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IV

Lauren has walked past her office at least a dozen times more than entirely necessary. And each time she could feel her heart palpitating in her chest, her fingers itching to knock on the door. But she hasn't done it yet, and from her reasoning at the moment it doesn't seem likely. The more she thinks about it, the less she believes that the tutoring would be such a good plan.

It's just that she can't stop herself from making the detour on her way to lectures and the library in the department. It's not far away, after all, and it's easy to skip past it, to throw a lingering glance at that golden name sign on the wooden door as if that would somehow help her clear her mind.

But it doesn't. She's still fighting to make a decision. She's still torn between declining Bo Dennis' offer of tutoring, and accepting it. Even Kenzi has noticed that lately she's somewhat edgy.

It's a fantastic opportunity. Lauren would learn much more than by the original course work. It would surely help her for the exams. And it's highly unusual to be offered to a student in general. It would be stupid to refuse it.

But she simply knows herself very well. To impress her prof, she would definitely fling herself into more work than healthy. The essays and assignments she's writing at the moment already require a large part of her time.

And then she has the - somewhat irrational but it bothers her nonetheless - fear of not being good enough. The thought alone of being kicked out after the first session when Bo Dennis will ultimately realize that she made a huge mistake when she approached Lauren after that lecture is almost enough to prevent her from talking to her professor again. All in all, Lauren finds herself thinking more and more about her potential tutor – and drawn to her office.

But each time she sighs, and walks past the door once more.

…

On the other side, Bo winces every time she reads the invitation card she's received on the morning after the lecture where she met Lauren.

It's a formal dinner to celebrate the union of the Federal Bureau of Investigation and her university, set in the large, shiny conference centre at the edge of the campus. The semi-formal dress code asks for more than the usual smart clothes of choice for these occasions. And then the pretentious "Please join us for dinner & drinks" at the end.

She's sitting behind her desk, contemplating whether she should go or skip it. But as much as she wants to, there is no way she can get around this dinner tonight.

Even though it's plainly ridiculous. They all know that they're just pretending to get along. Well, at least Bo is. Even though Tamsin's idea has improved the situation a bit, being in a more independent position hasn't dissolved all her reservations. She is still more than wary. There is no way she wants to get in contact with the state again, in no way. Bo rubs her temples for the approximately hundredth time. Perhaps she should just try to drown her doubts about the whole project in champagne.

And just maybe she's also unnerved because it's been three days and Lauren still hasn't answered her offer.

That thought has been spinning around her mind with increasing frequency. For some reason she can't leave it at her office like her other student-related troubles, like over-due essays or projects gone wrong.

Maybe it's because it feels like Lauren is not even considering her offer. She doesn't have to, of course, it was just one of Bo's crazy ideas without much thought behind them after all, more an intuition than a real plan. Still, she thought it would be appreciated, not ignored. Bo feels stung. It unsettles her more than she wants to admit.

In the end, after she has driven back home after work brooding over the dinner, she does find a nice dress that fits the occasion, and doesn't scream "I don't want to be here" too loudly. And it's probably not the best idea, but she decides to drive her car to the dining hall. That means she can't drink as much as she'd like to.

She arrives on time, surprisingly. Soft jazz is playing from speakers in the corners of the entrance hall. She peels her coat off, hands it to one of the probably underpaid students running the dressing room, and merges with the crowd. Women in long dresses and men in black suits drift through the room, holding sprinkling champagne glasses and talking to each other in low voices. Hale is already looking for Bo in the small cluster of guests. He looks good in his suit, apart from the nervousness written plainly across his face. Dyson follows his every step. When they catch sight of Bo, Hale waves her over. Dyson smiles at her and greets friendly. Bo decides to play nice as well. So she walks over, greets back, and sighs internally, as Hale starts to introduce her to the assembled experts on profiling.

Bo smiles into the round, shakes a lot of hands, and tries to remember at least a quarter of the names she hears. After five minutes Hale spots someone else, and tells Dyson and Bo to wait form him for a second. They stand awkwardly in the middle of the crowd, not knowing what to say. Dyson clears his throat audibly. Luckily Bo remembers the file he sent her this morning.

