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wl_fanfictionDon’t Stand So Close to Me
Written By: PD and Glyph! whoo for co-authorship
Edited by: Glyph
For: Sungreen70's Secret Summer Fic Challenge
Rated: R for language and sex
Pairing: none at the moment... tee hee
Summary: Totally and completely AU. We’ve toyed with their time lines and ages, switched a bunch of stuff around, but they’re all still the same guys. Based off of the Police song ‘Don’t Stand so Close to Me’ *dances to it*
Disclaimer: We don’t own any of ‘em, so don’t sue us!
Chapter 1
Colin Mochrie smoothed his hands over the remnants of his brownish blonde hair and scrubbed his sweaty hands on his dress slacks.
Anyone would be nervous on the first day of their new job, but most people weren’t new teachers.
And most new teachers weren’t being sent to reeducate troubled youths in correctional facilities, either.
Checking his tie in the mirror for the ninth time, he sighed, pursing his lips. He looked like he should be auditioning for a role in an English film about the Victorian era. Gray slacks, gray vest, gray, gray, gray. Even his tie was gray. He scowled and quickly swapped the tie for a brilliant red one with funny designs on it. Hopefully the warden wouldn’t get mad.
Tugging on a heavy brown over coat and picking up his briefcase, he glanced in the mirror once again before hurrying out the door
----
The Canadian Institute for Criminal Boys was large, gray, and ugly.
Probably one of the worst environments for nurturing damaged lives back to healthy wholesomeness to be released back into society. Colin shook his head slightly in distaste at the place as he got out of his old Dodge pickup. Mid-September and already the snow was falling softly, coating everything before melting and turning to cold slush. He turned his collar up against the chill autumn air and hurried into the visitor’s entrance.
Inside the building, the decorators had made small effort to make the place seem nicer than it actually was. The walls were painted in different hues of brown, supposedly to give the distressed parents a sense of being grounded or at home. All Colin felt was that he was standing in the middle of the aftermath of a giant’s bowel movement.
The lady behind the desk, an old bird with fierce hazel eyes, barely looked up at him. He smiled at her, shaking some of the snow off before approaching the desk. Her nasal voice interrupted him before he could speak. “Name?”
“Uhm, Colin Mochrie, I’m here to be the new science teacher filling in for Mr. Frost?”
“That’s wonderful, the Warden would like to see you before you get checked in.” Her voice was as monotone as the surrounding walls. She jerked her thumb behind her to a large, official looking door.
“O-okay thank you Ms.,” he glanced at the nameplate. How the hell did he pronounce that? She was staring at him, eyes bright with challenge. “Mackel-heiny?” he dragged it out, looking apologetic.
She stared at him for a heartbeat before turning back to her paperwork. “Mrs.,” she snapped. “Nice try. Hurry your ass up, the Warden doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Colin blinked at her. Did he pass or not? He shrugged, picking up his briefcase and striding over to the door. Before he could knock on it, a loud voice bid him to enter. He did to find himself looking at a very stern looking young woman dressed in a very high fashion business suit, currently conducting a terse conversation on the phone. Apparently the person on the other end wasn’t winning the argument. Colin took advantage of her distraction to look at the person with a nasty reputation for brutal honesty, iron will, and razor sharp intelligence. He supposed you had to have those qualities if you ran a youth prison.
She was quite lovely, striking even, her figure delicate and curved in all the right places, her black hair drawn back in a tight bun, eyes a curious storm-gray, almond shaped, and a perfect cupid’s bow mouth.
She set the phone down and appraised Colin critically. He fidgeted nervously, still standing, until she rose and extended her hand with a graceful flourish. “Mr. Mochrie, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” she said in a heavily accented voice. French Canadian, Colin mused, with a very firm grip.
“You too Ms. Weiz,” he smiled.
“Please, call me Max, we are co-workers and formalities make me feel old.” She twitched her lip.
“Alright, but only if you call me Colin.”
“As you will. Now,” her eyes hardened, instantly all business. “I would first like to say now that we have the pleasantries out of the way that, while I am glad you took the job, I am by no means going to take it easy on you. This is one of the top youth correctional facilities in this.” Colin gulped, feeling his palms begin to sweat again. “Therefore, you will be taking self defense classes with a member of law enforcement we have here in the facility, a Mr. Brady.” She handed him a card with the man’s name on it.
“Okay. I guess it’s a teachers lot to keep learning even after we get out of school,” he tried to smile.
Her eyes were as empty as ever but the corner of her mouth twitched again. “Quite. I’ve been told by your former teachers that you majored in science, but that you also minored in the performing arts?” she asked, glancing at a sheet of paper in front of her.
Shit, who had told her that? He’d kill them. “Yes, as a matter of fact. But I never got onstage.”
“Regardless. I’m putting you and a co worker I have yet to tell into our new drama program. Yet another ‘bold step towards re-education’.” She sounded like she was quoting something that made her look like she bit into a lemon.
“But Ms. Weiz, Max-” Colin protested as the door burst open revealing a man who looked like he’d been cryogenically frozen in the fifties. His hair was in a perfect pompadour, his glasses had thick black rims, and the smirk on his face looked permanent.
“Okay, who’s the Weiz guy?” he demanded drolly.
Maxine Weiz barely spared him a glance, ignoring his joke on her name as she stood and pulled another file from her filing cabinet. “Hilarious as always Mr. Proops.”
Mr. Proops looked down at Colin, still clutching his card and briefcase, looking quite like a terrified little dog. “Hey there, Greg Proops, literature teacher extraordinarre.” He held out a hand.
Colin shook his hand weakly, trying to gather his faculties as they both continued to be ignored by Ms. Weiz. “Colin Mochrie, science geek.”
“Ah, so you’re the new guy!” Greg plopped into the chair next to him, and for some reason Colin didn’t mind the up close and personal kind of thing the guy was giving off. “I heard they were bringing in someone today, just didn’t know he’d be so…” Greg cocked his head at Colin.
Colin smiled. “Bald?”
Greg blinked, then grinned. “Nah, the last guy was bald, too. You’re fuckin’ adorable!” Colin blushed, and Greg’s eyes widened.
