Fic: Teach Your Children Well
Title: Teach Your Children Well
Summary: lls_mutant 's "Space Between Us" 'verse. Felix and Louis finally retire from teaching and take quiet stock of their life together.
Rating: G
Characters: Gaeta, Hoshi, mentions of Sarah and Gabriel
Pairing: Gaeta/Hoshi
Notes: Thanks so much, lls_mutant , for letting me play in your "Space Between Us" 'verse!
Teach Your Children Well
“Next time Gabriel comes over here, remind me to ask him to sharpen the knives for us,” Felix said as he cut off a couple slices of bread.
He had a feeling it was his hands, not the knife, that was making the task so difficult, though. He’d expected arthritis in his knee above the amputation and known that old age (or old-ish age, which was all he would admit to around their friends) would be harder on him than it was for most people because of the stump. But he hadn’t really realized how much energy it would take just to go about the business of everyday living.
Felix pushed his glasses up his nose, mentally noting that he needed to ask Gabriel for a new prescription, too. Atlantis had the technological capacity for lens-grinding, but no one who’d made it to Earth had had the skills to actually do it. Sarah, Gabriel, and Felix had worked together many late nights, pouring over the old Pegasus library and experimenting. Gabriel had finally gotten pretty good at it. He was never going to be as precise an optometrist as the ones on the Colonies had been, but he’d made it possible for so many people to read who otherwise couldn’t have. For that, Felix was unceasingly grateful.
Felix placed the bread on the tray with two bowls of stew and some leftover cake from the retirement party. He picked up the tray and walked slowly over to Louis, who was in bed, propped up on pillows.
“You should ask Gabriel about cataract surgery,” Louis said. Their students had always accused the two of them of being mind-readers, no matter how many times they explained they’d just gotten good at reading each other’s expressions over the years. Plus, they knew how each other thought. Maybe there was a little bit of mind-reading, after all.
“They’re not that bad yet.” He set the tray on Louis’s lap, then pulled up a chair beside the bed.
“I could get to the table just fine,” Louis protested.
“I don’t want to clear it off,” Felix answered, knowing how exhausted the party had left Louis. “Years ago, we had breakfast in bed all the time. Just think of this as the old man version of that.”
Louis smiled that smile that meant he was remembering something. Felix wasn’t sure what, but there was something about knowing that he was a part of that memory, whatever it was, that made warmth spread through his chest.
They ate in companionable silence. Felix saw Louis’s hand shake when he tore the bread to dip it in his stew. The tremors and weakness weren’t usually that bad, but fatigue did always make them worse.
Louis had gotten over the worst of a mysterious new Earth disease he’d caught, but as Sarah had suspected, its effects still lingered, and probably would for the rest of his life. He had tried to go back to work when he’d first recovered, but when two of their younger students got into a fight and Louis couldn’t hold the one child back after Felix had broken it up, they’d known it was their time to leave.
Long ago, Felix’s grandmother had told him that getting old was hard work. Felix suspected that for as much of Colonial life as they’d managed to keep, getting old was even harder work in Atlantis. His grandmother had still gone swimming every morning when she was Louis’s age. It wasn’t fair.
When he got to the cake, Louis said out of nowhere, “Do you ever regret that we never had children?”
Felix set his bowl aside. “What?”
“That we never had kids,” Louis repeated. He reached out and threaded his fingers though Felix’s gray curls. Felix could feel them trembling a little against his scalp. “We both like kids so much. You would’ve made such a wonderful father.”
Felix gently disentangled Louis’s hand from his hair and took it in his own hand. “You would have, too. But those first years...neither of us were in a place where it would have been fair to a child. Or to us.”
“I know. It’s just-I saw the look on your face when you held Gabriel’s little girl at the party today.”
A lot of their former students who’d come to the party had brought their children. A handful even had grandchildren. Felix had held a lot of babies that day.
“What are you regretting that we missed out on?” Felix asked gently. “Helping with homework? Birthday parties? Teaching them how to throw a pyramid ball?”
Louis smiled. “I would’ve taught pyramid, not we. No offense, baby, but your form was always terrible.”
Felix pretended to be insulted, but that lasted for all of two seconds before he grinned. “Cheering at pyramid games, then. Going to choir concerts. Chaperoning dances. Being there for them when they’d fought with their best friend, and when their first love had broken their heart.”
Felix could tell the moment Louis figured out where he was going with this.
“Vacations.”
Louis shook his head. “What the hell ever possessed us to think an overnight field trip to the ocean with twelve tenth-year bio students was a good idea?”
“Having funerals for pets.”
“Jenny Moseby and her old mutt that would wait for her all day on the playground. Smokey.”
“Dragging their ass through trigonometry.”
Louis laughed. “There were so many, but Benjy Fenner. Gods, he was a smart kid, but sines and cosines just would not stick in his brain. It was always so much harder to teach the smart kids when they struggled with something, because they were so used to things coming easily for them.”
“Tucking them into bed at night.”
“Danny, Dean, and Shannon Turner, after their house burned down.”
“Watching them grow up and come into their own. Watching them graduate, get jobs, get married, build families, and then having them come back to us and say, ‘You made a difference in my life. You cared about me when it felt like nobody else did. You helped me become who I am. Thank you.’”
Louis blinked rapidly, his eyes shining. Felix knew that for him, that was equivalent to most people having tears streaming down their face.
Felix’s voice cracked when he spoke again. “Just because nobody ever called me ‘Daddy’ doesn’t mean we didn’t have kids.” He gestured at the kitchen table, covered with ‘Happy Retirement’ cards and letters from former students.
