It was the first day of class at Culver University and the sun had heated the auditorium to a nearly unbearable temperature. "The fucking AC's broken," I heard someone complain and couldn't help rolling my eyes. 'No shit, Sherlock,' I thought irritably, "Ain't no reason te git yer panties in a wad." I myself was in the hot zone; three rows from the front, as far as possible from the windows, the fluorescent lighting casting a glare on the slightly reflective paper of my cheap notebook. I softly chewed the end of my pen cap, staring blankly at the mess of mathematical formulas littering the board. If anyone had a right to be annoyed, it was me.

At Culver there was a science requirement in order to graduate. I was awful at science. I found it fascinating, to be sure, but I really had no aptitude whatsoever, especially not anything involving complicated math. I had decided introductory Biology was probably my best bet at getting a passing grade, so imagine my surprise when my schedule came back with "Physics 103, 1-2:30, Monday, Wednesday, Friday, Professor Bruce Banner". Best I could figure, my advisor had misheard me. Maybe she thought I had been saying 'physics' when I was asking for 'basic' biology. It wouldn't have been the first time someone had misheard me. My manner of speaking tended to be slower and thicker than molasses in January. Goodness knows I got teased for it often enough.

I was from way out in backwoods Virginia and, though the words stung, hillbilly and hick weren't totally incorrect descriptors. I was the first person in my family, ever, to pursue any form of higher learning. My kin thought I was crazy, and maybe I was, but as far as I was concerned there had to be more to life than marrying Clyde Green and bearing his babies. That was all that life in the small community of Red Skin Creek had promised me.

I shook myself from my thoughts, trying to focus on Dr. Banner as he rambled on about kinematics. It was only the first class and most students seemed to find the topic fairly basic, but I was up the creek without a paddle. The equations and numbers swam before my eyes and it took me a moment to realize I was crying; how embarrassing. I wiped my eyes roughly on my sleeve and straightened my spine. I was being pathetic; Granddaddy Crowe had taught me to be made of sterner stuff than this. So I copied down everything Professor Banner wrote, not understanding any of it, and waited, hoped, prayed for the end of class to come.

As soon as we were dismissed I slipped past the pimply boy sitting beside me and rushed towards the front, coming to a stop a few feet from the wide oak desk. Professor Banner had his back to me, moving his eraser in wide circles over the white board to wipe out his handiwork. I fidgeted with the strap of my bag for a moment, nervous, before opening my lips. "Pardon me, Mister Banner, sir?" I drawled, my tone thick like tar.

Banner paused in his ministrations, setting down the eraser and turning to face me with curious eyes. I blushed under his darkly intelligent gaze, feeling abruptly dowdy and small. "Yes?" he asked in his subdued voice, adjusting his glasses along the bridge of his nose. I looked down, collecting my thoughts, before once again raising my head, a fierce determination burning in my mind.

"Professor Banner, sir, I was wonderin' if I might be able te git some extra help," I spoke, rushing through my words so that they blended together, "Ye see, I'm a bit lost…" I scratched my head as my face turned crimson, watching as the bright spark of interest in his eyes dulled a bit.

"I see," Banner said slowly, rubbing his chin, "If you're struggling this early in the course, it's probably be wisest to drop it, Miss…?"

"Crowe," I filled in, my ears burning with shame, "Sophie Crowe. And I've already tried that. My advisor wouldn't let me." Banner's eyes widened a bit and he shifted, crossing his arms.

"You're Sophie Crowe? This year's Bryan Anthony Scholar?" he asked, a bit incredulously. The Bryan Anthony Scholarship was a full-ride to Culver and rather prestigious, that he was surprised that I was a recipient was an insult that did not go unnoticed. My lips tightened with anger.

"That is what my mama named me, Mister Banner," I growled, "Look. I know I'm country. I know I might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but I ain't the dullest one neither. Now, maybe I didn't understand anythin the first time 'round, but I paid attention 'n took notes 'n now I am coming te ya fer assistance which is a hell of a lot more than any of those katty-wonkered idiots sleepin in the back've done. Now ya kin tell me iffn I've wasted my time but somehow I reckoned ya professors would have more respect fer educat'n than that." I waited for the surprised expression on Banner's face to change and felt my heart fall when it didn't. "I kin see now I was mistaken. Good day Mister Banner."

