Hey. I don't think anyone quite reads this, but I don't think I care anymore :p So if you want to, there it is. Cheers.

'Third time's the charm', Frances though as she knocked on the door. The corridor was deserted, they'd just left their practical biology class in between the usual hours, giving her a gap of a quarter hour. Incredible ! In their tight schedule, free time usually happened after 11pm or on Sundays. Twice already, she had found the door closed. Perhaps she would be lucky today.

— "Come in", came a smooth voice from inside.

Frances inhaled sharply, divided between joy and nervousness. That man set her on edge, but she was glad she wouldn't have to chase him around the high school for the rest of the week. So she braced herself for impact, and pushed the door open; she had never faced him alone. Holding his attention always made her self-conscious. As if his gaze could penetrate the hundred layers of protection she had set around her inner self. As if he could read her like a book. It unsettled her, yet she didn't feel exposed for she trusted him.

Weird, for a man that she saw once a week and knew nothing about.

Mr Kristiansen lifted his head from his work; his mid long hair falling in disarray across his face. The tips brushed his marked cheekbone, hiding his grey eyes behind the strange mix of ash and brown strands. Unguarded, he looked… almost beautiful. His features brightened when he saw her; perhaps he had been expecting a less agreeable interruption. His expression caused Frances to pause in the doorway.

— "Can I interrupt for a minute ?"

— "Of course, come in, Frances"

So he knew her name, and while she took a few steps to the desk, she recognized the device that sat upon it. In particular, the music that the little speaker played as he rated homework. Forgetting why she had come to seek him in the first place, the young woman's eyebrows lifted. Ordinarily, she would have smiled at hearing Mark Knoplfer, but this particular song echoed inside of her like no other. It brought nostalgia, and sadness, calling a feeling of longing and absurdity just as well. And the immense weight that came with the waste of a life.

— "Frances ?"

The young woman blinked, then a blush crept up her cheeks.

— "Sorry. I adore Mark Knopfler, but this song… I never was able to hear 'Brothers in Arms' without crying, as it was me lying in that field awaiting death."

Why did she speak so plainly to a man she barely knew ? His grey eyes studied her, curiosity mingled with something warmer. Or perhaps he thought her a freak for getting so emotional over a single song. Then his haze travelled to the window, out of focus.

— "Yes, this song twist my guts as well, but I still need to hear it. Strange, how we sometimes seek suffering"

This was a loaded statement; one he didn't seem inclined to share for his next question put them back on the right track.

— "What can I help you with ?"

Frances sighed, pulling her attention back to her initial task. The displeasure of driving…

— "Ah yes. I wanted to let you know that I will be absent next week because I'm having my driving test. Apparently, it's my last chance before the theory test I passed becomes obsolete so… I don't have much of a choice"

The teacher nodded thoughtfully.

— "It's all right. I guess your accomplice will get the work for you, but I appreciate you took the time to let me know"

— "My accomplice ?"

There was a layer of amusement in his voice when he responded.

— "Alexandre"

So, their mean teacher – biology - wasn't the only one that had remarked their closeness. Yes, Alexandre was a great friend, a guy with whom she had connected instantly. It was a very healthy, very platonic relationship that kept her sane and grounded. But to think about getting his notes on anything… that was shuddering though.

— "Oh no, he's far too messy. I'll ask Bertrand, his writing is neater and he doesn't daydream in class"

Frances forced herself to shut up; her babbling had caused her to denunciate a good friend, and she certainly hoped that Mr Kristiansen wouldn't go selling Alexandre's bad habits to any of their teachers. This could have consequences. Feeling the reddening of her cheeks, Frances rushed to apologize.

— "I don't mean he's not a good student… just. God, I've been putting my foot in my mouth again, right ?"

Mr Kristiansen laughed this time, a sharp, short sound that echoed in the room and called to her. As if his mirth could unloose the knots in her upper back, and reduce the stress altogether. He stood then, facing his mortified student on an – almost - even ground.

