Fic: Off the Clock
Title: Off the Clock
Pairing: Chad/Ryan (at least, heavily implied...)
Rating: G-ish
Warnings: None
Note: I revised this one in July, to clean up some screwy tense issues. IDEK what happened originally.
Summary: Fulton's job isn't easy, and it never ends.
Technically speaking, Thomas Fulton's job title was General Manager of Lava Springs. In reality, for the eight years since the Evans family purchased Lava Springs and inherited Fulton as the manager, he had two jobs. He ran the club's day-to-day business, and he kept the Evans twins happy.
Catering to Ryan and Sharpay Evans was, by far, the harder job. Especially this summer. The club was short-staffed when it came to competent employees, and when he had asked The Board -- his well-meaning but slightly scatter-brained employer -- she provided him with a gaggle of untrained, ill-mannered, incompetent teenagers. So for the last six weeks, he not only had to put up with a high-strung diva heiress as she tried to seduce the local golden boy, and not only had to provide her with myriad expensive distractions to keep her from wrecking havoc after her scheme collapsed (said distractions ranging from the best imported chocolate he could find to the most shameless, attractive masseur he could hire from the greater Albuquerque area), but he had to do it while trying to make sure the children he was stuck with occasionally remembered to actually serve the people in the dining hall. He spent so much time chasing around the local riff-raff, trying to keep the kids from stomping on flowers in the garden, writing memos about the importance of tucking in one's uniform shirt, and trying to convince the junior staff that they were not entitled to member privileges, that was barely been able to get orders filled and see to his normal daily routine.
But he was somewhat conflicted.
Most summers, Ryan Evans was little more than his sister's blonder, paler shadow. Fulton always felt a mild affinity for the teen, probably because he himself had spent all of adolescence labeled a mama's boy, and certainly his classmates made some assumptions about him. And of the twins, Ryan was always the lesser annoyance -- oh, he had his quirks and threw his share of tantrums, but he wasn't that bad at the end of the day. No worse than most of the club members' children.
So on the one hand, Fulton was quietly rather proud of Ryan's coup at the Midsummer Night talent show. On the other hand, Ryan's defection made Sharpay more irate than usual, which was saying something. Further, since then, Ryan had taken to... Well, covering for the junior staff.
Fulton had spent the whole summer making vague threats at the Wildcats, reminding them about the three strikes rule, writing reprimands for being late, and trying again and again to drill rules of decorum into their adolescent brains. But in the last two weeks, no matter what illicit activity he caught the staff at, Ryan showed up too, and he'd simply smile and suggest they be let off the hook. The basketball team ate half of the club's pastry spread, and Ryan swore his mother had sanctioned it. When the nervous one who washed dishes had to work on waitstaff for an afternoon and he not only got every single order wrong but he also spilled an enormous carafe of lemonade all over Mrs. Talbot, Ryan laughed the matter off, promised Mrs. Talbot that he'd take the matter straight to The Board himself, and then pouted until his mother smoothed things over. And while Fulton had more or less given up on the concept of ever, ever convincing anyone under the age of 18 to clock in on time, he caught the curly-haired one -- Danforth, that was his name -- clocking in nearly an hour late after his lunch break. Twice. That he would not have overlooked, but Ryan had apologized profusely, claimed he'd needed Chad's help with something or other, and so of course nothing had come of it.
If Fulton had had enough hair to tear out, he would have. The junior staff was enough to frustrate even the most patient manager, and since Ryan had begun making sure no one ever faced any consequences, they'd been worse than usual. So Fulton was not feeling particularly charitable when he saw Chad Danforth at the end of his shift, slinking not towards the dilapidated car he bragged so hard about purchasing, but rather towards the pool. But he hardly had time to deal with it -- Sharpay was having some sort of crisis, and he had payroll to deal with, and a million small matters. He put it out of his mind and settled in to his office for a depressingly long night of catching up on paperwork.
It was almost 10:30 when Fulton finally completed everything that needed to get done; far later than he'd have liked, but it seemed like his job was never done. In an attempt to get out as quickly as possible, once he finished, he took a shortcut past the pool on his way to his car.
And he heard that distinct laugh, a splash, a much higher-pitched laugh, and then noises he could only call general shenanigans. Part of him wanted to just leave; Danforth probably wasn't actively destroying club property, or bothering any of the members at that time of night. But on the other hand, there were rules. And he didn't want Danforth to think he really could get away with anything he wanted. And he certainly didn't want to allow adolescent canoodling in the club's pool.
So he quietly walked into he pool area and gazed into the dimness. And yes -- there. Danforth lounged near the lagoon end by the waterfall, staring at something behind it. Someone, more likely. Fulton sighed. If it was Taylor McKessie, he'd be genuinely disappointed. That girl had more sense than this, and if she really had fallen for Danforth's smiling jock routine, more the pity. She deserved someone more responsible, if nothing else.
"Excuse me!" Fulton thundered, heading over towards the water. "It is after pool hours and you, Chad Danforth, are not a club member!"
Danforth turned in the water, froze, and stared up at him. He looked panicked, genuinely panicked, probably realizing that he had no one to get him out of this. Fulton smiled grimly.