“Mr. Proops, must I warn you again?” Ms. Weiz asked, sitting back down and looking at them both with calm gray eyes.
Greg’s enthusiasm flagged a little. “No Ma’am, but how could you resist him? He has dimples!” Greg pointed at the dimples in question. Colin blushed even harder, flushing all the way to the roots of his hair.
Her eyes slid to him then back, her mouth doing its little twitch. “I’m glad you two like each other, because you’re both going to be working the drama program.”
“What?” Greg shot forward, gripping her hardwood desk. “I’m a literature teacher for fuck’s sake, not a drama nerd!”
“And yet you majored in performance theatre and played one of the lead roles in…” she glanced down at a rather thick file. “Othello?”
“What of it?” Greg crossed his arms.
“Hopefully you played Iago. Also, the students find your classes to be the highlights of their education, claiming it’s ‘Discovery’s Biography meets The Stand Up Box,” she read from a small slip of paper.
Greg flushed faintly, smiling tightly. “Please, a few jokes now and then doesn’t make me a drama teacher.”
Her mouth twitched. “It does now.” She glanced at them both, lacing long fingered hands over both of their files. “You will both keep your first positions in science and literature, however, every Tuesday and Thursday, you will hold an elective class in Auditorium C.”
Greg snorted, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. She ignored him then, too. “So I suggest you two get together and come up with a curriculum. I’ll need it before Tuesday of next week.” She rose. The men did so as well. “Greg, would you be so kind as to help Colin get aquainted with the facility and perhaps introduce him to Mr. Brady so he can begin his self defense lessons. Mr. Mochrie, Mr. Proops,” she nodded to them, shaking Colin’s hand.
“C’mon Adorable Man, let’s get you checked out,” Greg sniffed, leaving the office with a deft twist to his heel.
Colin noticed neither she nor Greg offered each other their hands and hurried to catch up with Greg.
“Crazy chick, huh?” Greg asked as they walked down the completely silent hallways,
“Yeah, kind of.” Colin admitted.
“As frigid as they come ever since her husband died.”
“How’d he die?”
“One of the kids here killed him after he was released. Weiz was a policeman. Shot 12 times before the kid took off in his car.”
Colin felt a surge of sympathy for the woman left all alone in her office. “Oh dear.”
“Yeah, she used to be so cool, too.” Greg sighed, hands stuffed into his pockets as they turned a corner. “So, what’s your story?”
“Oh, uh well I just graduated.”
Greg snorted. “Thought so.”
“Yes, I might as well have ‘fresh meat’ tattooed on my forehead I know.”
“Why not? There’s enough of it there,” Greg grinned.
Colin shot him a long-suffering sigh. “Just what I need, Buddy Holly making bald jokes.”
Greg let out a barking laugh that made Colin blush with pleasure. “Killer, man. Here’s where Wayne is,” he pointed down their left to an open office.
“Actually I’m stalking you,” came a rich voice from behind them, making them jump. They turned to see a relatively short Black man smiling tightly at them. Every inch of him not covered by a security uniform was well muscled and his hands, while graceful looking, looked like they could break your neck like a toothpick.
“Hey Wayne-y-kins,” Greg cooed, “I have your newest student here for a check out, if you know what I mean,” his eyebrows bounced, making his hairline wobble.
“Yeah I know what you mean.” Wayne rolled his eyes, extending a hand to Colin, who shook it with a shy smile. “Well, aren’t you the shy mouse?” Wayne squinted up at him critically.
“A truly tragic flaw in my otherwise godly make up, I assure you,” Colin smiled demurely.
Wayne grinned. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you an ID, get you checked in and I’ll get your schedule set up with the rest of the class.”
Colin found himself in Wayne’s small and cramped office getting his fingerprints taken, a sheaf of schedules, a map, and his ID shoved into his waiting arms, after which Greg plucked him out of his chair and dragged him out of the small office with a wave goodbye to Wayne.
“Cute isn’t he?” Greg asked excitedly.
“Huh-wah?” Colin blinked, looking up from trying to stuff all the papers into his small briefcase.
“Wayne!” Greg grinned, “God, what an ass the man has!”
“Uhm, yeah?” Colin smiled weakly, feeling a little out of place. Greg either didn’t notice or didn’t care, instead naming off all the buildings, their functions, and the huge gateway that led from the main school to the actual correctional facility. Colin felt a little uneasy as he took in the razor wire topped fences and the watchtowers. If he squinted, he could see men with big, mean looking guns scanning the area.
Greg’s hand on his sleeve pulled him along.
“And this is your classroom!” Greg motioned wide, the derisive note not lost in his voice. Colin felt positively bleak as he took in the bare gray walls, the huge black double tables and their chairs, all bolted to the concrete floor.
“Charming.”
“Oh, it ain’t so bad once you put up a few posters or something. Just make sure they’re laminated, or else the kid’s stick stuff to them that you really don’t want to have to pick off. Here’s the cabinets with all your science-y shit in them, padlocked of course, don’t want the kiddies making meth. Over there’s the shower for chemical removal.” Greg gestured into a deep alcove with a shower curtain. “In case they decide to try sulfur out as a new make up or something. And there’s your bathroom,” he pointed at a locked steel door. Colin really didn’t want to see what was behind it. Surely that would depress him even more.
Colin sat down heavily behind his desk, glancing at the old computer to his right. It looked like one step up from a Commodore. “This place is a hell hole.”
“Yep,” Greg agreed, perching on his desk in front of him and patting Colin’s shoulder. “But don’t worry, unlike the kids you’ll be teaching, you don’t have to live here.”
Colin heaved a sigh. Thank heavens for small favors.
“Come on, I’ll show you the teachers mess hall where we get our daily rations of recycled shit, then we can go to the bar and I’ll by you a beer to celebrate!”
“Lead on.” Colin heaved to his feet.
On their way out, (the mess hall had been just as depressing, but surprisingly hygienic) they walked through the set of gates that separated the prison yard from the school courtyard. Dimly, he could make out a few boys talking and sharing a smoke. One particular form caught his eye, tall and lanky, with a sheaf of blonde hair that managed to glint gold in the weak autumn light. The boy turned to look at him, flipping him the bird.