— "Don't worry. I know you are all under a lot of pressure, and you handle it admirably. I don't care how you take your notes as long as you learn something in my class"

Frances deflated like a balloon; her biology teacher gave them hell whenever the drawings weren't neat enough for her taste. To hear that Mr Kristiansen didn't give a damn was really nice to hear. Sheepishly, she watched her buttoned boots as she expressed her gratitude.

— "Thank you. All our teachers are not as forgiving as you are"

She didn't know why he took the time to share his views, but the soothing tones of his smooth voice once more took her to another world. One where this madness was finished and the world spun straight on its axis once again.

— "The goal is different", he explained, crossing his arms over his chest. "Geography will get you a few optional points, but it won't be the core of your grades in those exams. And quite truthfully, I really enjoy teaching your class. There is a tight unity that I didn't find anywhere else, and you are all so lively."

The blush was spreading upon her cheeks again, but she needed to let him know how great his teachings were.

— "I don't pretend to speak in the name of the full class, but I can tell you that we do enjoy it just as well. It is a breath of fresh air in our schedule"

When eventually, Frances dared looking up, she found a warm smile upon his face. Not a wide one, neither exaggerated. But a genuine smile, one that spoke of satisfaction… one that illuminated his features so beautifully that her heart lurched strangely.

— "Then I'm glad. I'll cross my fingers for you next week."

Dismissal. Disappointment brushed her mind, coming out of nowhere; she didn't feel like leaving but time was scarce and he probably had plenty of things to do. So she smiled back.

— "Thank you. Have a nice week end"

— "Likewise, Frances"

His voice followed her to the deserted corridor just before the loud ringing of end of class sounded. Frances closed the door, a smile upon her lips.

From that day, Tristan found that his eyes looked for the little fairy in the corridors more often. Their conversation, however brief, had left him with an aftertaste of easiness; he found that he would have liked talking to her again.

So when the biology guys invited him to their traditional monthly sortie in Joe's bar the next thurdsay, Tristan decided to tag along. After all, they were of age; it wasn't like going out for a drink with high school students. The evening he spent reminded his of his youngers years, nary eight years ago. Of the soirées spent with his future wife and bunch of friends from university before they all staggered, dead drunk, to their respective student houses. The disappointment of not seeing Frances here – she never comes, Madeleyne said, she hates drinking, and alcohol in general – was soon drowned in songs, laughter and a warm fuzzy buzzing at the back of his mind. He wasn't so old after all.

Despite the rowdy bunch and pressure they endured, none of his students needed a call at the emergency room. They even managed to come home on their own – Even Madeleyne - some less assured than the others, but safe and sound all the same. He admired them for it, or perhaps it was his presence that had tamed them enough to not end up vomiting in every corner of the city. Still… as he walked home in the chilly night, he couldn't help but think of a set of chocolate eyes and long ringlets of fire.

No one knew if she had passed that driving licence or failed. How come, for such a tight bunch ? Most of them didn't even know the reason of her absence last Thursday. Frances seemed, even to her class, an unattainable person. He'd heard things, mostly good, a few a little jealous from the ladies, about how she kept to herself in the canteen queue, reading The lord of the rings in English of all things ! Or how she'd saved her roommate from being thrown into the shower with her clothes on, calling forth such wrath that the chemistry boys had fled in fear. Three guys, against one slender woman. This particular story made him laugh; she packed quite a moral punch, that little lady.

Where did the curiosity came from ? Was it their mutual love of Mark Knopfler, or her disturbing confession about 'Brothers in arms' ? He felt a certain kinship, and refused to see that, even before her visit in his classroom, his eyes fell upon her more often than not.

So when he spotted her the next Tuesday in a corridor, his curiosity won the better of him.

— "Frances !", he called from over the other students' head.

Easy, he was several inches taller than most of them. Tristan didn't fail at spotting that many high school girls had turned around as he raised his voice, but he was only interested in nailing the little fairy before she disappeared in the stairs. The young woman spun on her heels, her eyes looking for the caller. Her eyes found his easily, warm chocolate filled with an interrogation. Tristan jogged up to her with a reassuring smile – a professor calling a student out in a corridor could only mean a rebuke.

— "Yes, Monsieur Kristiansen ?", she asked.

Funny, how a simple title, 'monsieur', could build a 6 feet thick wall with a smile. Distance established by the simple acknowledgement of his status. And indirectly, hers.