"Um, Mr. Fulton," Danforth said finally. "I didn't know you worked so late."
"I do. And you do not, so what do you think you are doing?"
"Um. Just. Hanging out?"
"Mmmhmm." Fulton paused to stare at the waterfall and could just make out movement behind it. "And who are you 'just hanging out' with? I know there's someone back there."
"No! No one!" Danforth yelped, not very convincingly.
He was doubtlessly trying to cover for his girlfriend -- a sweet, if pointless, gesture. "She'll have to come out eventually, you know. You are both in big trouble, but rest assured, this will be Ms. McKessie's first infraction. You, however -- "
"It isn't Taylor, she wouldn't," Chad said quickly. "I mean, she's so smart and responsible," and boring, he didn't say, but Fulton heard it regardless.
"Then who -- "
"No one!" Danforth insisted, even though he'd as much as admitted it already. "No one. It's just me. I -- "
"It's okay."
They both looked over at the waterfall, to see Ryan slowly making his way towards them. His hair was plastered to his face and he moved slowly, walking through the deep end, arms held firmly -- awkwardly -- below the water. He looked almost ghost-like in the moonlight, a pale blur above the water.
"Mr. Evans," Fulton said, suddenly exhausted. Of course. Everywhere Danforth went for the last two weeks, Ryan Evans had been right behind him, laughing and egging him on.
"I, uh," Ryan said awkwardly. "That is, I invited Chad to spend the night. We just... Went for a swim. And I know you hate when people swim without a lifeguard, but it's such a nice night! But we'll get right out, and go right to my condo, and won't bother anyone at all, I promise."
Fulton sighed hugely. What could he do? Technically speaking, it was Ryan's pool. And Mrs. Evans wouldn't care about the flagrant rule-breaking; she'd back anything Ryan said, so there was nothing Fulton could do anyway.
"Of course, Mr. Evans," he finally managed. He looked back at Danforth, at the edge of the pool. "You. This is not an excuse to be late clocking in tomorrow!"
"Yes, sir," Danforth said quickly. "I mean, no sir. I mean -- "
"Yes, I know what you mean," Fulton interrupted. "Very well. I will see you then -- and I will be watching you very closely. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir," Danforth said again.
"Good." And with that, Fulton strode away.
He was almost, but not quite, out of earshot when they began talking again. But when he heard Ryan pout, "It isn't funny! Where did my Speedo end up? Chad!" (followed, of course, by gales of laughter) he hurried on, deciding it was really, truly, none of his business what Ryan and Chad got up to after hours. He was finally, after all, off the clock.
Pairing: Chad/Ryan (at least, heavily implied...)
Rating: G-ish
Warnings: None
Note: I revised this one in July, to clean up some screwy tense issues. IDEK what happened originally.
Summary: Fulton's job isn't easy, and it never ends.
Technically speaking, Thomas Fulton's job title was General Manager of Lava Springs. In reality, for the eight years since the Evans family purchased Lava Springs and inherited Fulton as the manager, he had two jobs. He ran the club's day-to-day business, and he kept the Evans twins happy.
Catering to Ryan and Sharpay Evans was, by far, the harder job. Especially this summer. The club was short-staffed when it came to competent employees, and when he had asked The Board -- his well-meaning but slightly scatter-brained employer -- she provided him with a gaggle of untrained, ill-mannered, incompetent teenagers. So for the last six weeks, he not only had to put up with a high-strung diva heiress as she tried to seduce the local golden boy, and not only had to provide her with myriad expensive distractions to keep her from wrecking havoc after her scheme collapsed (said distractions ranging from the best imported chocolate he could find to the most shameless, attractive masseur he could hire from the greater Albuquerque area), but he had to do it while trying to make sure the children he was stuck with occasionally remembered to actually serve the people in the dining hall. He spent so much time chasing around the local riff-raff, trying to keep the kids from stomping on flowers in the garden, writing memos about the importance of tucking in one's uniform shirt, and trying to convince the junior staff that they were not entitled to member privileges, that was barely been able to get orders filled and see to his normal daily routine.
But he was somewhat conflicted.
Most summers, Ryan Evans was little more than his sister's blonder, paler shadow. Fulton always felt a mild affinity for the teen, probably because he himself had spent all of adolescence labeled a mama's boy, and certainly his classmates made some assumptions about him. And of the twins, Ryan was always the lesser annoyance -- oh, he had his quirks and threw his share of tantrums, but he wasn't that bad at the end of the day. No worse than most of the club members' children.
So on the one hand, Fulton was quietly rather proud of Ryan's coup at the Midsummer Night talent show. On the other hand, Ryan's defection made Sharpay more irate than usual, which was saying something. Further, since then, Ryan had taken to... Well, covering for the junior staff.