“We have hundreds.”
Summary: lls_mutant 's "Space Between Us" 'verse. Felix and Louis finally retire from teaching and take quiet stock of their life together.
Rating: G
Characters: Gaeta, Hoshi, mentions of Sarah and Gabriel
Pairing: Gaeta/Hoshi
Notes: Thanks so much, lls_mutant , for letting me play in your "Space Between Us" 'verse!
Teach Your Children Well
“Next time Gabriel comes over here, remind me to ask him to sharpen the knives for us,” Felix said as he cut off a couple slices of bread.
He had a feeling it was his hands, not the knife, that was making the task so difficult, though. He’d expected arthritis in his knee above the amputation and known that old age (or old-ish age, which was all he would admit to around their friends) would be harder on him than it was for most people because of the stump. But he hadn’t really realized how much energy it would take just to go about the business of everyday living.
Felix pushed his glasses up his nose, mentally noting that he needed to ask Gabriel for a new prescription, too. Atlantis had the technological capacity for lens-grinding, but no one who’d made it to Earth had had the skills to actually do it. Sarah, Gabriel, and Felix had worked together many late nights, pouring over the old Pegasus library and experimenting. Gabriel had finally gotten pretty good at it. He was never going to be as precise an optometrist as the ones on the Colonies had been, but he’d made it possible for so many people to read who otherwise couldn’t have. For that, Felix was unceasingly grateful.
Felix placed the bread on the tray with two bowls of stew and some leftover cake from the retirement party. He picked up the tray and walked slowly over to Louis, who was in bed, propped up on pillows.
“You should ask Gabriel about cataract surgery,” Louis said. Their students had always accused the two of them of being mind-readers, no matter how many times they explained they’d just gotten good at reading each other’s expressions over the years. Plus, they knew how each other thought. Maybe there was a little bit of mind-reading, after all.
“They’re not that bad yet.” He set the tray on Louis’s lap, then pulled up a chair beside the bed.
“I could get to the table just fine,” Louis protested.
“I don’t want to clear it off,” Felix answered, knowing how exhausted the party had left Louis. “Years ago, we had breakfast in bed all the time. Just think of this as the old man version of that.”
Louis smiled that smile that meant he was remembering something. Felix wasn’t sure what, but there was something about knowing that he was a part of that memory, whatever it was, that made warmth spread through his chest.
They ate in companionable silence. Felix saw Louis’s hand shake when he tore the bread to dip it in his stew. The tremors and weakness weren’t usually that bad, but fatigue did always make them worse.
Louis had gotten over the worst of a mysterious new Earth disease he’d caught, but as Sarah had suspected, its effects still lingered, and probably would for the rest of his life. He had tried to go back to work when he’d first recovered, but when two of their younger students got into a fight and Louis couldn’t hold the one child back after Felix had broken it up, they’d known it was their time to leave.
Long ago, Felix’s grandmother had told him that getting old was hard work. Felix suspected that for as much of Colonial life as they’d managed to keep, getting old was even harder work in Atlantis. His grandmother had still gone swimming every morning when she was Louis’s age. It wasn’t fair.
When he got to the cake, Louis said out of nowhere, “Do you ever regret that we never had children?”
Felix set his bowl aside. “What?”
“That we never had kids,” Louis repeated. He reached out and threaded his fingers though Felix’s gray curls. Felix could feel them trembling a little against his scalp. “We both like kids so much. You would’ve made such a wonderful father.”
Felix gently disentangled Louis’s hand from his hair and took it in his own hand. “You would have, too. But those first years...neither of us were in a place where it would have been fair to a child. Or to us.”
“I know. It’s just-I saw the look on your face when you held Gabriel’s little girl at the party today.”
A lot of their former students who’d come to the party had brought their children. A handful even had grandchildren. Felix had held a lot of babies that day.
“What are you regretting that we missed out on?” Felix asked gently. “Helping with homework? Birthday parties? Teaching them how to throw a pyramid ball?”
Louis smiled. “I would’ve taught pyramid, not we. No offense, baby, but your form was always terrible.”
Felix pretended to be insulted, but that lasted for all of two seconds before he grinned. “Cheering at pyramid games, then. Going to choir concerts. Chaperoning dances. Being there for them when they’d fought with their best friend, and when their first love had broken their heart.”
Felix could tell the moment Louis figured out where he was going with this.
“Vacations.”
Louis shook his head. “What the hell ever possessed us to think an overnight field trip to the ocean with twelve tenth-year bio students was a good idea?”
“Having funerals for pets.”
“Jenny Moseby and her old mutt that would wait for her all day on the playground. Smokey.”
“Dragging their ass through trigonometry.”
Louis laughed. “There were so many, but Benjy Fenner. Gods, he was a smart kid, but sines and cosines just would not stick in his brain. It was always so much harder to teach the smart kids when they struggled with something, because they were so used to things coming easily for them.”
“Tucking them into bed at night.”
“Danny, Dean, and Shannon Turner, after their house burned down.”
“Watching them grow up and come into their own. Watching them graduate, get jobs, get married, build families, and then having them come back to us and say, ‘You made a difference in my life. You cared about me when it felt like nobody else did. You helped me become who I am. Thank you.’”
Louis blinked rapidly, his eyes shining. Felix knew that for him, that was equivalent to most people having tears streaming down their face.
Felix’s voice cracked when he spoke again. “Just because nobody ever called me ‘Daddy’ doesn’t mean we didn’t have kids.” He gestured at the kitchen table, covered with ‘Happy Retirement’ cards and letters from former students.
“We have hundreds.”