Colin shrugged to himself. That was probably going to happen a lot in this new job. Well, he was never one to back down from a challenge, so he set his jaw and trudged on with Greg to the outer gates, breath fogging in the crisp air. He turned back to look at the boy. He was still watching. With a frown, Colin left, following Greg’s car to the local bar, all the while wondering who the boy was.
----
“Who the fuck is that?” Ryan eyed the man’s slim form as he followed Proops through the gate.
“Dunno. Maybe it’s the new science teacher. He sure as hell doesn’t look like a guard. ” The others grinned in agreement. Drew took a drag from his cigarette. “Surprised they could get anyone to take the job after what happened to Ol’ Frosty.” He giggled.
Jeff chuckled darkly flashing perfect teeth in a wide grin. “Yeah. He looked pretty spooked after that little present in his desk drawer went off.”
“You mean spooky… with those fuckin’ gerbils he called eyebrows singed off his face and half his hair gone,” Brad added snorting at the memory. “I think it was what was left of his chair that convinced him to leave.” He puffed a perfect smoke ring, then added, “The pussy.”
“Yeah, well, they’d have been carrying him out instead of him leaving under his own steam if he’d been sitting in it instead of reaching over the desk.” Ryan took another puff and his eyes slid over to another group on the bench close to theirs. “Pretty cute use of the chemistry set.”
“He had it coming,” John said eyes firmly on the coal of his cigarette, softly flicking the ash, more a nervous habit than need. “Anyone care to bet how long this one will last?” Rory chuckled nastily.
“He looks like a light weight…” Ryan said, “five to one he don’t last the rest of the term.”
“Hmm,” Drew replied. “You’re on.”
Brad’s eyes glinted with interest. “Put me down for a twenty.”
Ryan glanced at him. “For or against?”
“Against,” Brad said. “He won’t last a month.”
“Aw sure he will,” Jeff said. “It’s always the wiry ones that do, you know.”
John’s eyes swept up to watch the new meat walk out the gate. “Looks as though somebody’s got eyes for you Stiles.” Ryan turned and saw the new guy watching him. Not really sure why he was doing it, he flipped the finger to the new teacher, who stared a moment longer then followed Proops out the last gate. Ryan watched with veiled interest the way the man almost seemed to glide, a definite grace in his step. Reaching the outer gates the man turned again and caught him staring, then turned and went to his car. Frowning, Ryan turned back to the group to find Session’s eyes boring into him. “Looks like you’ve got eyes for him.” He took another drag. “Going to be a teacher’s pet Stiles? Or maybe petting the teacher?” he questioned, his voice honeyed venom.
Ryan’s eyes narrowed and he dropped his cigarette. Sliding close to the smaller boy, he stared down his impressive nose at John, sitting unmoved on the bench watching him. “You got something to say, Sessions?” The others watched with interest, looking from one to the other as the day became more interesting.
John looked up through his unruly hair with a hard glint in his eyes. “And if I do?”
“Then I think you and me need-” The evening whistle sounded. It was time to go back to the block for evening quiet time before lights out, and the guards were at the door back inside. Officer Brady had his hand on his pistol, eyeing the situation at the table. Ryan’s eyes were hard when he turned back to the boy before him. John had been pushing him hard lately and it was time to slap him down a little. For now it would have to wait. “We’ll talk later, you and me…” he said softly though his teeth.
“Yes, I should think we will,” John agreed, pointedly grinding his cigarette butt into the ground with his heel a fraction of an inch from the toe of Ryan’s shoe. He headed for the door without a backward glance, his crew following closely. Ryan followed a moment later. Drew, Brad and Jeff came last, quietly placing bets on the outcome of the confrontation. For the moment the odds favored Ryan.
----
The town was an old mining town, and as usually happened when old mines played out, the town had begun to die a slow death. The late twenties had been a busy time, Prohibition sending a great many Americans across the border to Canada to get the drink their own government had denied them, the revenue staving off the inevitable. Before it was completely gone, however, the city fathers hit on a plan to change the focus of the town and bring in a new industry: Corrections. Not the big money for a super max facility, but enough that they could keep the town alive. The plan succeeded. Some of the old buildings were largely remodeled into the minimum-security facilities, and the medium security wing had been built several years later from the money brought in from the state. The infrastructure was quickly resurrected to service the small army of people who came to work there and support their new money crop.
Some of the local businesses, however, were virtually the same as when they had serviced and supplied the mines and smelters, and one of those was The Sluice Gate. It had opened in the heady boomtown days almost a hundred years ago and had served drinks ever since. Filled with memorabilia and pictures from its past, it was a comfortable if not very glamorous spot to catch one of the new micro brews, or something harder for the serious drinker, and the latest gossip or hockey scores. The food was good, the drinks unwatered, and it was the only action for fifty square miles.
Greg led Colin through the mid-week crowd to the roughly carved bar. Leaning his elbows on it he called out, “Denny! My darling, we are in need of liquid refreshment!”
“Greg, you son of a bitch! Where the hell have you been?” Denny smiled. Her eyes fell on Colin and lit up. “Who’s your new friend and where have you been hiding him ‘til now?”
“Down girl,” Greg replied as Colin blushed. “This is Colin Mochrie, the new science teacher up at the Institute. He just got here and doesn’t know enough to stay away from you. Give me one of those homebrews you cook up here before you start undressing him with your eyes, would you?”
Denny grinned at him. “Too late!” Setting a tall pilsner filled with a dark, aromatic brew on the bar she turned back to Colin. “Hey tall, bald and gorgeous. I get off at 2:00. I could get you off by about 3:00…” she offered looking him up and down, smiling in invitation.
Colin flushed even harder, red to the collar of his shirt. “Um, actually,” he indicating Greg’s beer, “if you could get me one of those, that would be great.”
Denny barked a laugh. “I like him!” Pulling another pilsner from the rack she filled it and set it in front of him, waiving him off when he reached for his wallet. “First one’s on the house doll,” she said.
