Author's Note: Well, I though it about time to update. This was originally going to be a nice, short, filler chapter with lots of jokes to lighten the mood, but then I re-watched the episode "The Cave" and was reminded about Hawkeye's claustrophobia, and I though "hmm, wouldn't that be interesting to incorporate that?" not just for added drama but I thought it would be important for Johnson to witness a different, more vulnerable side of Hawkeye to perhaps stimulate a more sympathetic image of the boy.
Unfortunately, however, thrusting a scene that I hadn't planned unexpectedly into the plot led to unforeseen problems in the rest of the story (I know, shocking, right?), which led to this extended pause in updates as I tried to sort that all out. Anyway, I believe I've got the rest of the story figured out, and without any more rambling from me, please continue and enjoy:
March
"Remove the glasses, please, Mr. Pierce," Johnson said wearily, not sparing Pierce a second glance.
"But, sir, I need these to see."
"Well then, I apologize, Mr. Pierce, but you will have to suffer through the rest of this class until your father can buy you an acceptable pair."
Pierce sighed loudly and dramatically but Johnson knew the boy had complied, slipping off the gaudy pair of glasses attached to a plastic nose and mustache and tucking them neatly away into his desk.
When Johnson turned back around, a hasty diagram scrawled on the blackboard behind him, Pierce was making a show of squinting at the board as though he couldn't make it out. He asked his neighbor if he could read it off to him.
"Mr. Pierce," said Johnson, "have you ever considered joining the Drama Club? I think they could be especially interested in some of your…talents."
"I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member," said Pierce, furrowing his eyebrows in faux indignation.
Johnson sighed and pushed on, "As you can see here, I've drawn a diagram of the human cell. I would like you all to take out a clean sheet of paper and – yes, Mr. Pierce?"
Pierce was waving his hand in the air, "It doesn't look very much like a human cell, sir – the nucleus is all unbalanced –"
"Please, refrain from making fun of my art, Mr. Pierce."
Pierce shrugged, "Well, Art is Art, isn't it? Still, on the other hand, water is water. And east is east and west is west and if you take cranberries and stew them like applesauce they taste much more like prunes than rhubarb does. Now you tell me what you know."
"Pierce," said Johnson, pinching his the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer-finger. "You certainly try my patience."
"Thank you, sir. You must try mine sometime," said Pierce, but mercifully settled down with a lingering grin. Johnson marveled at the newfound compliance that seemed to have developed between Pierce and he. If he didn't know better he might call it borderline respect.
Johnson had to admit that Pierce seemed to be a bit…mellower since their discussion in Johnson's office. By no means had his antics completely stopped, but now his humor seemed to lack the hostile edge it used to contain when directed at Johnson. Johnson was forced to conclude, almost painfully, that Pierce could be honestly funny at times, but he still wished the boy wouldn't make such a try at it in Johnson's classroom.
"Yes, well," said Johnson, "I will ask you each to take out a clean sheet of paper and clear your desk. Label as many of the organelles as you can in ten minutes time –"
"Ten minutes. We have ten minutes. Anyone raising to eleven?" said Pierce.
"Mr. Pierce…."
"Mr. Johnson, you can't raise your own bid."
"Thank you, Mr. Pierce. That will be enough. Your time begins…now."
Pierce shuffled his possessions on his desk and bowed over a blank sheet of paper, smirk untidily hidden on his face.
Johnson was half-way to his car in the parking lot when he realized he'd left his briefcase in his classroom. He hurried back through the deserted school's hallways and reached the door. He fished in his pocket for the key to the classroom, put it to the knob, and realized the door was, in fact, unlocked.
Johnson frowned. The door was not supposed to be unlocked. He jiggled the doorknob and pushed open the door, stepped forward, and paused.
Inside, suddenly bathed with light, the two students froze and turned to face him. Miss Lily McPherson turned a deep red, and pushed away from Mr. Pierce, who was looking caught-in-the-act but vaguely amused.
"Hello, sir, fancy meeting you here."
Johnson frowned, "Indeed, Mr. Pierce."
Miss McPherson smoothed her skirt with shaking hands. She cast Pierce a pained look of farewell, and squeezed passed Johnson in the doorway, chin straight as though trying to save her ruffled dignity, but avoiding Johnson's eyes.
"Hiya, Teach," said Pierce, grinning. Pierce must have received the message Johnson wanted to be pass through his frown, for his hastily added, "I mean – sir."