Her first case. She still grumbles internally about the fact that they're working together now. But at least it's nothing particularly boring. Apparently, there's a notorious firebug in town, and Bo is supposed to describe his mentality as accurately as possible. If he's the narcissistic type they could catch him watching his next spectacle, if he's more neurotic they could track him down via the combustive agents he buys always at the same place. At least that's the plan. The only information she can work with, though, are the firemen reports of the burnt down houses and cars. Bo hasn't had much time yet to look into it, but at least it's something she can talk about with Dyson. For a little while.

Before it gets too uncomfortable, Bo's boss is back.

"Evony Marquise," Hale says, his hand at the lower back of an almost indecently expensively dressed woman with brown curls and a diamond necklace that scores at least in the five digit ranks at the local jeweller. Right, Tamsin's boss. "This is Bo Dennis."

The way her eyes travel Bo up and down, shamelessly, is matched by Bo's smug grin. The mutual measuring up takes only a couple of seconds, but Bo gets enough vibes to be happy about the fact that she's not working for her. Marquise is not a woman to be messed with, towering on black heels. She's bristling with the arrogant sort of dominance. They'd fight more than Bo already does with Hale. But maybe it would be more fun, Bo wonders.

The head of the Boston FBI department extends one long slender hand and allows a charming smile to spread on her lips. It doesn't quite reach her eyes, though. "It's a delight to meet you," she says lavishly. "Please, call me Evony."

Bo's firm grip on her hand is reciprocated. They shake their hands only minimally.

"Thank you so much for participating in our little collaboration." Evony's way of speaking makes her teeth shine white.

"The pleasure is all mine," Bo forces back, equally charming.

"I have heard so much about you from Dyson and Hale. You've quite disturbed our little psychology department, haven't you? With your books, I mean."

No, it wouldn't be more fun, Bo decides. "I have always compared my profession to portrait artists. Demonstrating how easily people make mistakes and false assumptions," she bites back.

"Oh, yes that is art indeed."

"Do you know a lot about art then?"

"I love it," Evony purrs, "more than anything."

"Appreciating beauty because you can't do so at work, I suppose? Fighting crimes must be awfully messy."

"Well, I wouldn't say my profession and my passion exclude each other. After all, a painter should begin every canvas with a wash of black, because all things in nature are dark except where exposed by the light."

Bo's eyebrows rise. Leonardo da Vinci. How pretentious. So she shoots a Jung quote back. "Knowing your own darkness is the best method for dealing with the darknesses of other people."

Evony laughs. "We do not escape into philosophy, psychology, and art-we go there to restore our shattered selves into whole ones."

"Touché." Bo must admit, even though she's not sure where that quote comes from, it boils down their job descriptions to the essence.

Hale and Dyson watch their exchange silently.

Finally, they place their empty champagne glasses on a tray and sit down at a round table, Evony opposite of Bo, Hale and Dyson on their sides. The menu is exquisite, Bo has to grant that. Their unsubstantial chatter continues over a scallop carpaccio with artichokes and white truffle.

It's not hard to see that this dinner is just about testing borders. Sniffing out how far you can go in the real negotiations about budget and resources and access to restricted files. Evony shifts her attention back to Hale. He is the head of the department, after all, and responsible for the whole project. If she wants the best possible results with the least effort associated she has to charm him, not Bo.

By the time the turkey boudin arrives she has cornered him on two different occasions, and a third time nearly humiliated. Evony turns out to be exactly the kind of negotiating partner Bo thought she would be. It's almost amusing to watch her. It's just that every bit of work Evony can put on Hale's shoulders instead of her own will find its way on Bo's desk, so Bo has a vital interest in him standing his ground when the real negotiations begin.