Fulton had spent the whole summer making vague threats at the Wildcats, reminding them about the three strikes rule, writing reprimands for being late, and trying again and again to drill rules of decorum into their adolescent brains. But in the last two weeks, no matter what illicit activity he caught the staff at, Ryan showed up too, and he'd simply smile and suggest they be let off the hook. The basketball team ate half of the club's pastry spread, and Ryan swore his mother had sanctioned it. When the nervous one who washed dishes had to work on waitstaff for an afternoon and he not only got every single order wrong but he also spilled an enormous carafe of lemonade all over Mrs. Talbot, Ryan laughed the matter off, promised Mrs. Talbot that he'd take the matter straight to The Board himself, and then pouted until his mother smoothed things over. And while Fulton had more or less given up on the concept of ever, ever convincing anyone under the age of 18 to clock in on time, he caught the curly-haired one -- Danforth, that was his name -- clocking in nearly an hour late after his lunch break. Twice. That he would not have overlooked, but Ryan had apologized profusely, claimed he'd needed Chad's help with something or other, and so of course nothing had come of it.
If Fulton had had enough hair to tear out, he would have. The junior staff was enough to frustrate even the most patient manager, and since Ryan had begun making sure no one ever faced any consequences, they'd been worse than usual. So Fulton was not feeling particularly charitable when he saw Chad Danforth at the end of his shift, slinking not towards the dilapidated car he bragged so hard about purchasing, but rather towards the pool. But he hardly had time to deal with it -- Sharpay was having some sort of crisis, and he had payroll to deal with, and a million small matters. He put it out of his mind and settled in to his office for a depressingly long night of catching up on paperwork.
It was almost 10:30 when Fulton finally completed everything that needed to get done; far later than he'd have liked, but it seemed like his job was never done. In an attempt to get out as quickly as possible, once he finished, he took a shortcut past the pool on his way to his car.
And he heard that distinct laugh, a splash, a much higher-pitched laugh, and then noises he could only call general shenanigans. Part of him wanted to just leave; Danforth probably wasn't actively destroying club property, or bothering any of the members at that time of night. But on the other hand, there were rules. And he didn't want Danforth to think he really could get away with anything he wanted. And he certainly didn't want to allow adolescent canoodling in the club's pool.
So he quietly walked into he pool area and gazed into the dimness. And yes -- there. Danforth lounged near the lagoon end by the waterfall, staring at something behind it. Someone, more likely. Fulton sighed. If it was Taylor McKessie, he'd be genuinely disappointed. That girl had more sense than this, and if she really had fallen for Danforth's smiling jock routine, more the pity. She deserved someone more responsible, if nothing else.
"Excuse me!" Fulton thundered, heading over towards the water. "It is after pool hours and you, Chad Danforth, are not a club member!"
Danforth turned in the water, froze, and stared up at him. He looked panicked, genuinely panicked, probably realizing that he had no one to get him out of this. Fulton smiled grimly.
"Um, Mr. Fulton," Danforth said finally. "I didn't know you worked so late."
"I do. And you do not, so what do you think you are doing?"
"Um. Just. Hanging out?"
"Mmmhmm." Fulton paused to stare at the waterfall and could just make out movement behind it. "And who are you 'just hanging out' with? I know there's someone back there."
"No! No one!" Danforth yelped, not very convincingly.
He was doubtlessly trying to cover for his girlfriend -- a sweet, if pointless, gesture. "She'll have to come out eventually, you know. You are both in big trouble, but rest assured, this will be Ms. McKessie's first infraction. You, however -- "
"It isn't Taylor, she wouldn't," Chad said quickly. "I mean, she's so smart and responsible," and boring, he didn't say, but Fulton heard it regardless.
"Then who -- "
"No one!" Danforth insisted, even though he'd as much as admitted it already. "No one. It's just me. I -- "
"It's okay."
They both looked over at the waterfall, to see Ryan slowly making his way towards them. His hair was plastered to his face and he moved slowly, walking through the deep end, arms held firmly -- awkwardly -- below the water. He looked almost ghost-like in the moonlight, a pale blur above the water.
"Mr. Evans," Fulton said, suddenly exhausted. Of course. Everywhere Danforth went for the last two weeks, Ryan Evans had been right behind him, laughing and egging him on.
"I, uh," Ryan said awkwardly. "That is, I invited Chad to spend the night. We just... Went for a swim. And I know you hate when people swim without a lifeguard, but it's such a nice night! But we'll get right out, and go right to my condo, and won't bother anyone at all, I promise."
Fulton sighed hugely. What could he do? Technically speaking, it was Ryan's pool. And Mrs. Evans wouldn't care about the flagrant rule-breaking; she'd back anything Ryan said, so there was nothing Fulton could do anyway.
"Of course, Mr. Evans," he finally managed. He looked back at Danforth, at the edge of the pool. "You. This is not an excuse to be late clocking in tomorrow!"
"Yes, sir," Danforth said quickly. "I mean, no sir. I mean -- "
"Yes, I know what you mean," Fulton interrupted. "Very well. I will see you then -- and I will be watching you very closely. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir," Danforth said again.
"Good." And with that, Fulton strode away.
He was almost, but not quite, out of earshot when they began talking again. But when he heard Ryan pout, "It isn't funny! Where did my Speedo end up? Chad!" (followed, of course, by gales of laughter) he hurried on, deciding it was really, truly, none of his business what Ryan and Chad got up to after hours. He was finally, after all, off the clock.