A/N: Welcome, friends, to my first TURN fanfiction! Obviously, I realized that Annlett has very few fanfiction out there, some of which being the best fic I've read in a long time (Law, Order, Authori[tea], anybody?), so I decided, like an adventurous youth, to add to the small collection. This is a modern college AU wherein Anna is being harassed by her anthropology professor (Simcoe) and accidentally runs into a mysterious professor (Hewlett). There's very little Annlett interaction in this first chapter, so bear with me!
Chapter One: Gravity 101
Anna Strong loathed college. She could tell, with an objective and unbiased eye, that college was not for her. And yet, here she was, sitting in an anthropology class with the edge of sleep lingering just outside her vision and a professor that wouldn't stop staring at her at the front of the class, both of them rivaling for her attention. She pretended to find something incredibly fascinating and looked down at her notebook, scribbling a note to herself.
"Professor Simcoe is the creepiest teacher I've ever had," she wrote in untidy cursive.
"Annie," came a rough voice that she immediately recognized as Caleb's. "Psst, Annie!"
She turned halfway toward him, widening her eyes as she did so. Professor Simcoe, while apparently having no issues blurring the lines between a professional and personal relationship with students in his class, was nonetheless incredibly strict during the hour and fifteen minutes on Tuesday and Thursday that Anna, Abraham, Caleb, Ben, and approximately twenty other students were compelled to endure his company.
Caleb made a drinking motion with his hand, tipping his thumb toward his mouth while his pinkie remained in the air, professing some sort of fanciness and dignity. Abraham's lips twitched beside him, but his eyes never left his notebook. Anna rolled her eyes and gave him a single nod, prompting him to put his hand down and out of sight of the hawk-eyed Professor Simcoe.
"Miss Strong?" his soft-spoken voice, much more intimidating than the usual boom of someone who had a prefix to their name, caught her in the middle of what was almost a chuckle. She froze, letting the smile melt off her face while she wondered what on earth she could have done this time to warrant his attention. Instead of responding to him, she let her eyes lock onto his, silently allowing him to continue his dialogue. "What can you tell me about the rebel spies during the American Revolutionary War?"
"Sir?" she asked, confused. When had they even made it to the Revolutionary War? She struggled to keep her hand still and not let it flip through the textbook, left vacantly open to a random page on her desk like a paper weight.
"Instead of simply sticking to the rules of etiquette usually prescribed during wartime, the Patriots are most often remembered as the dirty fighters," Simcoe elaborated, each phrase taking him a step closer to Anna's desk. "Why do you think that is?"
"Probably because they were desperate for freedom," she shrugged.
Simcoe seemed to find her answer amusing. "Desperate?" he repeated with an undercurrent of laughter. It reminded Anna of the looming presence of a shark under a surfer. "Why do you choose that word specifically?"
"Well," Anna really did not like college, "because they were the ones trying to upset the status quo. The British were only trying to continue what they thought was effective. I think that warrants the use of 'desperate.'"
"I think the use of 'desperate' is irresponsible," Simcoe said plainly, finally turning away from her and moving on to his next target. "That makes treason sound like something that should be rewarded out of the goodness of our hearts."
"So you don't think the Americans should have fought for freedom?" Caleb piped up.
"If I wanted your opinion, Mr. Brewster, I would have asked for it," Simcoe answered without looking in his direction. "Besides, all the Americans did was create yet another system that would eventually enslave them. Or else why would any of you be here, in introductory anthropology? Because you need a college degree to survive on your meager subsistence of social media, the internet, and Starbucks coffee."
Better coffee than nasty British tea, Anna thought bitterly. But she angled her chin back down to her notebook and pretended to take notes once more, hoping that Simcoe had forgotten about her. The lecture continued for a few more minutes before the inevitable sound of students packing up shook Anna out of her reverie.
She shoved her notebook into her bag and zipped it closed quickly, always fearing the seemingly omniscient gaze of Professor Simcoe. And, as usual, before she was able to clear her desk and make it to the door, where Caleb was waiting for her, Abraham and Ben talking quietly just behind him, Professor Simcoe called her back.
"I have another class to get to," she said quickly, hoping he'd buy the excuse while hope rapidly seeped out of her lungs. Simcoe's eyes took on that momentary look of sarcastic surprise, and she knew he didn't believe her.
"This will only take just a moment," he promised, and Anna felt her face heat up, like it often did when she got anxious. The sweats were starting in her palms, and the hairs that always snuck out of her bun were tickling her neck more prominently than usual. She brushed her clammy hand over her neck and waited for Simcoe to speak.