Johnson thought that if there was anything viler than being Pierce's enemy, perhaps it would be to be the boy's friend.
"Hello, Mr. Pierce." He crossed his arms.
Pierce faltered, "Listen, Mr. Johnson – you're not going to report us, are you? I mean – we weren't breaking any rules and Lily – well, you know, I don't want to impede upon her honor."
"You are aware that breaking into a locked classroom after school has been dismissed is, in fact, under the same category of "breaking the rules", aren't you?"
Pierce shrugged. "I didn't break in. None of the locks even work on these doors."
Johnson wondered how Pierce knew that, and then decided that he honestly didn't want to know.
"And being out of bounds doesn't concern you?"
"I couldn't help it, sir, someone had locked us in."
Johnson rolled his eyes. He walked over to the desk, searching for his briefcase but didn't find it. He thought that perhaps he had left it in the hallway outside and the janitor had picked it up and brought it to the lost-and-found box in the supply closet. He left the classroom, pursuing the idea.
Pierce followed, "Really, Mr. Johnson, please don't report us. It won't happen again, I promise."
Before he could stop himself, Johnson snorted.
"You doubt my word? I am deeply wounded, sir," said Pierce, laying his hands across his heart. He continued doggedly after Johnson.
Pierce seemed to have bypassed that awkward phase when teenage boys suddenly woke up to find their legs and arms larger in proportion to their torsos and would subsequently flop through the hallways with too-large feet and too-tall heads. Pierce moved with a sort of casual, loping grace.
"Besides," the boy insisted, "we shouldn't get in trouble for staying after school. We were studying."
They had reached the supply closet. Johnson opened the door and stepped inside. Pierce stepped in after him.
"I doubt very much that what you and Miss McPherson were doing had anything to do with education."
"I found it very educational," said Pierce.
Johnson reached to the top shelf for the cardboard box that held the lost-and-found objects and ruffled through the assorted sweatshirts, books, and water bottles, not discovering his briefcase.
"What are you looking for?" said Pierce.
"Some peace and quiet, Mr. Pierce."
"Was that a joke, Mr. Johnson?" the boy sounded absolutely delighted.
Johnson found himself almost uncomfortable under the boy's praise.
Pierce leaned over and nicked a coin purse.
"Is that yours?" said Johnson.
"It is now."
"Put it back, Mr. Pierce."
Pierce grinned and did as Johnson asked. He backed up to get out of the closet, bumped into a broom which clattered against the hinges of the door. The door swung shut with a creak and hit the frame with a very final sounded snap.
Johnson looked over his shoulder after he'd put the cardboard box back on the shelf, wondering where on earth his briefcase could be, and saw that Pierce was twisting the doorknob, apparently making a show of not being able to get out.
"Mr. Pierce," said Johnson, feeling tired and frustrated and as if he would like to go home, "as humorous as you might think locking me in the closet is…."
Johnson felt his voice fade away as he looked back at Pierce. He felt his eyebrows furrow. The boy seemed to have frozen; his face had gone pale and eyes had gone wide.
"Pierce, are you quite –"
"Mr. Johnson, I have to get out of here now," said Pierce abruptly, diving for the doorknob again.
"Mr. Pierce, what is the matter –?"
Pierce was twisting the doorknob. When nothing happened, he proceeded to yank on it as if the very essence of life and death stood between him getting out of the closet.
"Now," the boy insisted, the pitch of his voice rising. "I have to get out of this place right now!"
Johnson heard Pierce's breathing accelerate. Beads of sweat dripped on the boy's hairline. Johnson realized with a start that the boy was on his way to hyperventilating.
"Pierce, calm down!"
Pierce was still pulling on the doorknob. It didn't seem to be turning. "Do the walls seem to be closing in on us or is it just me?" Johnson moved to get to the doorknob, wanting to try his hand at turning it.
"Mr. Pierce, really, there's nothing to –"
Pierce flinched violently away from him, making Johnson start. "Don't crowd me, please! Don't look now but there's one man too many in this room and I think it might be you."
"Mr. Pierce, take a deep breath. Really, there's no reason –"
"I can't," Pierce said frantically, flailing his arms. "I can't breathe! Don't – there's not enough air…."
"Mr. Pierce, really, of all the ridiculous –"
"I know!" Pierce said suddenly, eyes wide and terrified and pleading. Johnson realized the boy was shaking. "It's just a stupid, irrational fear, I know! But I – Mr. Johnson, really, I have to get out of here. The walls are – they're getting closer. Can't you feel that?"
