#seth dormer

“So. You’re an ex-con.”

It wasn’t the best start to a job interview, and Grant knew that, but he didn’t know what else he should’ve expected. It was something that had needed to come up when he was applying for jobs. If he wasn’t upfront about it, they would find out eventually, and then things would really go sideways. It hadn’t done him any favours, and that wasn’t surprising in the least. People didn’t generally want someone with his past on their staff, even if he had a report from a psychologist saying that he was unlikely to relapse and would be an asset at any job.

It hadn’t made things easy, since he got out. He’d gotten lucky that his odd jobs paid, and that his sister was willing – had even needled away at him until he’d accepted – to help foot the bill for his apartment. He had some money saved, but that wasn’t the problem. Eventually, that money would go away, and he wouldn’t be able to pay for his basic needs.

Not his, nor the basic needs of the chocolate lab Andrew had helped him get. Buddy was supposed to be good for therapy, and Grant supposed that, as far as animal companions went, you couldn’t go wrong with a dog. There was a definite upside to having him around. With Buddy in his life, Grant never left lonely.

At least, not for company. Human companionship was something he still felt sorely lacking in his life. He could do with having coworkers, at the very least.

And a job would give him something to do, something to focus on, that wasn’t his therapy appointments, or parole check-ins, or twice weekly phone calls with Charlotte and Thomas. Not that he didn’t like talking to his brother and sister, but the fact of the matter was that the content of the calls rarely changed, and it was getting to the point where even Thomas had some concerns. Concerns that he was voicing.

That meant it was time to throw everything at the wall and hope to God something stuck.

That was why Grant was sitting in the back room of this bakery, now, trying not to feel out of place. He’d gone through retail, and customer service, through industrial, and manufacturing, and manual labour, and, yes, food service. Right now, he was waiting to hear back from most of those places. When this bakery – the Falcon Café – had called and asked him to come in for an interview, there was no way he was turning it down. No, it wouldn’t be the best pay, but it was right across the street from his apartment building, and Grant liked baking. It had been one of the things he’d taken up since getting out, to occupy himself during his downtime. Baking, cooking, and taking Buddy for long, winding walks where he ended up lost in his own head much of the time. Getting the call to interview here was almost too good to be true, and when the bakery owner, a guy named Sam Wilson, opened by asking that question? Grant couldn’t help but assume this was little more than a courtesy interview.

“Um, yeah. I’ve been out about a year now.”

Sam nodded. He was pretty young, for such a successful entrepreneur. When Grant had walked in for the interview, he had been a little shocked at how many people there were, sitting in the café portion of the place. There were even more perusing the shelves of baked goods and glass cases with gourmet offerings. The position he’d applied for was a full-time cashier, essentially. There had been some mention in the ad about an ability to bake being an asset, but for the most part, it seemed like Grant, should he get the job, would be working on the till and at the front counter.

Which was probably not a position that Sam wanted filled with an ex-con.

“A year, huh? Damn. What’ve you been doing with yourself?”

That hadn’t been a question that Grant was prepared for. That was mostly because, when Sam had opened with the first one, he hadn’t been prepared for much past ‘thanks for your time, we’ll call you if we have a position’. Sam taking an interest in him was far from what he’d expected, and Grant told himself that, because of that, it was fair that he hesitated a second.

“Well. I’ve been picking up odd jobs where I can. A friend of mine had a moving company, so I’ve been taking work with him when he needs bodies. Another friend has a shop, and if he had a lot going on, he’d ask me to come in on the weekends to help get jobs finished up.”

Sam nodded, flipping over Grant’s application in his hands, and reading the second page. “So, odd jobs.”

“Yeah.” Grant answered. He was beginning to regret his choice of clothing. It was a job interview, so a nice pair of pants, button up shirt, and tie were a good idea. It was just that, the longer Sam lingered on his past, before just pulling the trigger and ending it, the tighter Grant’s tie felt. “That’s been about it.”

