Chapter Text
From: Brandon Wiebe ([email protected])
To: Shane Hollander ([email protected])
Subject: Congratulations!
Good morning Shane,
With your outstanding academic record, I’m pleased to welcome you to my team this semester! My students will be very lucky to have you.
Please swing by my office on Thursday; I’ll be able to give you more information then. For now, enjoy the rest of your summer.
Cheers,
Brandon
Dr. Brandon Wiebe
Professor of Physics at MLH University
Ottawa, Ontario
Saturday, August 23rd
Shane
“To Shane! The best TA the physics department will ever have!” JJ shouts, raising his glass.
“JJ!” Shane hisses, but smiles despite himself. “Please don’t be embarrassing.”
“We know he’ll be better than Hunter, that’s for sure,” Hayden grumbles.
“Oh come on, Hay,” Shane laughs. “He failed you one time! And it was totally deserved. I would’ve failed you too.”
“Yeah, how the fuck do you get over 1000% error in a lab?” JJ adds. “You’re lucky he didn’t kick you out of the class.”
That starts a heated, but light-hearted ‘Pike vs Boiziau’ argument, and Shane sips his drink. He is not normally one to go out with his roommates, but they insisted more than usual tonight. It was, after all, a special occasion; he had gotten confirmation today that he would be Dr. Brandon Wiebe’s new teaching assistant for his advanced physics course. Dr. Wiebe was MLH University’s most acclaimed physics professor, and working for him opened a lot of doors. Scott Hunter, his previous assistant, had the job for almost four years and was now apparently moving to New York City to work for some big research company. Scott was also extremely well liked amongst students, minus Hayden.
Essentially, Shane had quite the big shoes to fill. No pressure.
“Look, I know I say this all the time,” Hayden starts.
“Here we go. One beer and he’s already existential,” Shane teases.
“I just can’t believe how fast it’s gone by, that’s all! Jesus, when I introduce myself from now on I have to say that I’m a grad student. What the fuck? I still feel like a first year!”
“You still look like one too,” JJ grins.
Hayden punches JJ in the arm, and Shane laughs. The three roommates had met at Frosh week during an unbelievably awkward icebreaker, nearly four years prior. Not yet fluent in English, JJ had almost immediately found Shane and Hayden, the only other Francophones in the room. Like children on their first day of preschool, they had randomly decided to be friends, and had been inseparable since.
They had been living in the same off-campus rental for almost their entire undergrads, and were not planning on letting it go for graduate school. Despite its abysmal state and perpetually noisy upstairs neighbours, they loved calling it home. Sure, there was definitely some kind of rodent living in their walls, but rent was cheap, and that was hard to find in Ottawa.
As his roommates carry on the conversation, Shane lets his mind wander back to where it’s been for the last year of his life. The course starts officially in early September, but his meeting with Dr. Wiebe is less than a week away. He could say that he’s lucky to have gotten this opportunity, but Shane did not sacrifice his social life for most of his undergrad to attribute his success to luck. He worked his ass off for years, and he is finally seeing the fruits of his labour.
That’s not to say, though, that he’s not worried. As pleased as he is, he’s been on edge since receiving his acceptance email. He’s going to have a big name to represent, and 35 students relying on him. He knows it’s irrational to spiral about it, but the bar’s blaring music is not helping to slow his racing thoughts.
“Shaneeeeee!” Hayden snaps him back to the present.
“Ça va-tu?” JJ asks.
“Sorry. Uh, yeah. I’m all good. Just thinking about the job, that’s all.”
“Ah, gotcha,” Hayden nods. “It’s getting kinda late, anyway. We can meet you outside in a sec, if you want? JJ and I will get the bill.”
“Yeah, sounds good. Thanks guys, I appreciate it,” he smiles.
Shane squeezes his way out of the building, dodging the clumps of inebriated people and muttering a few more ‘sorry’s than were necessary.
When he finally makes it outside, he leans back against the wall and attempts to calm himself down. He looks up to the sky and breathes deeply. The silence and cool air are a relief to his overwhelmed senses.
That is, until the smell of cigarette smoke assaults his nostrils. He turns to its source. A man is also leaning against the wall a few feet away.
