"I'm afraid I don't understand," Miss Isobel French huffed at the retreating back of Professor Whale as she struggled to keep up with him, "at the beginning of the term you said that the top 2% of the class was guaranteed a spot at the upper levels." She was aware she sounded like she was desperate, but she was desperate and there was really no use in pretending otherwise.

"Well, Miss French," he sighed, "that was the case at the beginning of the term."

"But not anymore?" she challenged, "I'm the top candidate in mathematics and physics," she reminded him, "and in the top percentile for everything else. I work harder than anyone, and you're saying there's no spot for me?"

He stopped as they reached his office, physically blocking her from the door before continuing the conversation.

"The academy felt it would be in the best interests of everyone to only promote the most serious students to the upper levels."

"The 'most serious' students? I've done all the readings, I've written three papers and edited two more –"

"Yes, but you haven't published anything since you began." he interrupted.

"You know as well as I do that I did. The paper on the behavior of light in –"

"But you weren't listed as the primary," he cut her off, "and even if you had been that alone wouldn't have saved you."

"The journals don't want to publish anything written by a woman..." she almost continued, but finally the meaning of his words caught up with her and robbed the air from her lungs before the words could even form. "This is because I'm a woman, isn't it?" she finally said quietly. He had the good grace to look chagrined at her frankness, and finally opened the door to allow her into the office with him.

"Look," he said, gesturing her into a chair as he took a seat behind his rather large desk, "for what it's worth, it wasn't my call. The deans think you're here on a husband hunt and I don't know that I disagree."

"If I were after a husband I'd have married the fiance I left behind to come here." she muttered petulantly, knowing she probably was not helping her case, but the entire affair had left her suddenly exhausted.

"Be that as it may," he shot her a glance, "you've already received a fantastic education, Miss French. One of the best, really. As your professor, my advice to you is to cut your losses and do as everyone thinks. You've met some of the brightest minds the country has to offer..." he glanced at her awkwardly, "both the students and the professors. I'm...sure a charming young lady such as yourself could easily make a husband of one of them."

No, now she was exhausted. Was he really implying what she thought he was implying? Probably, she realized, humiliation burning in her cheeks. Her father had warned her of exactly this happening when she had insisted on continuing her education in the first place. Why did she have to be so bloody stubborn? She could have just stayed home and avoided this entire situation, or let the matter drop. But had she done those things she'd still be no closer to her goal, and sitting here feeling sorry for herself wasn't going to do the trick, either. She needed a new tactic and she needed it fast.

"Professor Whale," she said, deciding on boldness after a deep, bracing breath, "I can assure you that I am not looking for a husband. My only goal is to continue learning. I love the research, I love the work. There must be something I can do. Please." She looked him dead in the eye on the please and held his gaze until he broke first, sighing deeply and reaching into his desk drawer.

"If you insist on this, you may look into a private apprenticeship."

"With whom? As you've pointed out, the world of academia isn't exactly going to be friendly to me."

"There's one man you might try." He fished around looking for something before finally coming up with a short letter which he passed across the desk to her, "I'll warn you now, though, if I'm wrong and this is a husband hunt, you'll have better luck with one of your classmates. He'll likely give you a place, but you won't find a warm welcome in his household."

"Is his wife terribly jealous?" The dire warnings were giving her pause, she had no desire to throw herself headlong into a bad situation, and regardless of her own intentions she needed to know everything she could about his.

"No wife, at least not anymore." He paused, "he's just...he's a difficult man to get along with, let's put it that way."

"He sounds perfect" She concluded her perusal of the letter, pushing it back towards him, "you'll write him to let him know to expect me?"

"I think, my dear," he replied, pushing the letter back at her "it might be best for you to make your own introductions. I'll give you a reference to take with you, but I'd recommend not telling him you're coming. It'll make it a little harder for him to turn you away once you're already there, I think."

She nodded. "Well, thank you, Professor Whale. This has been a most...illuminating discussion."

