School AU. ShaunDes. Rated M for language and sexy times. It's not entirely legal. WHOOT. Couldn't stop thinking about it after I saw this amazing f*cking picture by saynomore on y-gallery (I believe that person is also Doubleleaf, yeah), and I don't know where it went because it's not there anymore D: There was "detention" and "detention2", detention is still there but not the one I'm talking about… *cries* I'm so sorry ugh.

Anyway. Here's this. Enjoy.

Desmond Miles, age seventeen, was a difficult child. It was difficult to get him to care about anything, let alone have the motivation to actually pursue an interest.

It was perplexing that he seemingly had no desire for anything, and yet, he did well in school, had friends, and had fun with the other, sometimes younger kids around the complex. It seemed he simply had no desire to follow directions, and even deliberately disobeyed them. He was his own man, from the start.

To those who didn't know him it may have seemed this way. But to those who actually looked, they could tell that he was actually interested in a variety of things. Sports were a given favorite, but he wasn't much of a team player, so he never joined any teams. He was content with the simple roughhousing of teenage boys. He enjoyed science, and math was okay, but he especially enjoyed music. And psychology. And history. Shit, he enjoyed most of the subjects he studied. He just couldn't choose one. And so, it made him seem like he didn't care for anything.

It seemed nothing would catch his eye, and he would be forced to study anything and everything in college, until the first day of his senior year. The day had been rather slow and unproductive, what with it being the first day (the teachers insisted on explaining every little detail about the course, and there was always THAT GUY that asked a ton of questions, and they couldn't leave until the bell rang even if there was nothing to say, and shit, his schedule was messed up again for the second year in a row), and he was just about ready to either pass out or flip some tables. Though the former would most likely happen because he didn't like to stick out and cause trouble. And so he dragged his feet to his last class and flopped down in his chair, lazily slumping down onto his desk. Luckily for him, no one liked to sit in the front and he didn't mind doing so, so he always had his seat in class right in the front row. That way, he could slump down and pretend he was asleep, and he'd always be sitting by the smart kids. It was fool-proof, save for the slumping down part that would always earn him dirty looks. Whatever. Logic was for smart people.

The teacher was someone he'd had before, so he wasn't terribly worried about this class. The man taught both Freshman year history, and Senior year, so he knew what to expect. He really didn't know what the big deal was, it really wasn't hard to pass classes. If people just did the work, they'd do well, and—

"Welcome, class of 2005. This is US History II. If you're not a senior, or you're otherwise not enrolled in this class, I suggest you raise your hand now and figure out where you're supposed to go."

Desmond lifted his head just far enough to look over his shoulder. No one was raising their hand, so it seemed everyone was in the right class. Desmond put his head back down and just listened. The man went on. "Either we're all in the right place, or you're too embarrassed to admit it. No matter. My name is Dr. Hastings, though if it makes you incredibly uncomfortable, you may call me 'mister'." He began pacing slowly in front of the room. Desmond figured he probably shouldn't look like a complete slacker, so he pulled his head out of his arms to where Mr. Hastings could see his eyes were open. The man looked exactly the same as he did three years ago, in his plain sweaters and general cool demeanor.

"Some of you may remember me from your Freshman year, of course, but I'll warn you now that this will not be the same class. You're almost adults now and I'll expect you to behave and perform as such."

Desmond could live with that. Though he was sure a lot of the others wouldn't.

The man went on. "Now, if there aren't any questions, I'd like to get onto business." Someone raised their hand in the back, and he nodded to them. "Yes?"

"So, are you from England?" Someone asked. Desmond just put his face back down in his arms, ashamed of his colleagues.

Mr. Hastings blinked. He frowned, and actually stopped talking. He stared incredulously at the student, then blinked again, and wiped the look off his face, raising his eyebrows in surprise. "Right, is there anyone with a question that's not stupid?"

The girl looked at him in complete disbelief. Desmond was surprised, and couldn't help but chuckle into his arms. Another guy tried to defend her. "Hey, you can't just call your students stupid." There were numerous voices of assent at this.

Mr. Hastings scowled, then rubbed his forehead. "Right… Look, I know you may think it 'mean' of me, but I don't deal with that kind of nonsense. Like I said, you are close to being adults, and I hope dearly that you can handle a little criticism. Now, I know you're probably not used to this, but I expect to cover the entire span of history between pre-Civil War and the present… so we'd better start now. Everyone pull out some note paper and a writing utensil, or just continue to sit there uselessly while I prattle on about things you don't give one whit about." He went to write on the chalkboard while people stared in confusion.

It was after that moment that Desmond noticed an exciting change. This class might actually interest him, to the point of inspiring a career. And even if it doesn't, he'll have a damn interesting teacher.