— "I, uh…"

Now that he faced her, the corridor filled with eyes that watched him but would, fortunately, not hear the conversation, he suddenly felt self-conscious. None of her comrades were in sight – as usual, and the young woman watched him with earnest curiosity.

— "So ?", he asked clumsily.

Her eyebrow rose upon her pale forehead, a dark maroon that didn't reflect the fire of her hair.

— "So what ?"

— "Did you get it ? Your license. None of your comrades could tell me if you'd passed"

The set of her shoulders tensed and Tristan cursed himself for his curiosity. Of course ! If no one knew, it probably meant she had failed. Her frown said it all.

— "Ah, yes. I passed"

The geography teacher blinked; why did she seem so defeated then ? Non plussed, he pushed his head back to watch her more carefully. The worry lines around her eyes only reflected deep conflict.

— "Congratulations, did you get to celebrate ? Took a drive to your friends, perhaps ?"

She watched him as if he's sprouted a second head.

— "Ugh, no! I don't want to ever hear about driving a car again. It's done, I'm relieved."

The teacher bristled a moment, oblivious of the many gazes that lingered upon his form as students passed them. He had committed a very obvious blunder; one he did not understand. Most teenagers enjoyed driving and the freedom it granted them; a major party had ensued the obtention of his own driving license. Didn't she enjoy it ? Perhaps the matter laid elsewhere altogether. Something to do with her driving instructor ? She seemed… almost trapped, stuck against the wall, her eyes darting around to assess the dimming stream of students that had now found their own classrooms.

— "I'm sorry, sir. I need to rush"

Her voice faltered, almost pleading. The riddle would have to wait.

— "Ah, well. I'm sorry for keeping you, hurry along before someone grumpy bites your head off"

She sent him a curious look – perhaps because he wasn't so far off the truth, a minute late in biology class meant to be refused - then a relieved smile flourished upon her lips before she turned and marched away. Head held high, long ringlets swaying down her back, high heels covering the distance easily. There was a story there, one that he vowed to ask someday.

Until then… life would have resume its course. After all, those students all had history. Every single one could surprise him with tales of their homes, their travels, their culture. Tristan's lips quirked up; he had a new idea to help his class of 11th grade about the middle ages. He would make a card game with traditions to research, ranking from food to popular dancing, roaming the European and Asian world to illustrates the different cultures that existed at the time.

Good. The teacher turned around, striding to his classroom to put his little idea into motion.

A month later, late November.

Tristan observed Alain's half class as they took in, stoically, the dressing down of the year. The French teacher had dragged him from the staff room like a dragon about to breathe fire, grumbling about irresponsible students. Surprised by his vehemence, he had listened as Alain filled him in on the situation. It was weird; of all his classes, he never would have guessed that his biology students would do such a thing. So he waited, observing their expression as his colleague rambled about what he had heard from the main supervisor. Tales of harassment and fights, of humiliation and ragging.

Patiently, the group – French and geography sessions were done with half classes only - awaited for their teacher to lay his grievances. And when he started telling them how disappointed he was, some faces turned sad. The geography professor couldn't help but watch Frances a little closely, noticing how she grit her teeth, her skin pale in the back of the room. He'd never seen her so enraged, and wondered what had truly happened. Alain eventually concluded his speech and turned to him, face grim.

— "Do you want to add anything, Mr Kristiansen ?", he asked.

Tristan pushed himself away from the wall, unfolding his arms in an attempt to seem more open.

— "Yes, thank you, Mr Tebrus. I'd like to know what happened exactly. I refuse to admit that your class is the type to persecute a young woman."

He left unsaid the fact that said young woman, Madeleyne, wasn't as well the perfect damsel in distress. From the interaction he had seen, she seemed rather mischievous, and not at all bothered to be the youngest member. If anything, her classmates seemed protective of her. Something wasn't adding up there.

— "Thank you!", Florent, the class representative, exploded in the first rank.

— "Yes, sir, thank you for your trust", another blond-haired guy responded.