Hale is not bad at this kind of talk, he was born and bred for these kinds of social interactions after all, but he lacks Evony's experience. And maybe her ruthlessness. And then the topic. Since they sat down their conversation revolves around fine art, and Evony subtly keeps it there. She is more than an expert on it, and can express herself eloquently through the most sophisticated comparisons of modern artists and their predecessors that make Hale look like a stumbling toddler at times. Not to mention Dyson. He seems completely lost. The only reason why Evony is not dominating the whole evening is Bo's unabashed impertinence to point out flaws and contradictions in the artist's ideas she's talking about. Which doesn't really count as criticising Evony. It irritates her even more than open hostility, though. When Bo laughs her eyes shine as much as her earrings.

For the drinks they stay in the dining hall, but the tables are cleared and they stand up, wandering around to talk to other guests. There are not so many in total, maybe fifty all in all, both from the Bureau and the department. Evony leaves them for the moment, to socialize with colleagues, supposedly. Bo hasn't had the chance yet to see everyone to say hi to friendly faces. But Hale doesn't let her go. Instead he leads her gently to a group of people Bo hasn't met yet, probably because they arrived shortly after them. The guests seem to cluster around one man in particular.

That's kind of when things start to get downhill.

Hale guides her to the centre of the small circle, where that guy is standing. He's turned sideways to them, so he blocks the view on his companion, until Hale introduces the newcomers warmly. "They're flying back tomorrow morning, so I am very happy to have the chance to welcome them this evening. Bo, this is Professor Michael McCarthy from California, and his wife, Katie."

In that moment McCarthy steps to the side, to greet Hale back.

Fuck. Bo nearly spits out the gulp of champagne she just took. She can barely conceal it as a little cough. Katie never mentioned her last name that night, or the fact that she has a goddamn husband.

McCarthy is a middle-aged experimental psychologist with grey tinged temples and a nice smile. It makes Bo feel horrible. She has enough self-control, though, to keep a blank face after the initial shock. Her stomach has been dumped in ice water. After nearly embracing Hale, McCarthy shakes her hand shortly, but Katie's fingers linger a heartbeat to long around Bo's. Their eyes meet briefly. While McCarthy looks at her mildly and explains what he does for a living, which is kind of pointless seeming that Bo does the same, one of Katie's eyebrows arches. She grins smugly, entirely inappropriate, and looks at Bo through long dark lashes. The curve around her mouth twitches. The red dress she wears accentuates her athletic body in the best way.

Bo makes a point of not looking at her.

When her husband finally stops, Katie cuts in, saying "It's such a pleasure to meet you, Bo."

Bo smiles only meekly, addressing her husband with the next question. "So, uh, how do you like Boston?"

"It's a wonderful city. We are very sad to be leaving so soon already," he answers, patting the hand of his wife on his forearm.

Seizing the first possible opportunity Bo flees to the bathroom. Luckily it's empty. After the door falls shut, the music fades away. Her heels clack sharply on the floor as Bo hurries to the wash basins and splashes a little bit of cold water on her cheeks. Then, staring at herself angrily in the mirror, she clutches the basin so hard with her hands that her knuckles turn white. This is one of her worst case scenarios come true. First of all, she doesn't want to mess with marriages, no matter how shitty they were in the first place. And then she doesn't want to commit the same mistake she made with Dyson again. Colleagues are off limit. And especially colleagues' wives who are friends with her boss. The ways this could go wrong… She shudders involuntarily.

Not knowing what to do, Bo fishes her phone out of her bag, and calls Tamsin. For some reason the blonde agent had somehow managed to dodge the dinner.

She picks up almost immediately. "What?"

"Sorry for bothering you, Tamsin, I can call you back later if you're switched off your bitch mode."

Tamsin grins; Bo can hear it in her voice. "I'm at work, nearly bored to death but in the last few minutes things got interesting, so be quick."

"Seriously, should I call you back?"

"Nope, as much as I love to tail random people, the reason why you're giving me a call from your party of the year does seem a little more interesting," Tamsin drawls.

Bo groans. She rubs her temple. "It's horrible. You won't believe whom I just met."