Another nod. Another few seconds ticking by in silence. In contrast to Grant’s professional dress, Sam was wearing a pair of black slacks and a maroon long-sleeve with the sleeves pushed up around his elbows. His dark hair hair and beard were both trimmed and groomed immaculately, and despite the fact that he must work with his hands a lot, there wasn’t a trace of flour on his skin or clothes. The guy had to run a pretty tight ship, or he was out, customer-facing. Either way, he looked put-together, at ease, and in control. This was the kind of guy you wanted to work for.

And also the kind of guy who probably didn’t want to chance being robbed blind by an employee if he could help it. Sam had worked for what he had. It would be ridiculous to expect him to jeopardize it for an ex-con.

“You have a letter of recommendation here, from a Doctor… Andrew Garner.” Sam said, finally, flipping to the page in the application that included Andrew’s letter. Grant had submitted it with his resume. It had just seemed like the smartest thing for him to do. If they were going to reject him, at least they could take the time to consider that he might not be a violent, thieving mess of a person.

That world was long behind him, his gateway to it locked up in a maximum security facility.

Not knowing what to say to fill the silence that followed Sam’s statement, Grant nodded. It stretched on for another minute, the pressure bearing down on him. The back room was pretty far away from the main area of the bakery, but Grant could swear that he heard what sounded like six dozen people carrying on conversation only feet away from the door. That was his nerves, and he knew that, but it didn’t stop him from focusing on it.

He needed a job. He couldn’t keep taking Charlotte’s charity. Yes, she was making a lot of money. She had hit the literary big time, early on, with her first young adult novel, and had kept on cashing in, year after year, novel after novel, building a series that was renowned across the country. They’d even had a copy of the first one in the prison where Grant had been kept. That had to be a sign of how well she was doing, and when Grant had read it, he’d seen a lot of where her inspiration had come from.

He didn’t begrudge her, using their lives, and a few of his bad choices, as a jumping off point for some of the plot points. Writing what you knew was a good way to start doing things. Grant was just happy to see her succeeding. Charlotte, on the other hand, felt a little like she’d taken advantage of what her older brother had gone through, and, as a consequence, insisted that Grant was deserving of at least part of her royalties. At least until he got on his feet.

As much as Grant appreciated it, he knew that he needed to get himself consistent, paying, steady work, so that he didn’t need to live off of checks from his baby sister. It was a point of pride, and he was at the point where he felt like he could get past the ‘ex-con’ thing, if people were willing to take his – and Andrew’s – word for it.

It was just uncertain if Falcon Café was going to be the place that did it. Grant could understand Sam not wanting him here. Grant had noticed he was fairly young, maybe only a little older than Grant, if not the same age as him. He owned and operated a successful bakery and cafe, with a staff that was probably loyal to him, without records of which to speak, who were trained to bake the great creations that were on display in the glass cases up front.

And Grant was an ex-con with a GED and a piece of paper from his therapist that said he was a ‘very low’ risk as an employee.

He wasn’t exactly the kind of person people fought to hire.

“All right, Grant. Can I call you Grant? Forgot to ask when I shook your hand.”

“Grant’s a lot better than Mr. Ward.” He answered, truthfully. Sam smiled, a potential good sign, and set down Grant’s resume, application, and letter of recommendation.

“Grant, then. All right, so, I’ll be honest? Man, when I got your application, I was saying to myself ‘why the hell does an ex-con want to work here?’ And I’ll be honest with you. I’m still kind of wondering. I mean, you’re a pretty big dude, and from what you’re telling me, you’ve been doing a lot of the manual labour kind of thing. That’s got to be an industry where people don’t look at your kind of history and wonder about it. So, I gotta know. Why here?”

It was a fair question, and Sam had every right to pose it. Grant didn’t look like what people pictured when they thought of a baker, and Sam knew his business better than Grant. There was a seriously good chance that, should his history get out, he would be something of a sore spot on the staff, for both coworkers and customers.