He was one of those that traded spoonerism with Alain. A funny, outspoken young man. A few smiles were sent his way, and the class started recounting how the girl's clan, led by Madeleyne had been waging war on the boy's clan – in the other boarding building – for weeks. Pranks mainly: cereals shed into beds, slippers pasted to the ceiling – this one made Alain laugh albeit he struggled not to show it –, beds remade so prevent the owner from lying in and cupboards exchanged while the others took their dinner. Such imagination ! Given the amount of effort and slyness deployed, James Bond seemed like an amateur. As days passed, more people were dragged in the 'cold war', all in good humour, until the ultimate date presented itself: Madeleyne's birthday.

An occasion not to be missed. Food fight ensued, and ambush outside the cafeteria, between the clans. And when both parties were exhausted, the leader of the girl clan was 'captured' and tied up to a tree, laughing her ass off. Flowers were put in her hair, pictures taken, and she was freed to go and take a shower. The rest of the students suggested to sweep the courtyard – make a mess, yes, but clean it up afterwards - and this is when all hell broke loose. Tristan's smirk told his students everything they needed to know; the man was rather amused at their antics. Such creativity ! And Alain, likewise, was frowning because it didn't match the gruesome story they had fed him.

— "This is not what they told me", he started.

A very angry retort came from the back of the class.

— "Nor what they told her…"

Frances, wrapped in fury, was standing against the wall, her hands shaking. Tristan frowned as their French teacher questioned her.

— "Tell us what happened"

The young woman bit her lips, then sat on the edge of a table to organise her thoughts. Yet, he could still see how her hands shook.

— "I came down after the fight with Alexandre to stow the stupid string away when the vice principal and the main supervisor popped up, screaming bloody murder and fresher's harassment nonsense. I yelled at the girls to hop in the shower from the window and tried to explain what had happened, and that we would be cleaning up the mess."

The young woman paused and took a shuddering breath, reliving the events as she recounted it. Tristan bit his cheek; he didn't understand yet the reasons for his student's flustering, but was praying that she was just making a mountain out of nothing. Given Alain's rage nary thirty minutes ago, he wasn't looking froward to hearing the rest of the story.

— "They didn't want to listen. They said it was… hazing, and despicable, and degrading. They said that because she was a girl, it was even worse. I tried to tell them it had nothing to do with her being the youngest, or being a girl for that matter. They wouldn't hear me. They asked Madeleyne to come down, and I tagged along"

Tristan nodded; he wasn't too surprised that Frances woman would stick with her comrade in the face the inquisition. She was very intuitive and must have felt the danger. Her gaze met his, and he tried to send waves of reassurance ; she was too far gone to receive them.

— "Can you tell us what happened next ?", Alain asked.

— "They locked her up in an office, with the vice principal, our main teacher and the main supervisor. I don't even remember where. I think I waited for two hours in the corridor – I didn't have my phone - they wouldn't let me in"

Tristan's spine stiffened; it didn't bode so well. The authorities were afraid of hazing, so much that the slightest hint send them into a fenzy. Even more so of sexual harassment. Yet, to have a student, on her birthday, facing three adults was an abuse of power. They should, at least, have allowed Frances in. What a better advocate than the fiery lady; when riled up, she was a formidable adversary. They knew it too… what a low blow.

— "They released Madele in the evening, she was crying. I held her for a long time, she said she was going to quit, that it had been her best birthday ever until… anyway. They told her it was degrading, as a lady, to accept such behaviour. That it was as despicable as accepting to be gang raped"

There was a collective gasp among the students now; obviously, Frances had kept her comrade's confidence until then.

— "This… this cannot be borne !", and outraged Florent yelled in the first rank.

Suddenly, Tristan's blood filled with rage. Did they not realise, those goddamn good thinking women, that they had turned an innocent – if irresponsible – moment into a slaughter? That they had tainted not only the memory, but the young woman's confidence for the future just as well ? Who could, at nineteen years of age, stand up to three people who called you a whore ? What scars would it imprint upon Madeleyne ?

Tristan's jaw clenched; bloody fools ! He was glad for his colleague's calm, for he might had broken the vice principal's door for the slight. When his eyes met Frances' once more, an unspoken understanding passed between them. There would be bloody murder upon those people who felt the need to judge so harshly. Voices roses, the outrage keenly felt among those young adults who protected each other's back. They reminded him of an army, sticking together for better or worse until the war was over.