"Who is it?" The teasing undertone vanishes from Tamsin's voice. Now she sounds seriously curious.

When Bo tells her, though, she nearly dies from laughter.

"This is not helpful!" Bo snaps into her phone. Involuntarily, some of the crinkles on her forehead vanish, though.

"I'm sorry," Tamsin snorts, "It's just that you of all people are so bad at choosing the right person to get horizontal with."

"Thing is, we weren't even that horizontal. She has a very nice kitchen, to be honest," Bo adds dryly.

Bo can hear Tamsin struggling to hold the phone. "Why does this always happen to you?" She forces out, eventually, probably still shaking with laughter.

"I don't know, which is kind of the problem."

"Bo, you're screwed."

"I know. In all earnest, if her husband finds out and tells Hale he'll kick me out before I even get the chance to call my lawyer."

"It's kind of your own fault, isn't it?"

"I didn't know, for god's sake!"

"Well, it doesn't matter now anyways. She's leaving tomorrow, isn't she? So just get through the evening without doing anything stupid. Even though that seems to be difficult for you. Just try harder."

"Shut up, Tamsin."

"You called me, if I may refresh your memory."

"Yeah," Bo sighs finally, "maybe you're right. Maybe I'm just overreacting. I'm just going to ignore her and forget the whole episode."

"You'll be fine, Bo."

"Thanks. Your help is much appreciated." Bo's voice is dripping with irony. But maybe her friend has a point.

"Just do me a favour and at least try not to bang someone else accidentally," Tamsin scoffs.

"Oh, shut it." Bo rolls her eyes.

They hang up, and Bo wets her face once more with water. It's clearing her head. Maybe it's not that bad. Maybe Katie wants to sweep it under the carpet as well. Bo was just very surprised to see her again. Their night was nice, but nothing more, just one of many.

That's when the door swings open. Low jazz music drifts in. Bo straightens herself and throws a look in the mirror to see who stepped in.

Her bad feeling is increased by a hundredfold. She freezes. Of course it's Katie, looking stunning like the first time they met. Bo's alarm bells shrill. A very thin line appears between her brows as she watches the other woman approach her slowly.

"I was wondering where you were hiding," she drawls. "I think your boss is looking for you."

Bo doesn't play along, though. Instead she asks with coldness in her voice, turning around to face her "That night in the club, did you know who I am?"

Katie lifts one eyebrow. "I guessed."

"What the hell?!"

"What can I say, Richard's business partners add a little excitement to my life."

Bo crosses her arms in front of her chest, leaning against the sink behind her.

"This is my last night in this city," Katie almost purrs, drawing closer. Her eyes flutter down to Bo's mouth and up again. Bo can see her pupils dilate.

"It's kind of extreme to bring your husband, though."

Katie's lips twitch. "Rich will be fine. When he's not too distracted by work he bangs the secretary anyways."

"Listen, Katie, I'm truly flattered that you made the effort to turn up to the social event of the term to see me again, but I don't do second dates."

Katie pouts. "We're standing in the toilet of a random conference centre, with a pretentious dinner party going on around us, full with people we don't particularly like at best. They are having the time of their lives while they bore us to death. I say we should have fun as well."

She has a point there, Bo thinks, and there was a time when she would have said yes, but the circumstances have changed. "I'm sorry, but no."

Katie tilts her head to the side, bites her bottom lip and takes another step. Now she's close enough to touch Bo. So she extends one hand, very slowly, to place it on Bo's forearm. It is really tempting.

But before she can reach her, Bo darts around her and rushes out of the room. Katie didn't even lock the door, so Bo is out as quickly as anyone who could have walked in on them.

Immediately, the music and the noise of the crowd start to flood her senses again. So Bo takes a deep breath, and tries to relax, she has just steered around a great mess, after all. She fails, of course. Her muscles are still tense when she finds Hale and Dyson again. They are laughing about something funny McCarthy has just said, apparently.