“I’m going to be honest with you, because lying hasn’t gotten me anywhere good in the past.” Grant started, finally, after taking a few seconds to get his thoughts together. “I need money, and, yeah, that’s kind of why I’ve been throwing my resume at any place that’ll take it. Since I got out, I’ve been living off my odd jobs, and my sister’s help, and I don’t want to keep doing that. Getting out of prison meant that I really could go after a fresh start, and relying on other people to get me there isn’t doing anyone any favours. I’ve put out… A lot of applications. You’re the first who have called back in a week, and I wasn’t going to turn you down, if you were willing to consider me.

I know I’m not… I’m not trained in baking, and I’m not a graduate of any kind of cake decorating class. But, I do like to do it, and since getting out, I’ve been doing it a lot more. It’s a good time-passing hobby. And something like this seems pretty steady, in terms of pace. It would keep me busy, and help with the, uh…”

Grant pointed at the pile of sheets that Sam had set down. “The ‘melancholy’ that Dr. Garner mentions in there. He’s right. I do need something to do, something to give me focus and routine, but it’s best if it’s something I enjoy. Not that I don’t enjoy helping with moving and repairs, but I feel like here I could actually begin to learn new things, and take new steps forward.”

Sam had been quiet through Grant’s explanation, only nodding here and there as Grant spoke. He was quiet and respectful of what Grant had to say, not speaking over him, nor making any move or sound to interrupt or bring him to a halt. It was something that Grant appreciated immensely, but he knew that to say it might sound odd.

“I like your honesty. I like that you just came right out and said ‘I need money’. I do a lot of interviews, Grant, and I get a lot of people in here who have no experience and who think that this will just be a cushy job where they sit around and sell muffins here and there, and they’ll get paid at the end of the day and they’ll have barely done any work. That’s not how it is, and that’s not the kind of people I hire. I hire people who are expecting to work for the money that they take home, who come in here every day ready to do the job, to make the customers smile, to keep up a good, positive vibe for everyone else who works here. I need people who are going to carry their weight and have a damn good reason to do it. Not because they need drinking money.”

Grant nodded, hesitant to do much more. Sam was with something, here, an important point to him, and Grant interrupting could shatter the flimsy bridge he felt they may be building.

“Now, you’re saying you bake as a hobby. You know, if you work here, that hobby is going to become your job, and I’m going to need you to step up and learn good and fast, right?”

Hardly daring to believe what it sounded like Sam was saying, Grant nodded. “Of course. Wouldn’t expect otherwise.”

Sam nodded, a hint of a smile on his face. “Dr. Garner says that you’re a hard worker, loyal, and becoming more openly honest as you put distance between yourself and the prison. You’d say that’s a good description of you?”

“I think so, yeah. I didn’t always apply it in the best way in the past, but yeah.”

“You planning on relapsing on that any time, Grant?”

The question was direct, no beating around the bush. Grant liked that.

“No. The whole reason I ended up where I was was because I had a really… Really bad mentor, during a bad time in my life. I didn’t really think about the right and wrong a whole lot, so long as it kept him happy and getting what he wanted. I think about right and wrong now. A lot.”

“I would think so, considering where you’ve been. You’ve seen the shit that comes from not thinking about that kind of thing. All right...” Sam picked up the sheets again, flipping through them before he looked over the top at Grant, and smiled.

“Andrew’s an old friend of mine. He said that you would probably put in an application, and I should at least give you a shot and interview you. It’s not like you’re the first guy with a record that I’ve had in this place.”

To say that Grant was taken aback would have been an understatement, and he knew that it was showing on his face by the way Sam laughed.

“I’m sorry. Yeah, I should have been honest with you at the jump, but I wanted to see how you would be with me before I let you in on the truth.” Sam reached across the desk, hand outstretched for Grant’s once more. Grant took it, shaking firmly, still a bit dazed.

“You knew…?”

