Horatio woke up the next morning at seven; he'd gotten maybe three hours of sleep. The instant he remembered what was going to happen today, he felt queasy. He groaned and rolled out of bed, willing his stomach to calm down. Getting sick would be the absolute worst way to begin his law school career.

He quietly left his room and sought out the bathroom on the second floor. Finding it unoccupied, he went inside and took a cold shower. The water stinging his skin was enough to wake him up a little, but did absolutely nothing for his nerves.

He was still drying off when he smelled it: coffee, coming from downstairs. Feeling suddenly desperate, he jumped back into his t-shirt and boxers and hurried down the stairs before he could stop himself.

When he reached the kitchen, he found Will, standing in front of the oven with a frying pan in his hand. He was wearing a Navy football t-shirt, baggy sweatpants, and thick socks, and he seemed faintly surprised to see Horatio. "Oh. Good morning. I hope I didn't wake you…?"

"No," Horatio said, eyeing a coffee maker in the corner. Judging by the smell, it was in the process of brewing a pot of Starbucks Sumatra dark roast.

Will poked at the frying pan, which Horatio could now see contained strips of bacon. "Well, since you're here, how do you like your eggs?"

"What?"

"Eggs. It's everyone's first day, so I thought I'd make breakfast." Will suddenly looked worried. "I'm sorry, is that weird?"

It was, a little, but only because Horatio was having a hard time reconciling the older man's rugged aspect with this mom-like behavior. "Um, no, it's just…"

"Do you not like eggs? I think I can do toast. It's been a while."

"No, eggs are fine." Horatio realized his stomach was feeling a little better, so maybe he'd actually be able eat them. "Scrambled."

"Got it." Will slid the bacon off the frying pan and onto a nearby plate, then crossed over to the refrigerator and returned with a carton of eggs. "You're lucky I decided to go grocery shopping yesterday; there was nothing in there except taquitos and provolone cheese."

Both of those items must have belonged to Archie. Horatio had only brought a box of ramen noodles to get him through the first week.

Will cracked two eggs into the frying pan. Meanwhile, Horatio's attention was drawn irresistibly back to the coffee pot. The smell was torturing him, but it was Will's coffee; it would be rude for him to just go over and get some without being invited to do so. And if he asked and it turned out Will hadn't actually been intending on sharing the coffee, then Will would have to share anyway to avoid being rude himself, and then he'd be annoyed at Horatio. And even if Will had been intending on sharing the coffee all along, if Horatio asked for some, he'd feel like a beggar, dependant on the charity of others because he hadn't had enough foresight to buy his own coffee. Thus stuck, Horatio settled for directing intense gazes at the back of Will's head, hoping that would somehow telepathically communicate his desperation.

What it actually ended up doing was to cause Will to turn around, glance at him for a few seconds, raise an eyebrow, look like he was going to say something but think better of it, then turn back to the eggs.

While Horatio cursed himself, there were a series of soft thumps on the stairs. A few seconds later, Archie drifted into the kitchen, wearing a t-shirt, pajama shorts, and, strangely, a bathrobe. "G'morning," he mumbled, heading straight for the refrigerator. He was clearly surprised when he opened the door to find it full of food. "...Where are the taquitos?"

Will turned on him in a flash. "No."

Archie looked blearily up at him, half a sneer on his lips. "I suppose you're making everyone a wholesome balanced breakfast, Mr. Bush?"

"As a matter of fact..."

"Oh god."

"Horatio, your eggs are ready," Will said, unruffled. "And there's coffee, too, if anyone wants some."

Archie nodded appreciatively. "What kind of coffee is-"

"YES I WOULD LIKE SOME VERY MUCH THANK YOU." Horatio bounded across the room and snatched one of his largest mugs from the cabinet. The sweet ambrosia was burning its way down his throat within half a second. He closed his eyes, smiling in utter bliss. Feeling the warm liquid settle into his empty stomach was almost enough to make him forget that he'd be starting law school in less than an hour.

...Shit.