"What is your major, Miss Strong?" he asked, as if he hadn't asked her this question at least fifteen times already. But, knowing that he controlled her grade, Anna took a deep breath and prepared for another day of harassment.
"I'm undeclared," she replied. Simcoe spent almost every class trying to convince her to become an anthropology major, and if she even thought she was passably good at the subject, she might not scoff so loudly when it was suggested. But, as it was, she was barely passing the class, her D only secured by, she suspected, the increasingly inappropriate crush that her teacher had for her.
"Ahh, yes, the universal answer for all freshmen," he answered with a hint of a smile. Ordinarily, a smile on someone's face might ease Anna's nerves; but on Simcoe, it only amplified them. "Well, do you have any idea what you might like to study?"
"I was thinking law," Anna blurted out quickly, hoping that a subject as drab as law might deter him. Alas, he turned his almost transparent eyebrows to her with a smile that showed more teeth than she ever cared to see.
He walked to the board and erased his notes from their class. "I don't think law would much suit you, Anna," he said, finally using her first name. It brought a shiver to Anna's shoulders. "You're much too soft, unfocused, for a subject like law. You might try something a little more…lassiez-faire."
"Are you calling me dumb?" Anna asked, her temper flaring. If she were being honest, her temper with Simcoe was always at a dull simmer. It didn't take much to cause an explosion.
He laughed, the cruel bastard, actually laughed, and turned back to her. "No, though I figure that your question basically confirmed that particular caveat. I was saying that you might try something more artistic than law."
"Like anthropology?" she asked, tilting her head like the thought had just occurred to her. The sarcasm was not lost on Simcoe, whose face melted into a scowl. "Gee, I wonder if anyone's ever suggested that to me before."
"You might reconsider how you speak to a professor, Miss Strong –"
"And you might reconsider how you speak to a student, Professor," Anna huffed, gathering her bag higher on her shoulder. "Your habit of keeping me after class for some discussion about my future is, in my opinion, very inappropriate. You wouldn't want me to speak with the dean about that, would you?"
Simcoe's face, frozen in the act of not taking Anna's threat seriously, darkened significantly, and Anna found herself taking a step back. "And why would the dean believe you, a serial freshman with a failing grade in my class?"
"I'm not failing," Anna insisted, but the glint in Simcoe's eye tightened the nerves in her belly.
"Not yet you aren't," Simcoe said quietly, dangerously. "But the only thing that keeps you above an F is my favor. And if you aren't willing to entertain it, then I see no reason for you to pass. You certainly haven't learned the course material."
Anna clenched her jaw, trying to swallow past the tears that were rising in her eyes. She hated crying; she hated even more that she often cried when frustration took over her. She would not cry here, in front of Simcoe. She hitched her bag higher on her shoulder and moved toward the door.
"Miss Strong?" his voice was grating on the very essence of her irritation. Anna squeezed her eyes shut and heaved a great breath through her nose, exhaling quietly through her mouth. She could feel the shakiness of her sigh as she turned to face him. He was holding out the last paper she had turned in, with a big red D on the top.
"Don't make me reconsider this grade," he chided playfully, but the coldness that ran underneath the words stilled the room. She stared at the paper for a moment, gently flapping in his grasp, taunting her. She snatched it from his hand, feeling the paper cut into the crease of her index finger. She ignored the stinging sensation and shoved through the door, her eyes searching for her friends.
They wouldn't be there, she knew. They were already on their way to the Common, where they would find their lunches overpriced and packaged in shining cellophane for their convenience. Anna blinked back the frustrated tears waiting in the wings and cursed when one ran free, sliding down her cheek as she pushed open the door that led outside.
The crowd was always at its worst now; students from every discipline were rushing to get to the classes they were already late for, and others were walking at such a leisurely pace that traffic jams were inevitable. Anna had only taken a few steps when her shoulder caught a man in the arm, knocking them both awry. She stumbled, landing knees first on the concrete. The man, who had to be a professor, she realized with annoyance, had managed to barely maintain his balance, and was looking at her with what she could only describe as disgust.
Quickly, that repugnant facial expression gave way to something more fleeting, and he brushed off his coat with the same hand that he offered to help her up.
"My deepest apologies," his British accent was posh and proper, and Anna's irritation compounded at the sound that reminded her so of the man she had just escaped from. "I was looking at my appointments, and it seems like I didn't – well, obviously I didn't see you, and – what I mean to say – oh, your knee is bleeding," his hand was still extended to help her up, but the more he talked, the less inclined Anna was to taking it.
She winced as she pulled herself up, feeling the blood stick to her denim pants. She could see the dark stain on the knee, the pain stinging much like the tears that she had already started shedding before she had collided with the next nuisance in her increasingly exasperated life.
