formoftherapy | (no subject)

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(no subject)

The school database has the following information on Morian, Kite:

Home address and phone number, mother's name. In the event her mother can't be reached, there is a phone number listed for her brother, Eagle; the area code is for Los Angeles.

Records of her detentions (six) and suspensions (one).

Notes made by the school counselor during her freshman year, following her brother Kestrel's disappearance.

Grades--a solid B to B+ student; her attendance records indicate she could easily have As if she put in just a little more effort.

Last but not least, her class schedule:

Spanish 4, Young

English 11, Parker

Calculus, Acevedo

Lunch Period

Physics, Russell

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The counselor's notes, he leaves alone, but he investigates the disciplinary actions in greater detail. When and why?

The first detention was two weeks after her brother vanished--talking back to a teacher. The phrase "go fuck yourself" was used. This also lead to another trip to the counselor.

Detentions two through four were for habitual tardiness during the spring of her freshman year.

Detention five came from being caught cutting class, sophomore year.

Detention six happened after she was caught on the roof of the school.

The suspension was for a fight at the end of last year. Neither Kite nor the other girl involved (an Elizabeth Meyer) would indicate who started it. Both of them were sent to the clinic; Meyer received ice for her two black eyes, Kite's broken nose was set. Both of them were suspended for four days. Elizabeth Meyer graduated a month later and Kite's disciplinary record has been sterling ever since.

The year is young yet, though.

Oh, yes.

Considering how she and Tony met, he decides that any lurking around classrooms would be ineffective as well as unsubtle. He resolves to listen, however, for the sound of that voice.

As the first week of school passes by, he gets into the habit of leaving class early. Not every class, of course, but one or two per day at least. Now and then he passes Tony in the hall and informs him of any pending homework. Mostly, however, he keeps an ear out for Kite Morian.

Kite is making every effort to be good this year. Calculus and Physics are challenging enough to hold her interest, and she has a soft spot for Señora Young. English and Miss Parker remain the the weak link.

On this particular day, Kite slips out twenty minutes early, which she thinks is more than generous. She goes to see if the roof access is still locked.

It is, unfortunately, which leaves her wandering the halls for ten more minutes.

And running into her physics teacher on his planning bell.

"Kite. Where are you off to?"

"Back to class, sir. They needed me down in the office."

"Trouble already?"

Kite laughs. "Just correcting my emergency contact info. Trouble doesn't start until next week."

"Just keep it out of my class."

"Will do, sir."

Mr. Russell turns down one hall, Kite down another.

Tucked away behind the door (ajar) of the chemistry lab (empty), Sherlock makes a mental note to check her file again later. He suspects that was a lie, but he prefers data to suspicions.

He doesn't see her face. Perhaps another day; no need to rush.

Aware of Tony's charming inability to hide even the simplest of facts, he divulges nothing, not even her full name. Not that Tony asks. You could power a small city with the force of Tony not asking.

Another day.

Just after lunch, Kite is on her way to Physics, juggling her notes and textbook; trying to cram while walking isn't the easiest thing.

It generally results in running into others.

"Oh shit, sorry."

"Think nothing of it," he says gravely, handing back her textbook.

The thought of impersonating Tony occurs to him, but he doesn't like to. And he suspects that unlike the staff of this school, she might notice.

Her attention was focused on not dropping her things--at which she only partially succeeded--so she hasn't looked at his face until now.

"Oh shit," she repeats softer, taking her book back.

"Twins?"

"Pardon? Ah, you must have met Tony."

He might be overplaying it a little, but he certainly has no intention of letting her perceive the extent of his knowledge.

"We've run into each other.

And...you would be?"

"Sherlock."

The wry flicker of a smile is automatic. For as long as he's been introducing himself by the name, it has never passed entirely without comment.

"Huh" is the only comment she makes, eyebrows lifting just slightly, mouth curving.

It's the reaction of someone used to dealing with unusual names.

"I'm Kite."

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

He backs up half a step with an eloquent shrug—got to go or I'll be late for class—and turns away.

"Likewise," she says, sidestepping.

A nod--me too, see you around--and then she's back to thinking about force and equal and opposite reactions.

For absolutely no logical reason whatsoever, he kind of likes her.

That kind of sentiment hardly has a place in a serious investigation. He still has to find out if she will be good for Tony, after all.

(The thought that he could just wait and see does not, as such, occur to him.)

Time passes.

It's Homecoming, and that means a pep rally. School spirit isn't normally Kite's thing, but she makes an exception for football. She's down in the front of the bleachers, face streaked in Sunnydale burgundy and screaming the cheers as loud as anyone else.

Sherlock admits himself mystified by why Tony is so bloody fond of these things. He is not technically here; he is under the bleachers, and he has no intention of emerging to watch the game. Watching the audience is far more instructive.

Kite spends most of the rally teaching Tony the replies for the call-and-answer cheers with the cheerleaders, including the profane variations developed by generations of Sunnydale students.

The rally is scheduled for the end of school, but there's still a good 45 minutes between when it finishes and the game's kick-off. Tony holds their seats while Kite goes on a snack run. She's thinking nachos.

She's also thinking it's faster to the snack bar if one cuts under the bleachers.

Really? Really.

He can't help laughing when he hears her approach.

"Huh," she says, half-laughing herself.

"Hello again."

"Good afternoon."

The smile he gives her is one of Tony's, or possibly one of his that Tony likes to borrow, full of Stark mischief.

She grins back.

"You having fun down here?"

"Debatably."

"Not a football fan, then."

"Tony is the spectator in the family," he says, in a deadpan that is not quite up to his usual standards.