“Oh, yeah, I knew. Thing about this place… Grant, I don’t know if you read up on me, but I’m a vet. I got honorable discharge a while back. Long while back. Decided to do something constructive with my newfound free time, and I started this place.” He smiled, crossing his arms and leaning forward on the desk while he spoke. “Everyone who works here, almost all of them? We’ve all got some kind of baggage. Something that keeps us up at night, or makes us look over our shoulders, or wonder what people see when they look at us. It’s not always slow-paced, no. But you said you took up baking as a hobby, and you’d be surprised how many other people have done that kind of thing.

“I want to bring you on board, Grant. You seem like you’re genuinely trying to make some kind of turnaround from what you did before. No, I don’t know the details. Andrew didn’t share them, and you don’t have to give me the nitty-gritty. Once we’ve worked together a while, if you want to grab a scone and sit back here with me and tell me your shit, I will listen. I’ve gotten good at that. But I’m going to take you on this impression, and on Doc Garner’s word, and take a chance on you.”

“That’s… I mean, thank you, really, thank you.”

Grant felt a little like he might be dreaming. He’d walked in here, this afternoon, mostly expecting this to be a bust. A place like this couldn’t possibly be the kind of place that was going to hire an ex-con. Now, he was sitting across from the grinning owner, with a job offer in front of him, and the assurance that Sam Wilson didn’t think he was making a mistake, and he was going to give Grant the chance to prove to him that the case was truly that.

“Hey, just don’t give me a reason to ruin my perfect run of being right about people.” Sam said, then stood up. He left Grant’s papers on the desk as he walked around it, waving for Grant to follow him. “I’m going to have to get you to come in tomorrow and do some paperwork. You know, legal stuff. You probably have some people you need to inform too, right?”

“Yeah, I need to tell my parole officer, and Andrew. Probably my sister.” Grant answered, mentally making a list, knowing he would need to prepare an argument for Charlotte. She might not give up helping him so easily.

“Great. So, tomorrow morning, why don’t you come by around 10, and we can get some paperwork done? For now, how about I introduce you to some of the people you’ll be working with.”

Sam didn’t wait for Grant’s agreement or otherwise, leading him down a short hallway and into a bustling kitchen.

“Hey, guys.”

Even if they were in the middle of working on something – and most of the staff was – they gave their attention to Sam when they heard his voice. That wasn’t a fear thing. Grant had seen how people reacted when it was a fear thing. That was respect, plain and simple. Most of them kept working, but it was obvious that they were listening to the boss. In some cases, they were watching him, even while their hands kept moving.

“This is Grant Ward. He’ll be joining the team later this week, so… You all know the drill.”

A guy definitely older than Grant, whose brown hair was threaded with grey, spoke up. “Welcome to the team. I’m Bruce.”

“Scott.” Chimed in the guy next to him who was wearing a hair net over his dark brown hair.

“You and Scott have something in common.” Sam said, quietly, before raising his voice and pointing. “Then that’s Will, and Lincoln. Elena, Clint and the girl out front was Callie, and the guys were Donnie and Seth.”

Will, Lincoln, Elena and Clint all waved, a few of them welcoming him to the team. It was a full kitchen, and obviously a tight-knit group. That was daunting, to say the least, but Grant wasn’t going to let that get to him. He had the opportunity to actually do something with his life, now, and to turn around the bad choices and paths he’d followed. He wasn’t letting something like the fact that he would have to build relationships and trust, here, that wasn’t founded on someone who held all the power forcing them to get along, stop him.

“The people who aren’t in today are Mike and Raina. Mike had an appointment for his kid, Ace. You’ll probably get to know him, kid’s in here a lot. Today’s Raina’s regular day off. You’ll meet both of them tomorrow.” Sam waved for Grant to follow him again, and they made their way back into the back room.

Grant had to admit, to himself, at least, that things felt significantly less pressing, now. He had a job, and it was at a bakery, which, comparatively, was pretty low stress, for him. He was going to get to move on with his life, and start putting some real distance between himself and everything that he’d done under John Garrett’s tutelage.

All in all, the afternoon had gone better than he had expected.