"A- Actually, maybe forget the eggs," he said, feeling a flash of stomach pain. "Sorry." He turned and dashed up the stairs before either of the others could say anything, then closed the door to his room and leaned back against it, taking rapid, shallow breaths.

He had to get dressed, and he needed time to go over his notes. Which room was his first class in? Which class was his first class?! Oh god… Torts. Yeah. Torts was first. Okay.

He willed himself to calm down. He could do this. He could do this…

He suddenly realized his coffee mug was still in his hand. Somehow, he'd managed to avoid spilling it in his hasty retreat. Feeling an odd sense of pride, he took a long gulp and set his jaw.

He could survive this. At least.

Probably.


Meanwhile, back in the kitchen, Will stood by the stove, looking slightly stunned. "...Is he okay?"

"No idea." Archie shrugged. The puzzle that was his strange housemate seemed to be of the three-dimensional, 10,000-piece variety, and he had neither the time nor the patience to bother trying to put that mess together. "I'll knock on his door before we leave." He paused. "Oh, I was gonna say it would make sense for us to go to class together, since we all have the same schedule. Is that okay with you?"

"I was going to suggest the same thing," Will said. He glanced down at the frying pan in his hand, full of abandoned egg. He extended it towards Archie. "Here you go."

Archie shook his head. "I don't like eggs."

"... Nonsense. You just haven't tried my eggs."

"You didn't do anything except scramble them - "

"Take the damn eggs," Will said, forcefully. "Are you really going to leave me standing around, like an idiot, holding a frying pan full of eggs? Just because you 'don't like' them? You wastrel."

Archie grinned. This seemed like a good opportunity to scrape the rust off of his arguing skills. "Okay, first of all, I'm not the one wasting those eggs; he just went up the stairs. Second of all, you made me an offer; I don't have to accept it. And finally, you're definitely standing around with a frying pan full of eggs, but if you happen to look like an idiot, well that sounds like a personal problem."

Will frowned, raising an eyebrow. His expression was incredibly severe. For a couple of tense seconds, Archie thought he might be taking the joke seriously. Then a scrunched-up smile broke through the facade before being immediately subdued. "You seem to have read the first page of our Contracts textbook. Congratulations. However, you misunderstand the intricacies of the situation."

Archie was so glad he was playing along. He leaned on the kitchen counter. "Alright, counselor, explain it to me."

Will set the frying pan down on the burner and rolled his shoulders. "Now, you see, it's like this…"


Horatio gave himself a final once-over in the mirror; his brown curls only sported a few utterly untamable cowlicks this morning, and the hideous dark circles under his eyes weren't quite as noticeable if he held his head at a slight upward angle.

He picked up his backpack, which contained only three of his books and yet weighed about the same as a sack of bowling balls. In swinging it over his shoulder, the weight of the bag gave it enough momentum to send him stumbling into the wall, smacking his head. Wincing, he glanced over at the mirror again; now his forehead had a large red splotch on it, which stood out especially well against his mayonnaise-pale skin. And he was still feeling nauseous.

He shook his head and pushed through the door, then headed downstairs. Puzzlingly, he could hear raised voices coming from the kitchen. Upon reaching the first floor, he paused and looked around for the source.

What he eventually saw was Archie and Will, both still in their sleepwear, standing in the middle of the room gesticulating at each other, while a thin plume of smoke rose up from the frying pan which had once contained eggs.

"...Ah, but clearly the canon of construction is in my favor," Archie was saying, twirling the sash of his bathrobe.

"I object!" Will replied, pounding the counter. "That canon is nolle prossed by the doctrine of respondeat superior!"

Archie suddenly noticed Horatio, and the terror-struck look on his face. "...Relax, we're bull-shitting," he said.

Will's eyes widened when he caught sight of the frying pan. He let out an expletive Horatio wouldn't feel comfortable repeating even in his own mind, then snatched the pan from the burner and poured its charred contents into the sink. After spraying some water over them, his face took on a disappointed look. "...How do you feel about toast?" he asked Archie.