“You never gave me one on the house when I got here,” Greg complained, handing over his money.
“Yeah I did, it just wasn’t a beer,” she snarked back.
“Hmph,” Greg grumped. “Come on Colin let’s go grab a table.”
“I’d like to grab some of that,” Denny said, just loud enough for Colin to hear as he turned to follow. He glanced back and Denny waggled her eyebrows at him and licked her lips, smiling a shark’s smile. He returned it weakly, blinked a couple of times and quickly turned to follow Greg to a small table in the back of the room.
Greg spent the next hour trying to pry Colin’s background, politics, most embarrassing secrets and sexual orientation out of him. Colin eluded him easily when he chose to, and they both enjoyed the sparring. Eventually they fell to kicking ideas around for the new curriculum for the extra class they’d been assigned, with Colin absolutely sure this was a bad idea. He’d minored in drama, but explained to Greg that he only ever once gotten on the stage and that had been a complete disaster. He wasn’t sure he wanted to ever try it again.
“Man, being a teacher is the same thing,” Greg reasoned. “The class is your audience. In this case, there’s one or two that would probably kill you for real, but most of them are okay.”
“Which category does that tall blonde kid fall into?” Colin asked.
“What tall kid?”
“The one out in the yard as we were leaving this afternoon. Tallest one out there.” Colin swirled the last of his beer in his glass and smiled slightly. “He flipped me the bird as we left,” he said, downing the last of it.
“Ah,” Greg said, stretching mightily before replying. “That would be Stiles, the wonder bean-pole of the Institute.”
“What’s his story?”
“Oh, let’s see…” Greg pulled his glasses off and polished them as he ticked off a list. “Petty theft, breaking and entering, ring leader of a gang of pickpockets in Toronto…” He set his glasses back on his nose.
“None of that sounds like he should be here,” Colin said dubiously.
“Yeah, well that was the warm-up act.” He crossed his ankles and slumped down in his chair and contemplated his hands. “He got into some serious shit a couple of years ago, some drug ring or something, and apparently killed a couple of people with his bare hands.” He looked up at Colin. “Don’t turn your back on him,” he said seriously. “Actually, just to keep that fine ass of yours safe, don’t turn your back on any of them.”
Colin swallowed and nodded.
“And on a lighter note,” Greg grinned as Colin jumped, “you said you wanted to ask a question about our esteemed leader, Warden Weiz?” They both rose and shrugging their jackets back on, heading for the door.
“Yes.” Colin smiled and furrowed his brow. “What’s with that lip twitch of hers?”
Greg laughed. “I think it’s either her version of a smile or a nervous breakdown. You never know. ‘Night Denny,” he waved as they passed the bar.
“ ‘Night schmuck,” she replied. “ ‘Night doll. Sure I can’t change you mind?” she leered.
“Uh, no, thank you though,” Colin mumbled, and followed a laughing Greg out the door.
----
It was just before lights out that night and someone had “accidentally spilled” their soda in Ryan’s cell. Actually, the can had been thrown at him when his back was turned but had fortunately hit one of the bars of his cell instead of the back of his head. Three guesses who, he thought, glaring at John Sessions and his grinning entourage. That little limey bastard and me are gonna dance, he promised himself, cracking his knuckles in anticipation.
When Officer Patterson had come to investigate the noise, and of course blamed Ryan for being a clumsy son-of-a-bitch, he had jerked him out of his cell to sit on the hard concrete of the corridor until the janitor could finish cleaning up the floor. Ryan would get to sleep the night in the sticky linens, Patterson decreed, figuring this was his just desert for causing a problem right before the change of shift.
When the clean up was done, Ryan was finally allowed to get up and return to his cell. It stank of the industrial strength cleaner they used, guaranteed to peel paint and clear your sinuses if used full strength. On his way back into his cell he tangled his foot in the janitor’s bucket, almost tipping the whole stinking mess over, and landed in a heap on the floor beside it. Cursing creatively and with great feeling he limped back into his cell. Patterson chuckled nastily as he locked the cell door and disappeared down the hall with the janitor and his bucket. The lights went out on the block a moment later.
Ryan rubbed his aching shin for a moment, then stripped the sheets and blankets from his bed, dropping them in a sticky, sodden heap in the corner and lay down on the bare mattress, his hands behind his head, and stared at the ceiling. He ran the evening over in his mind, analyzing. He smiled, sure now. No one had noticed him drop the note in the mop bucket, and he was pleased. Sighing he rolled over, letting sleep claim him. Just before he drifted off, the slim figure of the new teacher came to mind and he smiled sleepily. The guy had a nice ass.
----
Back at his new apartment Colin was getting ready for bed. Quite the adventure today, he thought smiling softly. The Institute was as depressing a place as he’d ever seen, the students sounded as likely to try to kill him as do their homework, and his new boss the warden was, well… Call it as you see it Mochrie, he admonished himself. She’s a cast iron bitch in babe’s clothing. And that junkyard dog they had that passed for a receptionist, well, he still wasn’t sure if he’d pronounced her name right. He’d have to remember to ask Greg about that tomorrow.
Speaking of Greg, he was also going to have to figure out whether the guy was kidding or not. Colin was pretty sure he’d been hitting on him all evening. The last time he’d thought that someone was doing that had turned out disastrously in the end, hence his quick acceptance of a position that wasn’t exactly his first choice. Hell, it honestly was his absolute last choice, but none of the other schools would go near him after that little fiasco. Still, that pat on the butt Greg had given him before they went their separate ways… well there was only so many ways that could be taken. Colin chuckled at his reflection, then shook his head, sighed and brushed his teeth.
He laid out his clothes for the morning, and after a moment of thought also laid out a sweat suit for his classes with Officer Brady. Greg was right, he admitted. The guy had a great ass.
He brushed off the jacket he’d worn and hung it carefully in the closet. Crawling wearily into bed, his thoughts bleak. Gray. Everywhere he looked in his life was gray. Gray buildings, gray walls, gray clothes, gray life, gray future.
He fell asleep thinking of a shock of brown-blonde hair flashing like a soft golden flame in the dim fall sunlight.