“So, tomorrow morning, 10. Bring your ID, and be ready to fill out a ton of forms. Oh, and, uh… Void check? You got something like that?”

Grant jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I can go to the bank now, get a direct deposit form.”

Sam grinned. “Even better. That’s good… All right, that said.” He held his hand out again, and this time when Grant took it, he felt much sturdier on his own two feet, and much more sure of where the rest of his week was going. That was good. That was really good.

“Like I said, Grant, I want to take the chance on you. Don’t prove me wrong, and ruin my perfect streak.”

“I will literally punch you in the face if you try to tell me that Mr. Fitz and Miss Skye are ‘made for each other.’ It’s bullshit and you know it.” Callie crossed her arms and gave Seth a look. The other students walking down the hallway didn’t even give the pair a second glance.

Seth crossed his arms, mocking Callie’s defiant stance, “What, like Miss Skye and Mr. Ward would be any better? He’s gotta be at least, ten years older than her!”

“Oh, like that’s a problem for you. You’re the one who tried to hit up Miss Morse.”

“For the record, I had no idea she was married.”

“Hey, guys, what if-”  Donnie’s question was cut short by Callie’s screech.

“She was in the middle of a divorce and you tried to take her out for coffee!”

“I didn’t know she was getting divorced! And- and why are we even talking about this?” Seth threw his arms over his head in frustration, wandering in a circle before stopping in front of the window overlooking the academy campus.

“Because you just had to bring up the whole Mr. Fitz/Miss Skye thing again,” Callie sighed, frowning at Seth’s back, “Even though you know it’s never going to happen.”

“Have you guys ever considered-”

This time it was Seth who spoke over Donnie, “Callie, look, if I ever bring up the idea of shipping teachers again, could you just, duct tape my mouth shut or something? This gets way out of hand every time.”

Donnie tried again, “But-”

“Deal.” Callie interrupted, gathering up the books that she had thrown to the ground a few moments earlier. As the school bell echoed through the halls, Callie and Seth headed down opposite halls to their respective classes, leaving Donnie alone in the hallway.

“God, I leave them alone for two hours…” she muttered, placing the glass on the desk and carefully treading her way to the bathroom door. She knocked loudly.

“Donnie? Seth?”

 She waited but there was no response. The door creaked as she pushed it open, flicking on the light. She saw a pair of Seth’s underwear in the sink, which she never planned on asking about, ever, but no sign of their owner.

 She returned to the main room, looking out the window between the two beds. The sun had just gone down behind the horizon, leaving the sky glowing, and the fresh layer of snow reflected the light from the lampposts.

 She noticed two dark patches a little way out from the building that she’d never seen before. She stared at them for a couple of seconds before realising that they were moving.

 Possibilities instantly flooded her head. Her two best friends, missing, and two bodies lying out in the snow. Had something gone wrong? Had they been attacked? Had they gotten into a fight?

 She didn’t waste any more time, grabbing her layers on her way out, she slammed the door behind her and pulled on her coat, running down the hall. She skidded round the corner and out the main entrance, the cold air hitting her like a wall of ice. Struggling for purchase, she pulled her knees up high as she dragged herself to where she could see the two figures, flailing their arms. The closer she got, the more she was certain that it was Donnie and Seth.

She finally came to a halt next to them, leaning over with her hands on her knees trying to catch her breath. Seth and Donnie were both lying on their backs, wearing only jeans and thin button downs, making flapping motions with their arms.

 They were making snow angels.

She didn’t even wait for her panting to stop before preparing herself for full-scale outrage.

“Oh… my… GOD… you two!” she rasped, gulping in lungfuls of crisp air.

 Donnie lifted his head from the snow, giving himself at least two extra chins in the process, and smiled at her. “Oh, hey Callie.”

 “Hey Callie?!” she repeated, astounded. “HEY? I thought you’d been ATTACKED.”

 They both broke into laughter, making ridiculous raspberry sounds. “Why would you think that?” Seth asked her, suddenly looking very serious, and confused.

