear.

Second – he was an Alpha. A few days ago, he had taken up his post by the door, welcoming in his many students, even giving the occasional high-five. When Claire had walked in, he caught a whiff of whatever scent she was lathered in.

And boy, was it so intense, he felt his knees go weak for a few moments. Teakwood, amber, and was that…bubblegum? A strange amalgamation but intriguing nonetheless. It only took him several minutes to realize the origin of the scent and the implications were dire. Ryland barely regained his composure before the start of class, grateful that the nature of his profession allowed him to hide the small spike in his pheromones in the minutes that followed.

Third – the man was impossibly charming. How he managed to convey so much…charisma, for lack of a better term, in a few short sentences was beyond him. Several times did Ryland have to slam his phone face down in order to cover the absolute nefarious flush that rose in his cheeks.

But besides those facts, Courtland Gentry remained a mystery.

Ryland had no idea about his occupation, his hobbies, or even what he looked like. “Odd hours” of work could mean anything and something about him didn’t exactly scream 9-5. He almost never talked about himself, always asking about Ryland or Claire or something with the school. It pains him to admit it, but he attempted to look the man up online in order to gauge what he looked like. 

As far as Ryland was concerned, he was a ghost. 

But as he packed up for the day some fifteen minutes after the bell rang for his last class, tucking away his fourth period’s essays that were to be graded over his dinner – he remembered. 

Ryland’s eyes dashed to his wall, locking onto his calendar, which was aptly covered in stickers of stars, planets, asteroids, and other celestial objects (the Hubble telescope sticker was his favorite!). Ryland’s stomach dropped to his feet as he came across next week’s dates, circled in red.

Parent-Teacher Conferences.

Normally, this would have him dreading for the usual reasons. A - conversing with adults about their children’s behavior didn’t always end amicably, and B - he found it rather tedious that his lesson plans were crushed down to bare essentials, wasting an entire week to account for the early release schedules. 

Now, Ryland was panicking for an entirely different reason.

That reason being he’d be meeting Courtland Gentry in less than a week.