"Pierce," said Johnson awkwardly, helplessly. He had immediately recognized the signs of claustrophobia, of course, but he was completely taken off-guard. He had never imagined that Pierce – the boy had always seemed so sturdy, somehow, so capable of pushing away something as unfounded as this…. Johnson didn't know what he was supposed to do.
"Look, Mr. Pierce, calm down. There really isn't anything to be afraid of. Certainly it's dark in here, yes, we appear to be locked in, a bit of a tight fit maybe –"
Pierce groaned. He shut his eyes tightly and clapped his hands over his ears, as if trying to shut out the sound of Johnson's voice. "Thank you, sir, but you aren't helping! Now excuse me as I go quietly and methodically insane! I'm – trying to keep my brain from leaking out of my ears –"
Johnson pushed passed the boy to the door, deciding that standing there and talking was not going to help anything. Besides, Pierce seemed to have gone very quickly to the realms beyond reasoning. Johnson jiggled the doorknob. He listened for the click of the lock but nothing happened.
"Honestly," said Johnson, useless fumbling with the handle quickly turning into irritation. "Of all the confounded – a child of five should be able to do this –"
"Quick, send someone to fetch a child of five," said Pierce weakly. He sunk to the floor in the corner, pulling his knees tightly to his chest. He was rocking back and forth and rambling to himself. Johnson was really – really quite concerned.
"Completely irrational," said Pierce. "Totally fine. Deep breaths. Not going to run out of air. Something touched me! They're closing in on me! Make-it-stop-make-it-stop-make-it-stop –"
"Pierce!" Johnson had not meant to yell, but found that his own heart was pattering uncomfortably fast between his ribs. "Get a hold on yourself! We are in a closet in the school. The walls are not closing in on you! Someone will be here in a moment to see that we are freed."
"Mr. Johnson! Don't breathe so hard you're going to use up all the air!"
Johnson felt his jaw fall open. He honestly – of all the – how had he gotten himself into this?
Pierce stopped muttering but continued to rock back and forth on his heels, breathing uneven and eyes screwed shut.
"Did you know that when I was in fifth grade someone decided it might be funny to stuff me into a locker," said Pierce rapidly. His voice was breathy and he was still shaking.
"What?" Johnson snapped, turning only briefly away from the doorknob he was still trying to get to turn.
"I was this scrawny little kid then and way too easy to push around so they all thought it was funny to hear how loudly I screamed when they wouldn't let me out again and – and I don't know, I guess they got in trouble with the principal but I – didn't want to come into school again but Dad made me anyway and – and, Mr. Johnson, I honestly think I'm going to throw up or stop breathing or something cause I – I can't feel my fingers anymore and this is – really, this is totally irrational. I know. I know it doesn't make any sense but I – Oh, I think I'm going to be sick –"
"Pierce!" Johnson awkwardly probed his mind for something reassuring to say. He really hadn't ever been very good at this. "You – honestly you're going to be fine. Take it from me, the walls aren't closing in on us. There's a space beneath the door that lets in air. Really, everything is perfectly all right –"
The door swung open, and standing in the gap was a very befuddled looking janitor.
"How'd you get in here?" he asked.
Johnson and Pierce were bathed in light from the hallway. Pierce gasped air as though he had just broken the surface of a lake and his eyes flew open. He floundered to his feet and pushed passed Johnson to get out of the closet.
Pierce rushed away, feet clattering on the tile floors, perhaps to find the nearest bathroom to throw up. Johnson felt a curious impulse to go after the boy. He checked it off as a stifled teacher instinct to make sure his student was alright, but the truth of the matter was that he was genuinely concerned.
He had never seen the boy as anything other than calm, collected, and sharing a grin about it, and seeing him frantic and restless had been, frankly, disturbing. Johnson felt as though he had witnessed something indecent, that he had trespassed upon a private and secret part of the boy that he'd had no right to. He decided that he was probably the last person on earth Pierce wanted to see right now, and with a word of thanks and dismissal to the janitor, turned down the hall to the front door of the school, allowing Pierce the time and space he'd need to compose himself.
Ending Note: If some of the jokes were funnier in this chapter than in others, it's because I stole most of them from the Marx Brothers. Seeing as Groucho is one of Hawkeye's idols, I thought it was about time he made more of an appearance.
The next chapter might be another week or two coming. I've got it mostly worked out, but I'll be on vacation somewhere in the deep, dark, and mysterious realms between Wi-Fi connections and won't be able to get on this site to update.