She had to plan fast if she was going to succeed in this. Should her father find out ahead of time that his daughter was about to move into the home of a single man, no matter how good the opportunity or how thrilling the work, he would try to stop her. She understood why – her reputation was going to be absolutely ruined – but she refused to accept the end of what she had always hoped would be her life's work was at hand. Her only hope of continuing; it couldn't be marrying a professor or editing her husband's papers, it just couldn't. This...this was the chance of a lifetime.

She recognized the name – Dr. Gold – at the bottom of the letter, and that in and of itself would have been enough to convince her to go. She'd heard he was brilliant, maybe a little odd, but she could live with odd. People thought her odd, and maybe she was. A normal girl wouldn't even consider this, a sane girl would pack up, go home, marry the Vicar's tall son, have babies, and forget all about her dreams of science. Even the life of a governess was beyond the scope of not-odd-Belle's life, no lady of quality could earn a wage. So, it was up to odd-Belle to be brave. She would not go home in defeat, and though her reputation was sure to be ruined beyond salvation at least it would spare her a life of domesticity. As a presumably ruined woman, she would have the luxury of travel and of never marrying. She could continue her work under a pseudonym if she so desired. She had money enough, this...this was her choice and she was going to make it now before her bravery left her.

Back at the room she rented from a widow of early middle years by the name of Mrs. Blue, she began her preparations to leave. Packing up a valise and penning a quick note to her father explaining in very vague terms where she had gone and promising to write again soon, Belle slipped her introduction from Professor Whale and the letter requesting an apprentice into the bag. The rest of her belongings fit nicely into a steamer trunk kept at the foot of the bed. Tickets had been purchased before her return home and those also went into the valise. With that accomplished, Belle looked around one last time at the room. She would spend tonight here before setting off first thing for the northernmost tip of the country where, hopefully, she would find – if not a warm welcome, then at least a new home of some sort. Somewhere she could finally belong.

A knock on the door alerted her to her landlady's presence outside. Belle opened it to allow her entry.

"So you're really going through with this, then?" Mrs. Blue said, taking in the steamer trunk and valise, "running off to become a...gods only know what!"

"I'm running off to become a scientist, ma'am." Belle replied, her voice steadier than she felt, "this is what I went to school for after all."

Mrs. Blue seemed to ponder this for a moment, before sighing and surrendering.

"Well, if you're going to insist on this then at least take this," she handed her a card, "if you have any trouble at all, this is another one of my girls. She stayed here for a few years before she married and her husband's work is out that way. If you need anything, get in contact with them."

Belle glanced down at the card, before tucking it away in her valise with a nod.

"Oh, Mrs. Blue," she threw her arms around the other woman's neck, "thank you ever so much for looking out for me while I've been away from home."

"Bae!" Dr. Gold's scream echoed through the hallways as he stormed up the stairs to his son's bedroom, the clicking of his cane and his strange gait making the sound of him distinctive even without his announcing himself. The maid – a pitiful little blonde girl named Ella – had made herself scarce (as usual) at the first sign of temper. It was one of her better qualities as an employee, actually, as he was rarely forced to endure her presence for long. As he barged through the doors into his son's room he slammed a packet of papers onto the boy's desk in front of him. Bae didn't look scared or cowed or anything else one might expect – he was more defiant than anything, full of all the teenage rebellion his 13 years was capable of.

"I told you," Baethan Gold bit out, "I'm going away to school and you can't stop me."

"Oh really?" Dr. Gold hated the tone of his voice, the harshness of it, how angry he was, but the threat of losing his son had triggered every awful impulse in him, "and who exactly is going to be paying for all this schooling then?"

"My mother already agreed." the boy challenged, his father not missing the intentional emphasis on the word 'mother,' intended as a slap in the face to his father.

"Your mother...and her new husband..." He knew what he wanted to say, he wanted to remind him that his mother didn't want him, wanted to remind him of so very many things, really, but held his tongue. There were some things a father couldn't say even in anger, Gold would not be that man no matter how much it pained him. So instead, he took a deep breath, leaning hard on the cane he had nearly forgotten he carried in the excitement of his anger, "Bae, son, wouldn't you rather stay here? I'll get a governess, tutors...you'll have the same education as anyone else, maybe even better."

"You didn't have tutors!" Bae pointed out, "I just want to be normal. I want a normal education. What's wrong with school anyway?"