Written By: PD and Glyph! whoo for co-authorship
Edited by: Glyph
For: Sungreen70's Secret Summer Fic Challenge
Rated: R for language and sex
Pairing: none at the moment... tee hee
Summary: Totally and completely AU. We’ve toyed with their time lines and ages, switched a bunch of stuff around, but they’re all still the same guys. Based off of the Police song ‘Don’t Stand so Close to Me’ *dances to it*
Disclaimer: We don’t own any of ‘em, so don’t sue us!
Chapter 1
Colin Mochrie smoothed his hands over the remnants of his brownish blonde hair and scrubbed his sweaty hands on his dress slacks.
Anyone would be nervous on the first day of their new job, but most people weren’t new teachers.
And most new teachers weren’t being sent to reeducate troubled youths in correctional facilities, either.
Checking his tie in the mirror for the ninth time, he sighed, pursing his lips. He looked like he should be auditioning for a role in an English film about the Victorian era. Gray slacks, gray vest, gray, gray, gray. Even his tie was gray. He scowled and quickly swapped the tie for a brilliant red one with funny designs on it. Hopefully the warden wouldn’t get mad.
Tugging on a heavy brown over coat and picking up his briefcase, he glanced in the mirror once again before hurrying out the door
----
The Canadian Institute for Criminal Boys was large, gray, and ugly.
Probably one of the worst environments for nurturing damaged lives back to healthy wholesomeness to be released back into society. Colin shook his head slightly in distaste at the place as he got out of his old Dodge pickup. Mid-September and already the snow was falling softly, coating everything before melting and turning to cold slush. He turned his collar up against the chill autumn air and hurried into the visitor’s entrance.
Inside the building, the decorators had made small effort to make the place seem nicer than it actually was. The walls were painted in different hues of brown, supposedly to give the distressed parents a sense of being grounded or at home. All Colin felt was that he was standing in the middle of the aftermath of a giant’s bowel movement.
The lady behind the desk, an old bird with fierce hazel eyes, barely looked up at him. He smiled at her, shaking some of the snow off before approaching the desk. Her nasal voice interrupted him before he could speak. “Name?”
“Uhm, Colin Mochrie, I’m here to be the new science teacher filling in for Mr. Frost?”
“That’s wonderful, the Warden would like to see you before you get checked in.” Her voice was as monotone as the surrounding walls. She jerked her thumb behind her to a large, official looking door.
“O-okay thank you Ms.,” he glanced at the nameplate. How the hell did he pronounce that? She was staring at him, eyes bright with challenge. “Mackel-heiny?” he dragged it out, looking apologetic.
She stared at him for a heartbeat before turning back to her paperwork. “Mrs.,” she snapped. “Nice try. Hurry your ass up, the Warden doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Colin blinked at her. Did he pass or not? He shrugged, picking up his briefcase and striding over to the door. Before he could knock on it, a loud voice bid him to enter. He did to find himself looking at a very stern looking young woman dressed in a very high fashion business suit, currently conducting a terse conversation on the phone. Apparently the person on the other end wasn’t winning the argument. Colin took advantage of her distraction to look at the person with a nasty reputation for brutal honesty, iron will, and razor sharp intelligence. He supposed you had to have those qualities if you ran a youth prison.
She was quite lovely, striking even, her figure delicate and curved in all the right places, her black hair drawn back in a tight bun, eyes a curious storm-gray, almond shaped, and a perfect cupid’s bow mouth.
She set the phone down and appraised Colin critically. He fidgeted nervously, still standing, until she rose and extended her hand with a graceful flourish. “Mr. Mochrie, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” she said in a heavily accented voice. French Canadian, Colin mused, with a very firm grip.
“You too Ms. Weiz,” he smiled.
“Please, call me Max, we are co-workers and formalities make me feel old.” She twitched her lip.
“Alright, but only if you call me Colin.”
“As you will. Now,” her eyes hardened, instantly all business. “I would first like to say now that we have the pleasantries out of the way that, while I am glad you took the job, I am by no means going to take it easy on you. This is one of the top youth correctional facilities in this.” Colin gulped, feeling his palms begin to sweat again. “Therefore, you will be taking self defense classes with a member of law enforcement we have here in the facility, a Mr. Brady.” She handed him a card with the man’s name on it.
“Okay. I guess it’s a teachers lot to keep learning even after we get out of school,” he tried to smile.
Her eyes were as empty as ever but the corner of her mouth twitched again. “Quite. I’ve been told by your former teachers that you majored in science, but that you also minored in the performing arts?” she asked, glancing at a sheet of paper in front of her.
Shit, who had told her that? He’d kill them. “Yes, as a matter of fact. But I never got onstage.”
“Regardless. I’m putting you and a co worker I have yet to tell into our new drama program. Yet another ‘bold step towards re-education’.” She sounded like she was quoting something that made her look like she bit into a lemon.
“But Ms. Weiz, Max-” Colin protested as the door burst open revealing a man who looked like he’d been cryogenically frozen in the fifties. His hair was in a perfect pompadour, his glasses had thick black rims, and the smirk on his face looked permanent.
“Okay, who’s the Weiz guy?” he demanded drolly.
Maxine Weiz barely spared him a glance, ignoring his joke on her name as she stood and pulled another file from her filing cabinet. “Hilarious as always Mr. Proops.”
Mr. Proops looked down at Colin, still clutching his card and briefcase, looking quite like a terrified little dog. “Hey there, Greg Proops, literature teacher extraordinarre.” He held out a hand.
Colin shook his hand weakly, trying to gather his faculties as they both continued to be ignored by Ms. Weiz. “Colin Mochrie, science geek.”
“Ah, so you’re the new guy!” Greg plopped into the chair next to him, and for some reason Colin didn’t mind the up close and personal kind of thing the guy was giving off. “I heard they were bringing in someone today, just didn’t know he’d be so…” Greg cocked his head at Colin.
Colin smiled. “Bald?”
Greg blinked, then grinned. “Nah, the last guy was bald, too. You’re fuckin’ adorable!” Colin blushed, and Greg’s eyes widened.