Horatio cleared his throat, and the two of them turned to look at him. He tried to look aloof, but felt horribly awkward. "Our first class starts in twenty minutes. It takes fifteen minutes to get there."

There was a moment or two of silence while Will and Archie processed this information. Horatio in the meantime turned and headed for the front door. He could hear thumping and shouting behind him as he left the house, and it brought a thin-lipped smile to his face. In certain moods, he could take great pleasure from the suffering of others, if only because it briefly outstripped his own. There was a small comfort in knowing that they were all going to be miserable today.


Twenty minutes later, Horatio was sitting in a medium-sized lecture hall, filled with the sounds of fellow students talking and laughing amongst themselves. He was stiff-backed in his chair, his bony fingers folded on the surface of the desk in front of him. The room was filling up quickly, but so far no one had chosen to sit next to him. While he didn't like to think he was being rejected, he also hoped it stayed that way; he was already eyeing the chair on his left as potential space for his enormous backpack.

There was movement in his field of vision, and he looked up with a start. There was a girl standing next to him, her hand on the back of the empty chair. "Is anyone sitting here?"

"N- No," Horatio mumbled, awestruck. She gave the immediate impression of both grace and strength; her clothes looked professional and expensive, and she carried herself with a natural confidence that spoke of a life lived among important people, doing important things. Even though her face was too long to be considered beautiful, her tanned skin and light brown, almost blonde hair were a hell of a lot nicer to look at than his backpack.

She sat down without another word to him, arranging her books on the desk. There was a faint buzzing sound, and she reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. "Lo siento, Mateo," she said, "estoy ocupado. Si. Por supuesto que extraño a Ancón. ...Y tu? Ehh… adiós." She hung up the phone with a roll of her eyes, then placed it back in her pocket.

Horatio knew it was rude to listen in on others' conversations, but… "You've been to Panama?"

Luckily, the girl seemed impressed rather than offended. "Yeah. I worked with a free clinic down there for a year. I just got back a couple of weeks ago. There was a nasty flu strain going around when I left, so I asked Mateo to keep me updated." She held out her hand with a smile. "Barbara Wellesly. Don't worry, I'm not contagious."

Horatio shook her hand; she had a surprisingly firm grip. "Horatio. Hornblower."

"Pfft! ...Sorry." Barbara suddenly looked like she was trying very hard not to laugh, but wasn't really succeeding. "Do you … play any instruments?"

Horatio frowned. Any feelings of attraction he might have felt for her had evaporated. "No."

Barbara looked like she was going to make another joke about his name, possibly a less polite one, when Archie appeared at the end of the aisle and squeezed behind her. "Thanks for abandoning us, you jerk," he said, sliding into the seat on Horatio's right.

Having only known him for two days, Horatio didn't feel particularly stung by the remark. "I wasn't about to be late waiting up for you," he muttered.

Archie only grinned. "Harsh."

Will followed a few steps behind him, taking the next seat over. "That's the last time I do anything nice for you," he hissed at Archie.

"I didn't even want the goddamn eggs!"

The lecture hall was suddenly filled with the ear-splitting sound of microphone feedback. Horatio winced and looked towards the podium. There were two men standing at the front of the room, one white-haired and bent, the other either in his late twenties or early thirties. The younger man had messy brown hair and a pockmarked face; he was holding the small round end of a microphone, the cord of which was attached to the older man's hip. "I think that should work for ya now," he said, his voice being picked up by the mic. He gave it a couple of taps with his finger, sending loud 'thumps' echoing around the room.