Luckily, Hale has drunken enough already to buy Bo's excuse of a friend who got ill suddenly, so she can leave earlier than expected.

Fleeing from a hot blonde, she thinks on her way out to the parking lot. A couple of years ago she would have laughed at the idea. It's dark, and clouds diminish the already scarce light from the moon and stars further. As soon as she sits in her BMW she rubs her temples and tries to shake off the unpleasant experience.

…

Nonetheless, her thoughts are racing. This thing with Katie really shouldn't have happened. She can't let her private life influence her work to that extent. But if her mind was a clear lake this morning, and Katie just threw a few pebbles in, now there's a huge rock tumbling down the shore right into it.

After Bo steers her car around the first corner, she spots a familiar silhouette walking on the pavement at the side of the street. The headlights catch her fully only for a split second. But Bo recognizes her immediately, for some reason. Maybe it's the golden hair. The wind is playing with it.

So she steers the car over before Lauren can melt away in the darkness. Before Bo realizes what she's doing she pulls up at her side, her window already open. She lets the car roll alongside the walking student while she leans across the passenger seat. "What are you doing here?"

Lauren looks up, and stops dead in her tracks. Bo brings the car to halt as well. For a second Lauren sees at loss for words at the unexpected sight. Her hands are tugged deeply into her pockets, but now she pulls one out to brush a strand of hair away from her forehead. "I'm on campus, walking back home?" She suggests finally.

Bo blinks. Well, admittedly that has been a stupid question. But before she can scold herself internally another one escapes her mouth faster she can think it through. "Need a ride?"

"I'm sorry?"

Bo gestures at the passenger seat, smiling faintly. "I could drive you home."

Yes, Lauren wants to answer, I'm glad you asked, I'm glad to see you. Especially now that Bo's lips curve in that fascinating way of hers. Instead she says "Thank you, but I think I will be fine. It's not that far anyways." That's only a minor lie. It's actually twenty minutes, because she missed the last bus. And her rucksack weighs a ton with the books. But sitting in the same car as Bo Dennis doesn't seem like a good idea, as nice as the car looks from the outside.

It feels like overstepping a faint line she really doesn't want to cross. Or well, she'd rather not be tempted to cross at all, since she actually would move across without a second thought if Bo wasn't her professor. Lauren swallows and hopes that the night is dark enough.

"How long do you have to walk to your student hall?" Bo asks.

"Not too much," Lauren utters after hesitating briefly.

Bo would have smiled again if she hadn't spotted a group of four or five college boys on the pavement across the street. At that moment they hoot loudly about a joke one of them made. They are holding two vodka bottles and beer cans. A sharp wrinkle appears on Bo's forehead. Her eyes turn a shade darker. "Get in."

"What?"

"I said get in. Please." She leans further to the other side and opens the door of her black BMW. "I'll drive you home."

Lauren hesitates. Bo holds her gaze and doesn't pull away. Lauren bites her lip, puts another strand of her hair behind her ear, and takes two strides towards the car. Without looking at her prof she slides onto the passenger seat.

"Thank you," she mumbles, unsure how to behave around her.

"You're welcome." Bo senses her stiffness, while she starts the car again. So she asks mildly "Where do I drop you off?"

"I live, uhm," Lauren starts, throwing a glance at Bo. She stops, though, noticing for the first time how she looks. Her skilfully arranged hair coils around a small hairpin in a complicated way that accentuates her long slender neck. One curl has escaped, though, dangling down her to her cheek. The dark blue dress she's wearing outlines the shape of her collarbone. It heaves softly with every breath she takes. The tear shaped earrings match her golden necklace and the delicate bracelet entwining her wrist. If she had the time Lauren would love to study the patterns and emblems depicted on them, she's sure that they have a meaning hidden in them. And Bo wears a distractingly red lipstick. In short, Bo Dennis looks nothing short of breath-taking. Lauren swallows. Suddenly she's very aware of blood pulsating behind her temples.

"Well?" Bo arches her eyebrow.