“Sorry, uh. I don’t think you’re supposed to smoke here,” Shane says, pointing to the very obvious ‘NO SMOKING’ sign above his head.
The man looks over, giving him an up and down. His gaze is disdainful. Shane can tell even in the dim light that his eyes are pale.
“You are manager?” he asks, his voice accented.
The fuck?
“No…?” Shane replies.
“Okay.”
He doesn’t put it out.
Alright, then.
Shane huffs and moves further away, giving him one more glance. He has light curls and is wearing a very prominent gold cross.
They make eye contact and the man raises an eyebrow. Shane promptly looks away.
Thursday, August 28th
Shane
“Shane, thanks for coming! Come in, come in.”
“Sorry, I’m a little early.”
“Ah, no worries.”
Shane sits himself into one of Dr. Wiebe’s chairs. His office, being in one of the university’s newer buildings, lacks the musty smell most of the science buildings are known for. Shane pulls his notebook and a pen out of his bag.
An awkward silence hangs in the air; Shane has never been good at small talk, especially with his superiors. Dr. Wiebe is the first to break it.
“We’ll get started soon. The other assistant should be here any minute.”
Other assistant?
“Oh, great.”
Dr. Wiebe obviously senses Shane’s confusion.
“As you may have heard, Dr. Anderson is on maternity leave as of the beginning of this semester, so the department decided it would be best to combine our two sections. It would be unfair to you to have to correct 70 exams, on top of your own workload.”
“Right, of course.”
“He’s a nice kid,” he looks down at his watch. “Though maybe not the most punctual.”
After a couple more minutes of silence, there’s a knock at the door.
“Ah, speak of the devil! Come in, Ilya.”
“Sorry I’m late, Dr.” The other assistant enters the office.
And Shane’s stomach drops.
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
Ilya
“Shane, Ilya has just moved to Ottawa from Moscow. He, too, is in the Masters of Physics.”
“Nice to meet you,” Shane says, clearly irritated. Ilya smirks.
Ilya remembers his brief interaction with his new coworker, and, judging by his expression, so does he. Ilya had been peeved by the man’s remarks about his smoking, but had also been intrigued by him. And by his freckles.
“You two will be working very closely this semester, and I expect you to coordinate on a regular basis. Your shared office is just down the hall, I’ll show you the way later...”
Dr. Wiebe continues to list his expectations of them as his assistants and Ilya nods along, making occasional glances over to Shane, who was writing down his every word. The professor was speaking rather quickly, but Ilya had taken enough courses back home in English to understand the gist of it. Grading, tutorials, labs, bla bla.
Ilya had the job essentially handed to him, alongside his acceptance to the program. Science had always come easily to him; it seemed only natural that he pursue it for a living. What was less natural, though, was moving across the ocean almost purely out of spite.
His first few weeks in Ottawa, however, had only reassured him that he had made the right choice. Minus the daily reproachful phone call from his father, he was finally free. A colleague who already visibly disliked him was barely a bump in the road.
“You’ll mostly be communicating via Outlook, but I always say it’s good to exchange phone numbers, just in case. I’ll be giving you mine, as well, but please only use it for emergencies.”
Dr. Wiebe brings them to their office. It’s rather small, but has a window, at least. Their desks are facing each other.
“Well, I think that was everything I had for you guys today,” Dr. Wiebe says. “I’m looking forward to working with you both. I’ll let you get acquainted.”
He exits their office and leaves them only with the humming sound of their AC unit. Ilya pokes around the contents of his desk, ignoring Shane staring at him from the other side of the room.
“Look, can we just, start fresh?” Shane says.
Ilya looks up from the packet of Post-its he had just ripped open. “Start fresh?”
“Yeah, you know. Pretend we haven’t already met. Technically.”
“But we have not. Already met.” Ilya looks back down and writes on one of the sticky notes.
Shane is clearly affronted. “Yes, we have.”
“Mm, no,” he stands and walks over to his colleague. “I think I’d remember that.”
He sticks the Post-it on Shane’s chest. “My phone number. For emergency.”
Shane stares, dumbfounded, and Ilya turns to leave. His grin is wide on his way out.
Yep, this should be fun.