"Stop that, Styles!" the old man snapped. He snatched back the end of the mic and fastened it to the lapel of his deep blue suit jacket, then bent over and dissolved into a fit of coughing. Styles stood back cautiously until the old man straightened and waved him away. Clearing his throat, he shuffled over to the podium and faced the students. "Good morning," he said, his tremulous voice revealing the reason for the mic. "I am Professor Keene. I have been told by the dean to say a few words, since this is your very first class as 1Ls. I hate speeches, so I will be brief." His sharp eyes swept around the room. "This will be a rigorous and challenging experience for all of you. Prepare to kiss whatever social lives you nerds may have goodbye. The fires of law school will burn you clean of your idiocy and preconceived notions, hopefully leaving you strong enough to face the eternal lake of sulfur that is legal practice. Work hard, use your head, and you should manage to survive. Welcome to Justinian."

Archie leaned over towards Horatio. "More like welcome to purgatory," he said under his breath.

Professor Keene coughed. "Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, let's get started. You should all have a copy of my syllabus, which we will go over now. I teach this class according to the Socratic method…"

Horatio rummaged in his backpack for his Torts notebook, hastening to find a pen while trying to listen to what Keene was saying. In his clumsiness, he dropped his pen down to the row of seats in front of him. He gulped and tried to reach it with his foot, but it was just out of range.

Before he could work up the courage to get the attention of the person in front of him, the chair turned, and a hand reached out to grasp the pen. Horatio stared; the back of the hand was covered by a tattoo of a skull. He raised his head to look at the face of the man the hand belonged to, and he found himself looking into dark eyes, filled with inexplicable malice. The man looked to be several years older than him, with stringy blonde hair and a sneer on his lips. 'You want this?' he mouthed, holding up the pen.

Horatio reached out, and the man drew his hand back, causing Horatio's fingers to grasp at empty air. The man grinned; the expression looked almost predatory.

"...tell me the holding of Brown v. Kendall. Mr. Simpson? ...Mr. Simpson?"

The blonde man turned around, still clutching Horatio's pen in his hand. "Could you repeat the question?"

Keene scowled at him. "I'd suggest you pay more attention next time. What was the precise holding of Brown v. Kendall?"

Simpson tapped Horatio's pen against the desk. "If beating the dogs was unnecessary, then the defendant had to exercise extraordinary care."

Keene's scowl only deepened. "It would appear that you need to pay more attention to your reading as well, Mr. Simpson; if I had wanted the ruling of the trial court, I would have asked for it." He consulted his roster, doubtless choosing the next unfortunate victim. "...Mr. Hornblower."

Horatio froze. He could feel the eyes of his classmates on him, could feel the intimidating gaze of Keene, even from this far away, burning into him, studying him, waiting for his answer. His worst fears had been realized: cold-called, in his first class. Nausea began creeping over him, twisting his gut. Simpson had turned around to leer at him, twirling his pen between his fingers.

"Mr. Hornblower." Keene was scowling at him now. "We don't have all day."

"Th- The court…" Horatio gulped. "Justice Shaw held that the trial court erred in its instructions to the jury." He paused to take a shaky breath, then continued. "I- In order to recover damages, the plaintiff needed to prove that the defendant's actions were unlawful, careless, or negligent, and that he was not exercising ordinary care."

"And what is the significance of this holding?"

"Um…" Horatio clenched and unclenched his fingers. He felt almost faint. "The case is significant because it marks one of the first appearances of the reasonable person standard in American jurisprudence."

Keene gave him a long, critical look. Then he nodded. "Excellent." He turned around and began writing on the whiteboard. "The idea of the 'ordinary reasonably prudent person' is one of the most important concepts in modern tort law…"

It took Horatio a few seconds before he realized he'd survived. He took a deep breath, and the tension poured out his muscles, his hands flopping at his sides. He felt something hit his arm; Archie was elbowing him, grinning broadly. 'Good job,' he mouthed.

Horatio felt immensely relieved. He'd managed to get through a cold-call without embarrassing himself. And now it would likely be some time before he had to suffer another one. Maybe today wasn't going so badly after all.

He felt a tap on his shoulder; it was Will, reaching around behind Archie, a pen in his hand. Horatio took the pen and looked down at the desk.

Class had been going on for ten minutes, and he hadn't taken any notes.

He started writing furiously, the panic returning. Never mind. Today was still going to be terrible.