Lauren's eyes flutter away again. She hopes that the car is dark enough to hide her staring. "Just around a few blocks around the corner," she finishes meekly.

"So, you live in a student hall?" Bo asks, trying to initiate a conversation.

Lauren is not a great help, though. She just nods, her eyes fixed on the street.

Bo throws another glance at the silent blonde on her passenger seat.

"You know, I'm not going to bite you."

Still no reply.

"Unless you're into that, but make sure to tell me your safeword first," Bo states dryly.

Lauren stares at her, wide eyed.

Bo looks over to her and sees her expression. She starts grinning. "Oh, come on, Lauren, I was making a joke."

Lauren keeps her eyes fixed on her for a second longer, before her eyebrows rise highly. Bo is just trying to be nice, after all.

"Oh, and you were just stirring up hope," Lauren mumbles under her breath before she can stop herself.

Bo laughs. Immediately, the tense atmosphere in the car vanishes. Both of them relax visibly. The smile stays on Bo's lips, while Lauren's shoulders sack down a bit and her hands stop clenching her rucksack on her lap. She even flashes a grin at her professor. That's when Lauren begins contemplating whether she should comment on her Bo's outfit.

"And I was already wondering whether I've anything in my face," Bo replies.

"No. Your face is perfectly fine." Then Lauren tries to ask as casually as possible "Have you been at a ball at the campus? Your dress looks great."

Bo glances over, briefly. Until now, she has forgotten all about the dinner. And the other guests. Lauren manages easily what a whole afternoon at the gym and a bubble bath couldn't do. She takes Bo's mind off. "Thank you," she breathes.

Lauren bites her lip, internally scolding her own stupidity. She shouldn't have said that. So she looks out of the window, watching the shadows rush past the car and trying to switch off her thoughts.

"I like your hair," Bo adds smoothly.

"What?" Lauren's head snaps back around.

"It's open. You usually tie it behind the back of your head during the lectures." Bo's eyes stay fixed on the street in front of her.

Now it's Lauren's time to blink in surprise. It's not something she has done with any particular intention, but now that Bo points it out it's quite obvious. She just wants her hair out of her face when she's working. But Bo mentioning this seems quite absurd, since she looks like she's just back from the New York fashion week after party. And maybe Lauren is also taken aback by the sheer fact that her prof just said how she likes her hair.

Bo clears her throat. Suddenly her fingers are not lightly bracing the wheel, but clenched around it.

There is nothing particularly unusual about the situation, Bo keeps reminding herself. She's helping a student. Something she has done a million times. The fact that Lauren is the first one she sits in the same car with, not to mention that she's the first person ever she allows in her BMW, Bo pushes to the back of her mind, for the moment. There are more important things right now.

For example the way Lauren's scent of wild honey slowly fills the car. It unnerves her. Her perfume is very faint, it just nestles there, finding its way into her head and not letting go again.

"So," Bo says, trying to distract herself, "are you revising for the midterms already?"

Lauren pats her bag. "Yes, I've just borrowed a few books from the library. Well, maybe a little more than a few."

Bo chuckles. "Nervous?"

"Mhm."

"Don't be."

"I would be less if you had any hints on what you're going to test," Lauren says, looking as innocently as possible.

"Yeah, you probably would. Shame we're not going to find that out."

Lauren laughs. "Well, it was worth a try."

Bo's mind trails off. She changes the topic abruptly. "Are you British by any chance?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Do you come from England by any chance?" Bo rephrases her question.

Immediately, Lauren feels very stupid. "Uhm, I lived there until my seventh birthday." She pauses shortly. "How did you know?"

"The words you used in your essay. And you have the slightest hint of an accent."

"Not many people notice it." In fact, Lauren can remember no other occasion when someone had been able to tell from her way of speaking.

"Why did you move?"

By the way Lauren tenses up again and lets her hair fall over her face Bo realizes that she's just asked something too personal.

"My parents," Lauren answers quietly, staring out of the window.