His hand was still extended, his eyes on her face. "My word, I cannot express – I am so sorry that I ran into you. I ran you over like a – well, rather, like a truck, and that is just not proper. Here, might you let me escort you to the clinic to get your knee cleaned up?"
He bent his arm so he was offering his arm to her, like this was the goddamn Regency Era, and Anna felt her shoulders stiffen. She didn't even like men implying that she couldn't carry heavy boxes or handle her liquor. Having someone offer his arm to her like she couldn't even walk…she took half a step, determined to stride past him without another word, and had to catch his arm as her knee protested greatly at the motion.
He grunted slightly at her sudden weight, but recovered admirably and let her wrap her arm rather awkwardly around his shoulder so he could support her on their short walk to the clinic. His briefcase remained alone and desolate on the sidewalk, but she caught him casting his eyes back to it a couple of times to make sure it was still there.
"I don't believe I have you in any of my classes, do I?" he asked finally, after their silence had extended farther than the length between the forgotten briefcase and its owner. "What is your major?"
"If one more person –" Anna grunted through gritted teeth, "asks me that damn question –"
He looked positively scandalized at her reaction, but cleared his throat and soldiered on. "Well, I'm going to hazard a guess, then. Computer science?" she glared at him. He faltered and tried again. "Engineering?"
"Undeclared," she muttered. "And don't try to sway me to your side."
He chuckled a little under his breath, and Anna felt immediately defensive once more. "My dear, I doubt that if you were not already part of my department that I could sway you to it. It isn't something you sway so much as something you live and breathe." He caught the annoyed look that was clouding her face and immediately tried to amend himself, "That is to say, it's rather a lifestyle instead of a choice."
They had reached the door of the student clinic, and the briefcase was almost out of sight. He guided her to a chair and went to the desk, where the student worker eyed him with practiced wariness. He ignored her and picked up the pen that was chained to the clipboard like it often needed to be reminded of its purpose. "Name?" he asked her, pen poised.
"Anna Strong," she answered, and watched as he scribbled it down, realizing belatedly that he was left-handed.
He gently placed the clipboard down on the counter and crossed the room back to her. "Well, Miss Anna Strong, please accept my dearest apologies for harassing you – well, not really harassing you – what I mean is –"
"You're forgiven, Professor –" she trailed off, hoping he would fill in the blank.
He obliged. "Hewlett," he said, giving her an antiquated bow that quirked the corners of her lips. If Caleb and Abe could see him…
And he was turning away from her, going back to his briefcase, where he had left his dignity and probably a chunk of denim from Anna's jeans. She watched him leave, wondering when her day had gotten so completely ridiculous. She sat there for close to fifteen minutes before she realized that she didn't actually want to sit in a sterile waiting room for two hours for a three minute cleaning job she could do at her own dorm.
She hobbled her way to the Common, where she found Abe and Ben sitting at a table, the remains of their lunch scattered over the surface. She collapsed into the seat, leaning into Abe's shoulder.
"Where have you been?" he asked, his voice half-playful and half-concerned. "Class ended thirty minutes ago."
Anna shrugged, unwilling to relate to her male friends the behavior Simcoe kept slinging at her. She knew both of them would be willing to protect her, but for some reason, she found that notion intolerable. No, she could handle this herself.
"Do either of you accident-prone idiots have band-aids in your dorm?" she asked. "I'm asking for a friend."
Ben shook his head. "Caleb might, though," he intoned after a moment. "He used to use them when he kept cutting himself shaving."
"Another good reason to give it up," Abe acknowledged, throwing his arm around Anna's shoulders. The gesture was so familiar that she welcomed it for a moment, his girlfriend Mary forgotten.
"Why do you need a band-aid?" Ben asked.
Anna gestured down to her knee; Ben, on the other side of the table, could do nothing but listen as Abe tried to pry the story from Anna, which she refused to provide.
"I just ran into someone and I fell," she hedged.
Ben, the one who knew and acknowledged when Anna decided to keep something to herself, gave her a silent but chastising look, to which she shrugged. Finally, he sighed and held out his hand. "Give me your wallet," he said. "I'm going to go swipe you something to eat before the Common shuts down for the afternoon. And then we'll go get you a band-aid."
"My knight in shining armor," Anna answered sarcastically. "And nothing vegetarian or I swear to God, Benjamin –"
He waved her off and veered to the right, out of sight.
"Are you going to come by tonight?" Abe asked as soon as Ben was out of earshot. Anna shrugged his arm off her shoulder and turned toward him, the motion putting some distance between their bodies.