 “You’re lying outside in the snow AFTER DARK. And you’re not even wearing anything warm! Jesus Christ, how many drinks have you had?!”

 Donnie looked over at Seth, his brow furrowed. Neither of them said anything for a good thirty seconds as their silent exchange continued.

 Seth raised his index finger to her and pursed his lips before answering. “We can’t remember.”

 Callie brought her hands up to cover her face, realised that they were frozen due to her lack of gloves, and shoved them in her pockets instead.

 “Do you want to come and join us?” Donnie asked, looking very unsure as to what the right thing to say was. That wasn’t it.

“NO I don’t want to join you!,” Callie yelled, desperately trying to communicate the extent of their drunken stupidity to them. “It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow! We have shit to do, and look at you! You’re probably getting hypothermia as we speak!”

 “…Okay then.” Donnie look dejected, laying his head back in the snow, staring up at the night sky. “Hey, the stars look like Christmas lights.”

“Pretty sure it’s meant to be the other way round, doofus,” Callie shot back. “Now, get up.”

Donnie managed to sit up, a layer of snow sticking to his back. Callie sighed and pulled him to his feet, leading him over and leaning him against a tree where he couldn’t fall over.

She huffed and stomped back to where Seth was still lying. “Your turn, Dormer.”

 “Nah,” he replied, shrugging.

 Callie wasn’t going to take this. She’d planned Christmas, she’d bought their groceries, and the least she could ask for was a little cooperation while she saved their arses.

 “Fine then.” She grabbed Seth by the leg and leaned forward, putting all her momentum into dragging him across the ground.

“Okay, okay, OKAY.”

 She turned back to look at him. His shirt had bunched up around his middle, his bare back in direct contact with the icy ground. He got up and tried to shake himself off, but to Callie it just looked like he was trying to hula-hoop. Well, at least he was up.

 She returned to Donnie, who had now taken to hugging the tree, and pulled both of them inside by their shirtsleeves, leaving a wet trail all the way to their room.

 Callie immediately started rummaging through their drawers, and pulled out two sets of clean pyjamas.

“Get out of those wet things and put these on,” she told them, throwing a pair at each of them and pointing towards the bathroom.

 “Yes ma’am,” Seth replied, leading the way.

 Callie made quick work of picking up the mess they had made from the floor and placing it on the nearest table, which happened to be Seth’s desk, but she doubted he’d be complaining about that until the morning. By the time she was done, Donnie had emerged, looking drier and somewhat acceptable. Seth stepped out after him, with his shirt on both inside out and backwards.

 “You’re a fucking dumbass, Dormer,” she laughed. It was awfully hard to stay mad at either of them, even they were drunk as hell and had no idea what they were doing.

Before she could fix his mistake, Seth flopped face down onto his bed. Callie helped him under the covers, and turned to see that Donnie was already passed out in his own bed.

 She said goodnight and turned to collect her things.

 “Callie, don’t go.” Seth’s voice was slow and tired.

 She placed her things on the floor and sat next to him on the bed.

 “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. He had an earnest look in his eyes.

“It’s okay,” she said, brushing his hair from his forehead. “At least you keep my life interesting.”

 Seth smiled and rolled over, grabbing her arm and trying to take her with him.

“Hey, if I’m staying I’m sure as hell not sharing a bed with either of you. You’ve probably made yourselves sick, and that’s one thing I don’t want to get a piece of.”

 “Next time?” he asked her, making the closest thing to a puppy dog expression that he could in his current state.

 “Duh. But you’re cleaning up in the morning.”

 “Okay.”

Satisfied, Callie grabbed the extra pillow and blanket they kept for her and curled up in the beanbag in the corner.

 “Love you, Cal.” She only just made out Seth’s words, his face buried firmly in his pillow.

“Love you too, you great flailing idiot.”

The last thing she heard before she fell asleep was Seth’s muffled chuckle, accompanied by Donnie’s light snoring.