Rewrite Our History (1/?)
A Tessjoel second chance AU
A/N: This is entirely experimental. I’m still debating on even reopening an AO3 account, so for now it’s just going to live here. No frills, no expectations. I’m trying to find my way back to a healthy relationship with writing fic and sharing my writing.
This particular story is something I’ve been thinking about for a while and developing, and I’ve only recently had the courage to start writing it down. (A previous draft failed miserably for me, and I almost gave up on it entirely.) I haven’t outlined it or heavily planned yet, but I’ve got the gist of what I want this to be. Some encouragement would be amazing—if I’ve earned it—and if I get some bites I’ll consider sharing more. I may even just use this as a platform to get feedback and make edits so that, if I do put it on AO3, it can go up as a more polished draft.
I miss collaborating. I miss talking to other people about stories and writing. And I hope this is a gateway back to that. I want writing to be fun again.
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Chapter 1
August sun beats down on Tess, a thin layer of sweat coating the back of her neck even at 7:30 in the morning. Her heels click-clack against the brick walkway with each step, and she’s regretting the decision to wear silk.
Not even Boston is immune from turning into Satan’s ass crack in the final weeks of summer.
Still, with the new term starting in a few weeks, the months she’d enjoyed showing up for office hours in athleisurewear and cotton t-shirts are over. Departmental staff meetings are mandatory today, as is the faculty mixer later this evening.
We’re a university that prides itself in our culture of academic collaboration, the president had touted in his email. As such, we will be welcoming a number of new members of staff and should take the time to embrace them into the Haversham family.
Translation: We are also inviting donors and need to put on our best face.
Par for the course, though, Tess knows. She didn’t reach tenure by hiding in her corner of the campus or refusing to schmooze wealthy alumni.
Plus, her new Louboutins adding three inches to her already tall stature provide a little oomph to her trek across the quad. Especially when she passes by Robert Woods and his other weasel in the math department—Malik something. Her eyes lock with the latter before he can even consider checking out her ass in her pencil skirt.
To his and Robert’s credit, they both give her a polite nod and scurry past.
A blast of cool air hits her when she finally reaches the literary building and hauls open one of the large oak doors. The click-clacking continues with each step, echoing across the marble hall leading to her office.
Her phone pings as she digs in her purse for her office keys, and she fishes the device out. A text lights up the screen, the name ELLIE with a dinosaur emoji hovering above the message.
forgot to tell u art club starts today. oh and the bus sucks.
With a deep sigh and a shake of her head, Tess taps out a response.
Did you forget your headphones?
no but it’s hard to listen to music when everything is so loud and smells like shit
I thought Riley rode the bus too. Is she not with you?
her mom got a new shift and started dropping her off. stupid hospital.
Stupid hospital
u could just send me to that prep school
For the last time: NO
u suck
Gonna screenshot this and show it to you one day when you’re calling me from college in the middle of the night
whatever. love u i guess.
Love you too, El.
With a grin, Tess clicks her phone off and unlocks the office. The remnants of the old computer the university replaced for her still sit in the corner, and boxes of old paper assignments she needs to shred are stacked on the other side of the room.
She tosses her purse onto the buttery leather sofa, phone still in hand as she settles down at her desk and shoves away the binders littering its surface.
Her phone pings once more. Ellie’s texted her a photo of two cartoon dinosaurs with their necks wrapped around one another. Tapping the heart on the image, she lays the device face down and boots up her computer.
At least a few dozen emails have flooded her inbox—reminders about staff meetings, phishing scam warnings, advertising from an educational resource she used once, more phishing scams.
Just as she’s got the messages whittled down to the most important, a tap on her door catches her attention.
Her oldest and most trusted colleague and mentor, Dr. Frank Murray, beams down at her from the doorway.
“Morning, Dr. Servopoulos.”
“Frank!” she rises from her chair to embrace him in a hug. “How was your summer? You must’ve enjoyed yourself. We haven’t seen you since June.”