There wasn't an answer to that question, because the real answer was 'there's nothing wrong with school, I'm just afraid you won't miss me' and how did one explain that concept to a thirteen-year-old?

"Bae..." he finally choked out, hoping his son would understand what he wanted to say without having been told.

"I just want to be like everyone else." His son whined, Bae was still so young, how could it be time for him to be starting his own life already? "What's so wrong with being like everyone else?"

"Will you at least consider the tutors?" He hated himself for begging like this, but he always hated himself, so what difference did it make?

"Will you consider the school?" Bae pressed.

He was spared from answering by a knock announcing Ella's presence at the door.

"What is it?" he hissed at the girl, earning a flinch and the barest hint of a squeak.

"Begging your pardon, sir," she curtseyed and avoided eye contact, "but there's someone to see you...a young lady."

"Papa," Bae said, affronted, "you didn't actually invite a governess, did you?"

"I didn't invite anyone," he replied tersely, following Ella down the stairs into the drawing room.

He had prepared a biting insult for whomever dared violate the sanctity of his home with their unrequested presence. That insult died on his lips when, the moment he entered the room, the young woman in question turned from her perusal of the nicknacks on the mantle and flashed him a dazzling smile.

"Dr. Gold," she held her hand out to him and for a moment he couldn't recall whether to shake it or kiss it, so he compromised by giving her a terse bow, "it's a pleasure to finally meet you.

"Well, I'm afraid you have me at a bit of a disadvantage," he shot a scolding glance at Ella who looked alarmed, and curtseyed herself out the door as quietly as possible, "I'm afraid I've not been informed of who I was supposed to be expecting."

"Oh, forgive me!" the pretty girl exclaimed, handing him a thin bundle of papers and waiting expectantly for him to read them.

He motioned for her to sit on the settee opposite the armchair he preferred, before settling himself down. The first paper he recognized as his letter to Whale asking for a student to be sent to assist in his work, and the second paper seemed to be a letter of recommendation in which he was informed that the candidate in front of him was a Miss Isobel French, who until recently had been one of his most promising students at the university. The letter went on to list some of Miss French's accomplishments, ending on a recommendation that she would make a most useful assistant in whatever endeavors he could come up with.

"Well," he said after a long moment spent looking over the letters, "I'm afraid you've arrived before the letter telling me to expect you, Miss French."

"Ah," she had the good grace to blush prettily at that, the pink staining her pale skin and making her eyes – oh goodness, her eyes – an even brighter shade of blue, "Professor Whale suggested that...what with the need for haste mentioned in your original note and the time taken to find the proper candidate..."

"He recommended you just turn up and count on my good graces not to toss you back out into the street?" he supplied, perhaps just a touch more sarcastically than truly necessary but gods she was too pretty by half.

"Something like that, yes." Rather than looking chagrined, she merely smiled at him again, hopeful optimism seemingly her default expression.

"So tell me, Miss French," he paused for effect, "what is the real reason you're here?"

"I...you sent for an assistant, sir," she chewed nervously on her lower lip, "I am qualified."

"Yes, but you're clearly a young lady of at least some breeding and this is a bachelor household – just me, a teenage boy, and the servants," she looked about to interrupt, "none of which make for an appropriate chaperone. Clearly you were doing very well in your classes, so why come here?" He set the papers down and fixed her with a cold stare, "I warn you now that despite my rather colorful reputation, I'm not a man to be fooled. You'll tell me the truth or you'll hop back on the mail cart to town."

She sighed softly, her shoulders sagging, and for the first time since he'd seen her she looked vulnerable and tired. He schooled his features into an expression of disinterest and distaste even as every bone in his body demanded he comfort her. He may, he acknowledged, have gone too long without adult female companionship. This didn't bode particularly well for her use as an assistant, if he was going to find her this distracting.

"This is my last hope," she said with a wry smile, "I've been informed that despite my high marks, my spot at the university has been set aside for a...how did he put it? A 'more serious' candidate," she said the last part with a bitter little laugh, "after everything I sacrificed and everything I put into my studies, wasted simply because..." despite her attempts at humor, she seemed to be near tears in the recollection of events.