I turned to leave when I felt warm fingers gently grab my wrist. "Wait," said Banner with a chuckle, a gentle smile on his face, "No, I'm sorry. That was rude of me, I apologize." I eyed him suspiciously for a moment before sighing.

"That's just fine, Mister Banner. Not like ya city folk know any better anyhow. Most of ye ain't learned ye yer manners yet." Banner's lips twitched and he released my arm, gesturing at my notebook.

"How about you and I sit down and take a look at what you don't understand," he offered. I blinked.

"Mister Banner, that's pretty much all of it."

Banner chuckled. "That's fine, I'm free all afternoon if you are." I looked once more into his open face and I couldn't help but smile.

I woke with a pounding head ache, augmented by the thrum of powerful engines and the force of cabin pressure crushing intimately against my skull. That and my general feeling of nausea clued me in to the fact that I was on a plane before I even opened my eyes. When I finally did I wished I had kept them closed; through the blurry film of sleep I could see meathead's chiseled mug grinning back at me. I gritted my teeth, wanting nothing more than to wipe that smug smile off of his face.

I tried to turn my neck to look about the cabin but the muscles burned from whatever they had drugged me with, so I settled for letting my eyes sweep as far as they could. The seats and everything else was pitch black, intimidating and swathed in Velcro; the plane was definitely military grade. The cabin jostled, no doubt due to turbulence, and my head screamed with agony. I grunted and pressed my fingers into my temples, hoping irrationally the additional pressure would make the discomfort go away.

I heard someone sit down behind me and blinked confused as manicured but masculine hands pressed a small plastic cup of bluish liquid into my hands. "Here," came Coulson's by now familiar voice, "Drink this. It will help with the pain." I stared at the cup, swirling the blue liquid with distaste and suspicion. 'Screw it,' I thought finally, bringing the small cup to my lips and knocking the medicine back like a shot. Whatever it was, it tasted vaguely of honey and was icy cold going down, lending my mind clarity and soothing the fire in my neck.

I coughed, wiping a few syrupy beads from my lips before returning the cup to Coulson's waiting hand. "Thanks," I rasped, my voice hoarse from screaming, "I don't suppose you can tell me where we are?" Coulson smiled thinly.

"Thirty-nine thousand feet up," he informed me, crushing the cup in his hand, "But beyond that I am not at liberty to disclose our location." I rolled my eyes.

"Great," I said with a huff, glancing down at hands in my lap. I frowned, picking at the light cotton fabric that covered me, dyed a dark blue and embroidered with red and orange flowers. "What's this?" I asked, tugging at the unfamiliar garment.

"A sundress," Coulson informed me with relish, "You'll want to look presentable. We tried to find something in your own closet but nothing seemed quite appropriate. I took the liberty of providing you with suitable attire." My fingers traced the neckline of the fitted bodice, blushing at how much cleavage was exposed. Though healthy and athletic, I was not a thin girl; I was full figured and this dress showed a scandalous amount of my bodacious bust line. My eyes narrowed at him.

"'I'll want to look presentable' or you want me to look like a hooker to keep Banner happy?" I growled out, to which Coulson only smiled. "Who put me in this stupid thing anyway?" I glanced over at meathead and found an overly smug expression lighting up his features. "Oh. Gross."

"Agent Monroe was very professional, Ms. Crowe," replied Coulson evenly, "And for the record, your make up looks too natural for you to be a hooker." I stared at him.

"You put make up on me too?" I asked incredulously. Coulson's reply was cut short by the crackle of an intercom.

"Take a seat and buckle up," came the commanding voice of the pilot, "We're beginning our descent." I blinked, my heart beat speeding up in my chest. Maybe now I could finally figure out what exactly was going on.

Author's Note:

Thank you to Poplar-kat, Azura Soul Reaver, Hunter and Ali for reviewing. It means a lot to me and really makes the fan-fiction process worthwhile. To answer your questions Hunter, she really is just there to keep Bruce calm and there will be love… eventually. And no she does not have a power. After watching the Avenger's movie I really don't think they could handle another super-powered hero, they already have so many. :P Right, that about wraps it up. If you like it please, please, please review!