“Well, you know Bill.” He air kisses her on both cheeks. “He bitched and moaned about the beach all the way to Nantucket, but as soon as he discovered deep sea fishing…”
A laugh rises in Tess’s chest as she takes him in. His salt and pepper beard is trimmed down, and he’s gotten himself a tan. The familiar, comforting twinkle in his eyes shines a little brighter.
“Semi-retirement looks good on you,” she assures him.
“I should hope so.” His hands slide into the pockets of his slacks, and his gaze casts to the ground. “Considering it’ll probably be full retirement by this time next year.”
Tess pouts. “Oh, you’re not allowed to leave.”
With a bittersweet smile, Frank pats her shoulder. “You’ll do fine, kid. You’ve got your own department to run.”
And he’s right. She does. Marlene, the current English department chair, has been whispering about being courted by Boston College. If she vacates, Tess is the most senior professor.
The only reason she and Frank cross paths regularly is because she was one of his teachers when he was headmaster at Barrington Prep. They’d taught together for several years before that, and he missed the classroom as soon as he stepped into admin. When Haversham offered him a position, he’d accepted—and put in a good word for Tess when she needed it most.
With English and history sharing a building at Haversham, he’d made a point to continue looking after her, even if it meant they only had five minutes to enjoy a coffee in the lounge once a month. Ellie had even been the flower girl at his and Bill’s wedding a decade ago, though she’d thrown a fit about the frilly dress.
“It won’t be the same without you,” Tess laments, and Frank nods sympathetically.
“Believe me, I’m gonna be just as lost for a while.” Shifting gears, though, he claps his hands together. “Anyway, I didn’t come here to be sad. I actually wanted to give you a heads up.”
Tess folds her arms across her chest. A heads up? That’s never good. “About what?”
“Well, I don’t know how to tell you this—and trust me, I gave it some thought—
“Dr. Murray?”
Frank’s TA, Henry, is out of breath as he glances sheepishly between the two of them.
“Sorry,” he mutters, then turns to Frank. “That new guy is here.”
“Ah,” Frank nods. “Let him know I’ll be right up.”
Henry nods and hurries back to the stairwell. They really need to install some elevators in this building.
Hurriedly, Frank addresses Tess.
“I’ve gotta take care of this,” he offers apologetically. “I’ll explain everything later.”
Understanding, though having to make a conscious effort to rid her mind of the possibilities that threaten to race around, Tess bobs her head. “Just don’t leave me hanging, okay?”
He grins. “I’ll do my best.”
Then he disappears.
There’s no doubt in Tess’s mind that he will try to make good on his word. There is every doubt, however, that he will succeed—not for any fault of his own, of course. Any educated guesses she can make about his calendar and the number of people who will sweep in and out of his office today tell her she just got the best of his time.
Before she can let that sinking feeling settle in, she forces herself to take a walk. Marlene mentioned something about needing copies before their meeting, and she can use a coffee. Maybe she’ll run over to the art building and see if that kit she’d paid the lead professor to order for Ellie has arrived. Maybe she’ll take her time mass printing her syllabus.
Whatever news Frank has to deliver can’t possibly be that bad.
-x-x-x-
Professors and other university faculty bustle about the hallways as Joel leans on the railing overlooking the wide foyer. Sun beams in through the tall windows across the way, just a little too bright for his taste first thing in the morning. Joel’s early fifties haven’t been kind on his eyes.
Adjusting his glasses, he stands straight again, back popping with each movement of his vertebrae. Henry, the TA who had welcomed him into Frank’s office, scurries down the marbled pathway toward him.
“He’ll be right with you,” he promises. “But I think that stack of paperwork he wanted to get you started on is on his desk.”
“Sounds great.”
Joel nods, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks as he follows the young man toward one of the offices down the hall.
Henry rambles on for a while, sharing information about departmental practices and important facilities in the building and on campus. Not that Joel needs it. His years teaching just a few blocks over at Barrington had consisted of many a field trip to Haversham with junior and senior students.