Bo keeps her mouth shut after that. She feels sorry if she's hit a sensitive spot, and even more bad for bringing back the tension in the shoulders of her student.

Lauren is about to ask what gave her away when she sees here house emerging from the darkness at the end of the road. She sits up and points at it. "That's where I have to get out."

Bo nods. She parks the car right in front of it and turns off the engine. Lauren notices for the first time how quiet it was when it was running. She has no idea about cars, but this one definitely seems expensive. She hopes that Kenzi doesn't see her climbing out of it.

"Thank you," she says again, this time smiling sincerely.

"You're welcome, Lauren," Bo answers. Her gaze wanders across Lauren's face while her mouth remains slightly open, as if she's about to say something else.

But Lauren has already opened the door of the car. Cold night air is streaming in. Again, the wind catches hold of her hair and blows a strand into her face. She brushes it away and glides out of the car, muttering "See you at the next lecture."

Bo can't answer before the door falls shut. Her eyes remain fixed on her back, though, until she has safely entered the house. Only when Lauren is finally out of sight she notices that they haven't talked about tutoring at all. She frowns lightly, unsure about what just happened, and starts the car again.

…

If Lauren is honest to herself, she's undecided until the moment she walks into Bo's office the next day.

It feels like she has not done much else apart from thinking about her offer in the last few days, even though she's busy revising for midterms. There is a myriad of voices in her head, shouting at each other. The workload, the chances she can get, that she's not good enough and her prof will kick her out again after the first tutorial.

It's just a painfully stupid idea.

But as soon as she's through the door, as soon as she sees her professor sitting behind the large wooden desk with files and folders sprawled all over it, and the cap of a pen sticking out from between Bo's lips as she's just signing something, Lauren's mind becomes clear.

Of course she's doing it. She could never look into her academic mirror again if she declined this. The chance is just too good.

Bo's eyes flicker up. When she sees who has just entered the room her lips widen around that black pen cap. She's smiling, and nods towards the chair in front of her desk.

Lauren clears her throat, and sits down.

With one graceful sweep Bo draws her pen for the last time across the paper. Then she puts the cap on again and lays it aside. "How can I help you?" She asks finally.

Lauren looks down. "Professor Dennis," she starts, but she doesn't get very far.

"Bo." The correction is gentle.

Lauren's eyes flicker back up. "I'm sorry?"

"Please, my name is Bo, not Professor Dennis."

"Oh, okay." Lauren swallows, not looking at her again. "Bo." She mouths the word carefully, as if to test its strength between her lips. It makes Bo arch her eyebrow a little. Lauren doesn't notice it, because she says the next sentence to her hands. "I wanted to talk to you about that tutoring you suggested."

Bo closes the file in front of her, and leans back in her chair. A thin line appears between her brows. "Have you come to a decision?"

"Yes." Lauren's answer is firm. She wrings her hands in her lap and looks up. "First of all, thank you for offering me this opportunity. I really appreciate it."

"You're welcome. I think you have a lot of potential and I'd like to advance that." The underlying message is clear. Please don't say no.

"Well, I would like to accept your offer," Lauren breathes.

Bo's smile goes supernova. She leans forward again. "Fantastic. I was hoping you'd say that."

The light in her eyes is contagious, so even though she still feels nervous Lauren can't prevent a similar smile from spreading on her lips when she glances at her.

"The workload won't be too heavy, I promise," Bo says. "Your normal course work comes first, naturally."

"Okay," Lauren lies. Of course it won't. But she's not worried about it, at the moment.

They arrange their first meeting on the morning of the following day, since Lauren has another lecture in twenty minutes, and Bo should really finish that report for Dyson and Tamsin.

"See you tomorrow, then," Bo says as Lauren stands up again.

"See you tomorrow," her student repeats lightly.

When she's at the door, Bo says "I'm looking forward to working with you."

"Me too." Lauren turns around and gives her another smile. She might have said something else while she slipped through the door, but the noise from the hallway drifting in drowns it. Bo smiles to herself nonetheless, while she finishes her work with new-found elan.