“Mr. Proops, must I warn you again?” Ms. Weiz asked, sitting back down and looking at them both with calm gray eyes.
Greg’s enthusiasm flagged a little. “No Ma’am, but how could you resist him? He has dimples!” Greg pointed at the dimples in question. Colin blushed even harder, flushing all the way to the roots of his hair.
Her eyes slid to him then back, her mouth doing its little twitch. “I’m glad you two like each other, because you’re both going to be working the drama program.”
“What?” Greg shot forward, gripping her hardwood desk. “I’m a literature teacher for fuck’s sake, not a drama nerd!”
“And yet you majored in performance theatre and played one of the lead roles in…” she glanced down at a rather thick file. “Othello?”
“What of it?” Greg crossed his arms.
“Hopefully you played Iago. Also, the students find your classes to be the highlights of their education, claiming it’s ‘Discovery’s Biography meets The Stand Up Box,” she read from a small slip of paper.
Greg flushed faintly, smiling tightly. “Please, a few jokes now and then doesn’t make me a drama teacher.”
Her mouth twitched. “It does now.” She glanced at them both, lacing long fingered hands over both of their files. “You will both keep your first positions in science and literature, however, every Tuesday and Thursday, you will hold an elective class in Auditorium C.”
Greg snorted, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. She ignored him then, too. “So I suggest you two get together and come up with a curriculum. I’ll need it before Tuesday of next week.” She rose. The men did so as well. “Greg, would you be so kind as to help Colin get aquainted with the facility and perhaps introduce him to Mr. Brady so he can begin his self defense lessons. Mr. Mochrie, Mr. Proops,” she nodded to them, shaking Colin’s hand.
“C’mon Adorable Man, let’s get you checked out,” Greg sniffed, leaving the office with a deft twist to his heel.
Colin noticed neither she nor Greg offered each other their hands and hurried to catch up with Greg.
“Crazy chick, huh?” Greg asked as they walked down the completely silent hallways,
“Yeah, kind of.” Colin admitted.
“As frigid as they come ever since her husband died.”
“How’d he die?”
“One of the kids here killed him after he was released. Weiz was a policeman. Shot 12 times before the kid took off in his car.”
Colin felt a surge of sympathy for the woman left all alone in her office. “Oh dear.”
“Yeah, she used to be so cool, too.” Greg sighed, hands stuffed into his pockets as they turned a corner. “So, what’s your story?”
“Oh, uh well I just graduated.”
Greg snorted. “Thought so.”
“Yes, I might as well have ‘fresh meat’ tattooed on my forehead I know.”
“Why not? There’s enough of it there,” Greg grinned.
Colin shot him a long-suffering sigh. “Just what I need, Buddy Holly making bald jokes.”
Greg let out a barking laugh that made Colin blush with pleasure. “Killer, man. Here’s where Wayne is,” he pointed down their left to an open office.
“Actually I’m stalking you,” came a rich voice from behind them, making them jump. They turned to see a relatively short Black man smiling tightly at them. Every inch of him not covered by a security uniform was well muscled and his hands, while graceful looking, looked like they could break your neck like a toothpick.
“Hey Wayne-y-kins,” Greg cooed, “I have your newest student here for a check out, if you know what I mean,” his eyebrows bounced, making his hairline wobble.
“Yeah I know what you mean.” Wayne rolled his eyes, extending a hand to Colin, who shook it with a shy smile. “Well, aren’t you the shy mouse?” Wayne squinted up at him critically.
“A truly tragic flaw in my otherwise godly make up, I assure you,” Colin smiled demurely.
Wayne grinned. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you an ID, get you checked in and I’ll get your schedule set up with the rest of the class.”
Colin found himself in Wayne’s small and cramped office getting his fingerprints taken, a sheaf of schedules, a map, and his ID shoved into his waiting arms, after which Greg plucked him out of his chair and dragged him out of the small office with a wave goodbye to Wayne.
“Cute isn’t he?” Greg asked excitedly.
“Huh-wah?” Colin blinked, looking up from trying to stuff all the papers into his small briefcase.
“Wayne!” Greg grinned, “God, what an ass the man has!”
“Uhm, yeah?” Colin smiled weakly, feeling a little out of place. Greg either didn’t notice or didn’t care, instead naming off all the buildings, their functions, and the huge gateway that led from the main school to the actual correctional facility. Colin felt a little uneasy as he took in the razor wire topped fences and the watchtowers. If he squinted, he could see men with big, mean looking guns scanning the area.
Greg’s hand on his sleeve pulled him along.
“And this is your classroom!” Greg motioned wide, the derisive note not lost in his voice. Colin felt positively bleak as he took in the bare gray walls, the huge black double tables and their chairs, all bolted to the concrete floor.
“Charming.”
“Oh, it ain’t so bad once you put up a few posters or something. Just make sure they’re laminated, or else the kid’s stick stuff to them that you really don’t want to have to pick off. Here’s the cabinets with all your science-y shit in them, padlocked of course, don’t want the kiddies making meth. Over there’s the shower for chemical removal.” Greg gestured into a deep alcove with a shower curtain. “In case they decide to try sulfur out as a new make up or something. And there’s your bathroom,” he pointed at a locked steel door. Colin really didn’t want to see what was behind it. Surely that would depress him even more.
Colin sat down heavily behind his desk, glancing at the old computer to his right. It looked like one step up from a Commodore. “This place is a hell hole.”
“Yep,” Greg agreed, perching on his desk in front of him and patting Colin’s shoulder. “But don’t worry, unlike the kids you’ll be teaching, you don’t have to live here.”
Colin heaved a sigh. Thank heavens for small favors.
“Come on, I’ll show you the teachers mess hall where we get our daily rations of recycled shit, then we can go to the bar and I’ll by you a beer to celebrate!”
“Lead on.” Colin heaved to his feet.
On their way out, (the mess hall had been just as depressing, but surprisingly hygienic) they walked through the set of gates that separated the prison yard from the school courtyard. Dimly, he could make out a few boys talking and sharing a smoke. One particular form caught his eye, tall and lanky, with a sheaf of blonde hair that managed to glint gold in the weak autumn light. The boy turned to look at him, flipping him the bird.