The university hasn’t changed much in fifteen years.
Except Frank. He had left Barrington shortly after Joel had moved back to Texas. They’d kept in touch professionally and sporadically over the years, but seeing him here now is as comforting as it is terrifying.
Which is why, when the good professor finally joins them, Joel immediately rises to his feet from the cushy leather chair he’d pulled up.
“Dr. Miller,” he greets, holding out his hand, a warm smile spreading across his face.
Joel shakes his head sheepishly as he accepts the handshake. “Ain’t got my doctorate, sir, but thank you.”
Frank chuckles. “Joel, if you call me sir ever again, I will rescind my recommendation from the dean to let you teach here.”
“Of course,” Joel nods politely. “How’re you doin’, Frank?”
“That’s more like it.” The other man crosses the room and settles in behind his desk, inviting Joel to join him. “I’m well. My husband and I just bought a little cottage further north. Did I tell you I got married?”
“You didn’t.” None of their conversations over the years had delved into any particularly personal matters. Awkwardly, he adds, “Congratulations.”
“It’s been ages now, but thank you. And yourself?”
Joel shakes his head. “Just tryin’ to get settled back into the city. My dad passed away last year, and my brother’s still out here with his wife.”
“Tommy?”
“Yeah. You know him?”
As far as he can remember, his brother had no crossover into his previous professional life. He’d come out to visit for a week one summer when they were still in their twenties, met his wife, and bounced back and forth between Texas and Massachusetts until he was mature enough to put a ring on it and stay put.
“Sure. Maria covers a lot of our legal matters here.”
Joel frowns. “He never mentioned that.”
Not that Tommy would realize how crucial a role Frank had played for him all those years ago. But the fact that they’re even the slightest bit tied together in such a big city has his gears turning. That’s far too big a coincidence, and Tommy saying nothing raises a red flag. The most logical sense would be that he and Maria were still in touch with—
No. No, they wouldn’t. Not without saying a word.
Would they?
He shakes the thought, grateful when Frank changes the subject. “Anyway, we’re glad to have you. Did Henry give you the rundown?”
“He did,” Joel confirms. “The man’s an expert on this department. Although, I have to say…I’m still surprised you agreed to take me on after all this time, especially when I resigned halfway through a school year last time we worked together.”
Frank folds his hands together on his desk, releasing a deep sigh. “Joel, what you were going through then was…unprecedented.”
A knot twists in Joel’s stomach, and he can’t help but squirm a bit in his seat. This man doesn’t know the half of it…
“You also secured tenure at Texas at Austin,” Frank continues, “and you’re one of the best historians I’ve ever met. I’d be a damn fool to pass you over.”
Solemnly, Joel leans back in his chair and crosses on leg over the other. “I appreciate that. It’s strange enough bein’ back in this city. Nice to see a familiar face.”
The older man smiles and says vaguely, “I’m sure you’ll find a few around here.”
“That supposed to mean somethin’?”
The question has his new department leader shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Which cause Joel to squirm a bit.
Just as Frank opens his mouth to speak, someone knocks on his door. The dean, here to see their new hire.
Whatever the hell he meant, Joel does not find out.
-x-x-x-
“I can’t believe you’re leaving me with Gail.”
The disgust in her teenager’s voice is palpable as Tess emerges from the faculty restroom, now out of her office wear and donning a royal blue cocktail dress. She adjusts the tote with her other clothing across one shoulder as she click-clacks back to her office, holding her phone to her ear with the other hand.
“Ellie, she won’t even be there with you,” she reminds her daughter. “All she’s gonna do is pop over from next door a couple of times to make sure you’re okay. And that you ate."
“No danger in forgetting that,” Ellie mutters, and Tess can hear the whoosh of their refrigerator door and the thunk of heavy glass against marble. “Been thinkin’ about this casserole all day.”
“See, I made your favorite. You’ll be fine.”
“Mom, Gail hates me."