"What about Mary?" she asked quietly, knowing that Mary, the current student government secretary, would have people lurking everywhere. "We can't keep doing this, Abe. I can't."
"Wait, Anna, wait," he protested immediately and vehemently, as he always did. "Look, I know this is hard, but –"
"But what?" Anna prompted when his silence stretched. Apparently Abe hadn't thought out the entire sentence. "What we're doing is wrong, and I can't keep doing it."
"You know why I'm with Mary," Abraham whispered, using the lowered volume to force Anna to get closer to him. "It isn't my choice."
His victimizing always had the same reaction; Anna rolled her eyes and moved away from him. "It's the twenty-first century, Abe. Your father cannot tell you who to date. That's antiquated and absurd. If you want to date me, then date me."
"It isn't that simple."
"Like hell it isn't," Anna hissed. "Your father may be the provost of the university, but he has no control over you."
Ben's large silhouette was coming their way again, and Anna felt the looming presence of a listening ear. She scooted away from Abraham one more time, this time placing her bag between their bodies to force him apart. Ben deposited her wallet on the table, sliding two slices of pizza to her as he did so. Anna gave him a grateful smile and collected one of them, savoring the unhealthy taste of marinara sauce and cheese.
Abraham, no longer able to continue his conversation, left soon after that, dropping a quick kiss on the top of Anna's head, like he often did out of friendship, or so he claimed. Ben watched him with a look that looked a little like disapproval.
"Whatever you two are doing, Mary is going to find out," he warned, swiping a pepperoni off of Anna's pizza. She didn't even try to deny it; Ben always knew. He never told, never tried to trade their secrets for anything that could benefit him, but he always knew. Anna was grateful to have someone that knew everything; without him, she would have gone crazy by now. She gave him a rueful smile, her cheek full of pizza, and chewed pensively before she responded.
"It was only a couple of times," she confessed. "A slip up that kind of turned into a snowball effect-type deal. I told him I want out."
"Ahh," Ben said, leaning back in his chair, letting his long arms fold behind his head. "That's why he left, then."
"I would assume so," Anna agreed. "Now, I believe you owe me a band-aid. I'm pretty sure my jeans are forever welded onto my knee by now."
They didn't talk about Abe after that, and Anna never mentioned the other professor, the one who stumbled over his words more than any freshman she'd ever met. He had kind eyes, she remembered as she tried to ignore the pain that seared through her leg as she tore the jeans from the now dried blood.
Kind eyes but an accent that reminded her of someone with eyes like a shark.
She wouldn't seek him out again. Setauket was a big-enough university anyway, she mused, wincing as she pressed the alcohol pad to the scrape on her knee. There was no reason why they should cross paths again.
"I found band-aids," Ben said triumphantly, emerging from the shared bathroom, nudging the door closed with his foot. "They're small, but you should only need two of them."
She thanked him and pressed the band-aids gently over the wound, feeling his eyes on her as she did. "What?"
"Simcoe is still bothering you, isn't he?" he asked delicately, trying and failing to settle on a tone of voice that wouldn't upset her. She didn't ask how he knew; there was no point. She tried to ignore his question as long as she could, but the gentle pressure of his eyes on her would not abate. Finally, with a long suffering sigh, she nodded her head.
"Why don't you tell someone, Annie?" he asked, kneeling before her so he could look up at her. "Someone will do something."
"No they won't," she protested. "It's fine."
Ben placed his hand gently over hers, and she noticed suddenly that she had been fidgeting with the band-aids on her knee. "It's harassment. We could get him fired."
"And I will fail," she answered. "I can't afford to fail his class, Ben. They'll put me on forced withdrawal. I'll have to go back to Selah."
The mere mention of her husband, if he could even be called a husband, darkened Ben's face. "We aren't going to let that happen," he insisted.
"I just have to make it through this semester," she promised. "I can do that. Let me do that."
Ben retreated from her, realizing with his vast experience of Anna's stubbornness, that there was no way he was going to convince her of anything tonight. He nodded, letting her smooth the band-aid over her cut knee repeatedly, and sat down at his desk to start his homework. When she was ready, she would talk.
A/N: Forgive me adding author's notes at the end too, but I did want to clarify a few things; Anna is very much the strong, independent woman we see in the canon; I don't believe that she would immediately bandy about her business, especially to someone like Abe, who she would probably consider a reckless friend when it comes to protecting her. I hope you found everyone to be in character! Thanks for reading. (Oh, and the reason everyone calls her Miss Strong instead of Mrs. Strong is because she is trying to hide the fact that she's married. Also, Selah is a little bit of a bad guy in this fic, but not because I don't like him or his character – he just serves that plot device here.)