Colin shrugged to himself. That was probably going to happen a lot in this new job. Well, he was never one to back down from a challenge, so he set his jaw and trudged on with Greg to the outer gates, breath fogging in the crisp air. He turned back to look at the boy. He was still watching. With a frown, Colin left, following Greg’s car to the local bar, all the while wondering who the boy was.
----
“Who the fuck is that?” Ryan eyed the man’s slim form as he followed Proops through the gate.
“Dunno. Maybe it’s the new science teacher. He sure as hell doesn’t look like a guard. ” The others grinned in agreement. Drew took a drag from his cigarette. “Surprised they could get anyone to take the job after what happened to Ol’ Frosty.” He giggled.
Jeff chuckled darkly flashing perfect teeth in a wide grin. “Yeah. He looked pretty spooked after that little present in his desk drawer went off.”
“You mean spooky… with those fuckin’ gerbils he called eyebrows singed off his face and half his hair gone,” Brad added snorting at the memory. “I think it was what was left of his chair that convinced him to leave.” He puffed a perfect smoke ring, then added, “The pussy.”
“Yeah, well, they’d have been carrying him out instead of him leaving under his own steam if he’d been sitting in it instead of reaching over the desk.” Ryan took another puff and his eyes slid over to another group on the bench close to theirs. “Pretty cute use of the chemistry set.”
“He had it coming,” John said eyes firmly on the coal of his cigarette, softly flicking the ash, more a nervous habit than need. “Anyone care to bet how long this one will last?” Rory chuckled nastily.
“He looks like a light weight…” Ryan said, “five to one he don’t last the rest of the term.”
“Hmm,” Drew replied. “You’re on.”
Brad’s eyes glinted with interest. “Put me down for a twenty.”
Ryan glanced at him. “For or against?”
“Against,” Brad said. “He won’t last a month.”
“Aw sure he will,” Jeff said. “It’s always the wiry ones that do, you know.”
John’s eyes swept up to watch the new meat walk out the gate. “Looks as though somebody’s got eyes for you Stiles.” Ryan turned and saw the new guy watching him. Not really sure why he was doing it, he flipped the finger to the new teacher, who stared a moment longer then followed Proops out the last gate. Ryan watched with veiled interest the way the man almost seemed to glide, a definite grace in his step. Reaching the outer gates the man turned again and caught him staring, then turned and went to his car. Frowning, Ryan turned back to the group to find Session’s eyes boring into him. “Looks like you’ve got eyes for him.” He took another drag. “Going to be a teacher’s pet Stiles? Or maybe petting the teacher?” he questioned, his voice honeyed venom.
Ryan’s eyes narrowed and he dropped his cigarette. Sliding close to the smaller boy, he stared down his impressive nose at John, sitting unmoved on the bench watching him. “You got something to say, Sessions?” The others watched with interest, looking from one to the other as the day became more interesting.
John looked up through his unruly hair with a hard glint in his eyes. “And if I do?”
“Then I think you and me need-” The evening whistle sounded. It was time to go back to the block for evening quiet time before lights out, and the guards were at the door back inside. Officer Brady had his hand on his pistol, eyeing the situation at the table. Ryan’s eyes were hard when he turned back to the boy before him. John had been pushing him hard lately and it was time to slap him down a little. For now it would have to wait. “We’ll talk later, you and me…” he said softly though his teeth.
“Yes, I should think we will,” John agreed, pointedly grinding his cigarette butt into the ground with his heel a fraction of an inch from the toe of Ryan’s shoe. He headed for the door without a backward glance, his crew following closely. Ryan followed a moment later. Drew, Brad and Jeff came last, quietly placing bets on the outcome of the confrontation. For the moment the odds favored Ryan.
----
The town was an old mining town, and as usually happened when old mines played out, the town had begun to die a slow death. The late twenties had been a busy time, Prohibition sending a great many Americans across the border to Canada to get the drink their own government had denied them, the revenue staving off the inevitable. Before it was completely gone, however, the city fathers hit on a plan to change the focus of the town and bring in a new industry: Corrections. Not the big money for a super max facility, but enough that they could keep the town alive. The plan succeeded. Some of the old buildings were largely remodeled into the minimum-security facilities, and the medium security wing had been built several years later from the money brought in from the state. The infrastructure was quickly resurrected to service the small army of people who came to work there and support their new money crop.
Some of the local businesses, however, were virtually the same as when they had serviced and supplied the mines and smelters, and one of those was The Sluice Gate. It had opened in the heady boomtown days almost a hundred years ago and had served drinks ever since. Filled with memorabilia and pictures from its past, it was a comfortable if not very glamorous spot to catch one of the new micro brews, or something harder for the serious drinker, and the latest gossip or hockey scores. The food was good, the drinks unwatered, and it was the only action for fifty square miles.
Greg led Colin through the mid-week crowd to the roughly carved bar. Leaning his elbows on it he called out, “Denny! My darling, we are in need of liquid refreshment!”
“Greg, you son of a bitch! Where the hell have you been?” Denny smiled. Her eyes fell on Colin and lit up. “Who’s your new friend and where have you been hiding him ‘til now?”
“Down girl,” Greg replied as Colin blushed. “This is Colin Mochrie, the new science teacher up at the Institute. He just got here and doesn’t know enough to stay away from you. Give me one of those homebrews you cook up here before you start undressing him with your eyes, would you?”
Denny grinned at him. “Too late!” Setting a tall pilsner filled with a dark, aromatic brew on the bar she turned back to Colin. “Hey tall, bald and gorgeous. I get off at 2:00. I could get you off by about 3:00…” she offered looking him up and down, smiling in invitation.
Colin flushed even harder, red to the collar of his shirt. “Um, actually,” he indicating Greg’s beer, “if you could get me one of those, that would be great.”
Denny barked a laugh. “I like him!” Pulling another pilsner from the rack she filled it and set it in front of him, waiving him off when he reached for his wallet. “First one’s on the house doll,” she said.