“She does not.” Tess lays her phone on her desk and turns on the speaker as she pins diamond studs in her ears. “Who ran off those little punks who followed you home from the park a few weeks ago?”
There’s a long pause before Ellie grumbles, “Gail.”
“And who snuck you ice cream when I made you mow the lawn and wash the car for ditching school?”
“Gail.”
“Exactly.” She checks her dress for any stray dust or strands of hair. “You should thank her.”
The truth is that Gail is retired and, having the time on her hands, is the only person who Tess can count on to look after Ellie on nights like tonight. Not that Ellie totally needs the supervision. Tess herself was a latchkey kid growing up, and fourteen is old enough to spend a few hours alone. Boston is a big city, though, and her daughter’s track record has spoken for itself.
“I wish Riley’s mom was home tonight,” Ellie grumbles as the microwave beeps in the background. “I’d rather go over to her house.”
“When was the last time you saw each other outside of school?”
“A while,” the teenager mumbles, but she doesn’t elaborate.
A quick glance at her watch tells Tess that she needs to high tail it over to the campus center.
With no time to press her daughter, she says, “Hey, El, I’ve gotta go. Call or text me if you need anything, okay?”
“What time will you be home?”
“No later than 9:00,” Tess promises.
But Ellie answers with, “Sure, okay.”
Guilt rises in Tess’s chest. Prep for the new term has taken over the last couple of weeks. After a summer of making it home by 4:00, most of her nights have ended closer to 6:00 or 7:00. Ellie returning to school last week certainly helped to take up that time, but the disappointment in her daughter’s voice tugs at her.
“9:00,” she repeats. “And tomorrow, I’ll help you with homework after dinner, and we can watch Savage Starlight. School night be damned.”
There’s a long pause before Ellie asks, “With popcorn?”
“With popcorn.”
“Drizzled in caramel?”
“And dinosaur sprinkles,” she offers.
“Shit, they make those??”
Tess only chuckles at Ellie’s enthusiasm, guilt abating. At least for now. “I’ll try to make it home as early as I can escape.”
They exchange their goodbyes, and Tess takes off. The sooner she arrives at the mixer, the sooner she can plausibly leave without anyone looking down on her.
At least it’s only a mixer. The worst this event can be is boring, which she’s increasingly grateful for as her fifties fast approach. No one will fault her for ducking out early.
She clings to that hope like her impractically tight dress is clinging to her.
Just as she’s wondering if she’s too damn old to be torturing herself with uncomfortable clothing, she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror hanging on her office wall.
Fuck it. She can sacrifice a little discomfort for the way this dress looks on her for one night.
-x-x-x-
Joel rolls the thin stem of a champagne flute between his fingers, trying to pay attention to the ramblings of Dr. Petrov, an eighty-year-old professor of Eastern European history who should have retired a long time ago. Henry, next to him, doesn't appear to be fairing much better as he downs another hit of his own drink and shifts back and forth on his feet.
Frank, smooth as ever, must sense their agitation and smiles gently at his colleague. "Alexei, have you eaten yet? The shrimp bar is delightful.”
Dr. Petrov stops mid-sentence, tilts his head, and nods. "Oh, I suppose I should eat something, shouldn't I?" he muses in his surprisingly thick Ukrainian accent.
With all the patience of a Kindergarten teacher, Frank walks across the room with the elderly man and helps him find a plate. Somehow, he manages to carry on the conversation with him.
"These things usually this…?" Joel trails off, debating on how to sound the least rude.
"Riveting?" Henry offers with a snicker.
Joel tips his drink to him. "Let's go with that."
"It's hit or miss. They only do these a couple times a year. As if we have much to do with any of the faculty outside our departments."
With a grunt of agreement, Joel notes, "Can't say I knew more than ten professors at Texas at Austin. Not the same as teachin' high school."
"You taught high school?"
"A long time ago." Joel waves a dismissive hand. "I'm better with adult learners. Teenagers are—"
"A handful?" Henry guesses. At Joel's nod, he smiles. "My little brother isn't quite ten yet, and he's already getting there."