"Because you're not a man?" he finished for her, earning a grateful smile that made his heart flutter in a way he preferred not to think on, he knew then he would give her a chance despite all the many, many reasons not to and not for the reason anyone else would think. It wasn't because she was pretty, it wasn't because he was desperate, it definitely wasn't because he had gone mad: it was simply because he understood. He knew what it was like to do everything right and still be found wanting.

"I just wanted a chance to prove myself," she sighed, "you're the only hope left to me."

He sat dumbstruck for a moment. He'd never been anyone's only hope before, most especially not a woman's. Still, though, he needed to know she was the right candidate. A pretty face and schoolroom successes – no matter how prestigious – would only take you so far in his work.

"Well, then, I suppose the important question now is whether you're suited to this sort of work. I am, of course, assuming you're the only candidate Whale opted to send my way for the interview," the way she avoided eye contact for a moment confirmed that theory, "but are you sure this is what you really want? Because I warn you, there will be no special treatment. I'm going to expect you to work as hard as a man and to perform the same duties." He left the rest unspoken: one night in his house and all proper society would assume the worst. She might be able to ingratiate herself back into polite company if this turned out well, but there was probably no way she'd ever marry. In response, her body canted towards him in barely contained excitement and her eyes grew wider. She wanted this, he realized. She desperately wanted to be here, to work with him. He rose, beckoning for her to do the same.

"Miss French, I believe all that's left is for you to see what I'm working on."

He led her down a long hallway and up a side staircase to a tower that he lovingly called his workshop. The high ceilings and wide spaces made for a perfect laboratory for some of his larger machines, and also provided room for a few other bits and pieces scattered around in various states of completion. It was the only room the servants were strictly prohibited from entering, and he was reminded of the thick layer of dust on the shelves and the cobwebs that brushed the tall corners of the ceiling as he saw it through how it must have looked to Isobel – every inch the lair of a man driven mad by his own ambitions and he flinched at the description, glancing over to her to gauge whether she truly thought him insane.

He was pleasantly surprised to find her gaping in open-mouthed awe at the various gadgets scattered about the place. Her fingertips brushed against a particularly spectacular failure as she moved about the room as though in a dream.

"This whole place is amazing!" she exclaimed, moving towards the boards he kept his equations on. Here, she finally seemed to come back down to earth, her eyes scanning them with an intensity that fascinated him. He leaned against the wall and studied her as she studied his work, he knew now that she was the right candidate. Whale thought he was punishing her and making a fool of him, but the damn idiot hadn't even realized, had he? The way her face lit up when presented with real work, the way she seemed to absorb everything in the room, her fascination with the formulas and equations in front of her. The girl was brilliant, that much was becoming painfully obvious the longer he watched her. He couldn't have asked for more in an assistant if he'd been given a list to select from. As she read, her brow furrowed and her mouth screwed up into a strange expression.

"Problem, dearie?" he teased gently.

"No! No, not at all. Well," she paused and her color rose as she looked at him nervously, "you have an error here."

"What?" he limped over to stand next to her, mildly affronted but curious nonetheless.

"Here," she pointed to a portion of the board containing a particularly complicated piece of work, "the (λ+1) here should be a (λ+1)². You missed the exponent."

He could feel her eyes on him nervously as he read through the work again, this time focusing hard on the dropped superscript.

"Well, I'll be damned." he said quietly, seeing her face flush with relief at his casual acceptance of her mathematical abilities. He was almost insulted she thought him so small as to begrudge her this bit of correctness, but then she probably had plenty of experience in being underestimated in her life. It was best not to make a fuss. "The first rule if we're going to work together, my dear, is that you can't be afraid to correct my mistakes. Trust me, I won't hesitate to correct yours."

"So, then that's really it?" her voice was almost too hopeful to bear, and it brought a smile to his face to be able to give her this, "you're really accepting me as an assistant?"

"It would appear so," he hesitated here, "if you're willing, that is."

Her face broke into a wide smile, taunting him with her nearness.

"I'd like nothing more!"

"Well," he moved towards the door before ringing the never-used bell to summon Ella, "I'll have you shown to your room, then. Work will begin tomorrow."