“You never gave me one on the house when I got here,” Greg complained, handing over his money.
“Yeah I did, it just wasn’t a beer,” she snarked back.
“Hmph,” Greg grumped. “Come on Colin let’s go grab a table.”
“I’d like to grab some of that,” Denny said, just loud enough for Colin to hear as he turned to follow. He glanced back and Denny waggled her eyebrows at him and licked her lips, smiling a shark’s smile. He returned it weakly, blinked a couple of times and quickly turned to follow Greg to a small table in the back of the room.
Greg spent the next hour trying to pry Colin’s background, politics, most embarrassing secrets and sexual orientation out of him. Colin eluded him easily when he chose to, and they both enjoyed the sparring. Eventually they fell to kicking ideas around for the new curriculum for the extra class they’d been assigned, with Colin absolutely sure this was a bad idea. He’d minored in drama, but explained to Greg that he only ever once gotten on the stage and that had been a complete disaster. He wasn’t sure he wanted to ever try it again.
“Man, being a teacher is the same thing,” Greg reasoned. “The class is your audience. In this case, there’s one or two that would probably kill you for real, but most of them are okay.”
“Which category does that tall blonde kid fall into?” Colin asked.
“What tall kid?”
“The one out in the yard as we were leaving this afternoon. Tallest one out there.” Colin swirled the last of his beer in his glass and smiled slightly. “He flipped me the bird as we left,” he said, downing the last of it.
“Ah,” Greg said, stretching mightily before replying. “That would be Stiles, the wonder bean-pole of the Institute.”
“What’s his story?”
“Oh, let’s see…” Greg pulled his glasses off and polished them as he ticked off a list. “Petty theft, breaking and entering, ring leader of a gang of pickpockets in Toronto…” He set his glasses back on his nose.
“None of that sounds like he should be here,” Colin said dubiously.
“Yeah, well that was the warm-up act.” He crossed his ankles and slumped down in his chair and contemplated his hands. “He got into some serious shit a couple of years ago, some drug ring or something, and apparently killed a couple of people with his bare hands.” He looked up at Colin. “Don’t turn your back on him,” he said seriously. “Actually, just to keep that fine ass of yours safe, don’t turn your back on any of them.”
Colin swallowed and nodded.
“And on a lighter note,” Greg grinned as Colin jumped, “you said you wanted to ask a question about our esteemed leader, Warden Weiz?” They both rose and shrugging their jackets back on, heading for the door.
“Yes.” Colin smiled and furrowed his brow. “What’s with that lip twitch of hers?”
Greg laughed. “I think it’s either her version of a smile or a nervous breakdown. You never know. ‘Night Denny,” he waved as they passed the bar.
“ ‘Night schmuck,” she replied. “ ‘Night doll. Sure I can’t change you mind?” she leered.
“Uh, no, thank you though,” Colin mumbled, and followed a laughing Greg out the door.
----
It was just before lights out that night and someone had “accidentally spilled” their soda in Ryan’s cell. Actually, the can had been thrown at him when his back was turned but had fortunately hit one of the bars of his cell instead of the back of his head. Three guesses who, he thought, glaring at John Sessions and his grinning entourage. That little limey bastard and me are gonna dance, he promised himself, cracking his knuckles in anticipation.
When Officer Patterson had come to investigate the noise, and of course blamed Ryan for being a clumsy son-of-a-bitch, he had jerked him out of his cell to sit on the hard concrete of the corridor until the janitor could finish cleaning up the floor. Ryan would get to sleep the night in the sticky linens, Patterson decreed, figuring this was his just desert for causing a problem right before the change of shift.
When the clean up was done, Ryan was finally allowed to get up and return to his cell. It stank of the industrial strength cleaner they used, guaranteed to peel paint and clear your sinuses if used full strength. On his way back into his cell he tangled his foot in the janitor’s bucket, almost tipping the whole stinking mess over, and landed in a heap on the floor beside it. Cursing creatively and with great feeling he limped back into his cell. Patterson chuckled nastily as he locked the cell door and disappeared down the hall with the janitor and his bucket. The lights went out on the block a moment later.
Ryan rubbed his aching shin for a moment, then stripped the sheets and blankets from his bed, dropping them in a sticky, sodden heap in the corner and lay down on the bare mattress, his hands behind his head, and stared at the ceiling. He ran the evening over in his mind, analyzing. He smiled, sure now. No one had noticed him drop the note in the mop bucket, and he was pleased. Sighing he rolled over, letting sleep claim him. Just before he drifted off, the slim figure of the new teacher came to mind and he smiled sleepily. The guy had a nice ass.
----
Back at his new apartment Colin was getting ready for bed. Quite the adventure today, he thought smiling softly. The Institute was as depressing a place as he’d ever seen, the students sounded as likely to try to kill him as do their homework, and his new boss the warden was, well… Call it as you see it Mochrie, he admonished himself. She’s a cast iron bitch in babe’s clothing. And that junkyard dog they had that passed for a receptionist, well, he still wasn’t sure if he’d pronounced her name right. He’d have to remember to ask Greg about that tomorrow.
Speaking of Greg, he was also going to have to figure out whether the guy was kidding or not. Colin was pretty sure he’d been hitting on him all evening. The last time he’d thought that someone was doing that had turned out disastrously in the end, hence his quick acceptance of a position that wasn’t exactly his first choice. Hell, it honestly was his absolute last choice, but none of the other schools would go near him after that little fiasco. Still, that pat on the butt Greg had given him before they went their separate ways… well there was only so many ways that could be taken. Colin chuckled at his reflection, then shook his head, sighed and brushed his teeth.
He laid out his clothes for the morning, and after a moment of thought also laid out a sweat suit for his classes with Officer Brady. Greg was right, he admitted. The guy had a great ass.
He brushed off the jacket he’d worn and hung it carefully in the closet. Crawling wearily into bed, his thoughts bleak. Gray. Everywhere he looked in his life was gray. Gray buildings, gray walls, gray clothes, gray life, gray future.
He fell asleep thinking of a shock of brown-blonde hair flashing like a soft golden flame in the dim fall sunlight.
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