"That's a big age gap."
"Our dad remarried after my mom left," Henry explains. His eyes go dark, and he trains them on his now empty champagne flute. "He passed a couple of years ago, though, and I still live at home to help my stepmom take care of him."
The words tug at Joel's chest, but he quickly swallows the lump that forms in his throat and downs it with a merely tolerable sip of champagne.
A whole university and they can't spring for hard liquor.
"You've got a lot on your plate, huh?" he observes.
"You can say that." Henry pauses, reflective now. "But I'll have my Master's in May, and hopefully a job curating at the Bostonian."
"You been in touch?"
"Interned earlier in the summer," Henry announces proudly.
"Congratulations."
Henry holds up his drink in appreciation. "Thanks, man."
The conversation tapers off, and Joel wanders through the rest of the party. Not that Haversham has a huge faculty, but Texas at Austin had been far more hands off with its professors. Across the room, the president of the university is shaking hands with Frank and his husband Bill, who has decidedly commandeered one of the corner tables. A couple of squirrely professors Joel had been introduced to from the math department are standing by smugly, watching everyone else.
All around him, the room buzzes with activity, and his head begins to grow fuzzy from more than the champagne. His eye roves around, searching for the nearest exit just in case. A few deep breaths later, he's calmed himself enough to not need an escape.
Crowds still get to him.
Food, he decides. He hasn't eaten since breakfast, and his damn doctor's been on his ass about his blood sugar.
As he weaves through the crowd toward the buffet, a hand reaches for his elbow, stopping him in his tracks. Henry again.
"Hey, there's someone you gotta meet," he says. "She's late, but you'll wanna get on her good side.”
Joel lifts his eyebrow as he follows, once again, finding himself lost in a sea of unfamiliar, well-dressed bodies. He could ask Henry if this can wait until after he grabs a bite, but the kid is just too damn enthusiastic. Who the hell would he be to disparage him?
However, a sinking feeling settles in the pit of his stomach as they draw closer. He scans the room for Frank again, silently begging the man to come rescue him as Henry says something about English and top rated.
"You'll like her," Henry insists, snapping Joel out of his revelry. "Dr. Servopoulos takes no shit and gets the best results."
The name practically smacks Joel in the face, has him slowing down, withdrawing.
He didn't…
Frank didn't…
"Who?" he asks, praying he heard the wrong name.
"Dr. Tess Servopoulos," Henry repeats.
Then he's pointing across the room at a brunette in a blue cocktail dress and legs for miles.
Legs he knows very well.
Too well.
Fifteen years, and other than a few pounds gained and deeper laugh lines on her face, she looks exactly the same. Hell, she looks better than he left her. Not that he can blame her. She was always better without him.
Fuck his damn life.
Joel swallows as they inch closer. He should run. He should leave this party immediately. He can avoid her for a year, seek employment elsewhere. She never has to know.
Then her eyes lock with his, and it's too late.
Her mouth hangs open, and they stare at each other until she catches herself absently tipping the champagne glass in her hand. She shakes off a little champagne spilled onto her fingers, reaching for a cocktail napkin from a passing server.
When her gaze returns to his, it burns. The glow of the warm chandelier above them reflects off her irises, and he can swear he sees fire in them.
Before Henry can draw them close enough to speak though, a dark-haired woman with warm, brown skin catches Tess's attention. Tess follows without hesitation, glaring back at him.
Next to Joel, Henry recoils, a look of confusion crossing his face. His lips press together, the ridge between his eyebrows crinkling.
"Did I piss in her Cheerios this morning?" Henry mutters, then he turns to Joel. "Or do you two know each other?"
A server passes by with a tray of champagne, and Joel deposits his now empty flute before reaching for another.
"Second one," he declares, then downs the glass in a couple of gulps, tapping his chest to keep from choking on the bubbles. "She's my ex-wife."