The management had asked for the names of the responsible people; they all signed up the paper. Not even one soul to back away; let them fire the whole boarding school if they wanted to ! And, pride swelling in their chest, both Alain and himself decided to take this half class and reunite them with their counterparts in biology session; there were words to be exchanged with the old maid that was their main teacher.

They descended like angels of wrath to the first level, Alain at the front, he closing the march. Tristan lagged a little behind and Frances fell into step with him without him asking.

— "Are you all right?", he asked.

— "No. Those people are supposed to help us thrive, and they dig a hole. Calling Madeleyne a whore…"

She'd seen right through their screens.

— "People are led by their fear"

Wrathful hazel eyes turned to him as she swore.

— "If you're thinking about miss Pansy, I think she should get laid instead!"

Tristan smirked, his eyes never leaving Frances'.

— "Good point, I think. But never admit I said that"

For a moment, she just watched him, jaw slack. Then, as her comrades disappeared into the stairs, his hand snaked around her shoulder to squeeze it. He didn't miss the tears springing to her eyes but she swallowed them down. Better to stand strong until the battle was won. So when she hopped down the stairs, bouncing like a fairy, he said nothing more.

— "I adored her, that woman, really."

— "Miss Pansy ?"

— "Yes. I abhor her now"

He could understand how it tore her apart; the class had adopted their main teacher in those difficult times. To have her turn her back against them was heart wrenching.

— "It is always difficult to realise the people we love are human"

And didn't he know it ! His wife had taught him firsthand. He forced his fingers to stop twisting around his wedding band; this battle didn't concern him. Even if he knew what kind of woman Miss Pansy was – funny, intelligent, controlling and very, very prejudiced against men - he had had no business sharing it with his students until now. But she had gone too far; her fear of the other sex, her contempt, even, had dire consequences on her own charges. The open door of her classroom came into view and Frances stomped forward.

— "Well, she's going to hate me now, because I sure as hell am going to give my opinion on the matter"

— "Do not ever let the fire die I you, Frances."

The young woman gave him a peculiar look before entering the room. There was a great hush in the applied sciences class when they eventually made their way inside and Frances took deliberate, slow steps to get to her seat. At the very front.

Alain tried to negociate and cajole, meeting a wall until miss Pansy mentioned that they had commissioned a psychiatrist to make an assessment. Florent snorted at that:

— "Let him come, perhaps he can do something for you"

The remark landed like a SKUD, the main teacher loosing two shades of colour as she considered her best class. 45 youngsters that she had just alienated because of her prejudices against men. What a waste… to loose the loyalty of such brilliant minds and hearts. To loose the respect of Frances who attacked head first.

— "You spoke of gang bang. You spoke of unamable things that have no place in our school, and you called her a whore on her birthday. This is more despicable than anything we could have done"

Tristan's chest filled with pride; oh, she was riled up, the little fairy. And her words cut deep, so true that they rang in the classroom. Miss Pansy's features turned stony, her eyes flashing in anger.

— "That is enough, Frances. You shut up now"

And the young woman, rather than retaliate, chose to flee through the secondary door. Tristan had no time to close the distance as he saw her reddish hair disappear in the restroom on the other side of the corridor. The student's distress tugged at him the wrong way.

Pissed beyond measure, he decided to prawl to the main teacher. Funny, how he towered over her when standing close enough. The little woman and her strange white hair had to crane her neck to watch him, fear registering in her brain. Good. He was the predator now, and she… the sheep.

— "You have handled this situation in a very unprofessional manner", he stated, detaching every syllable. "To confront a student alone, three against one, was an abuse that I might have to report. The words you spoke will not be taken kindly by the academy"

His gaze pinned the teacher to the ground, exactly where he wanted her to be. Until he saw her knees tremble, and sweat forming upon her brow. Then he nodded to Alain and pivoted on his heels, disappearing through the same door that had swallowed Frances a minute before. The teacher closed it behind him; he didn't want anyone to witness the young woman's distress should he catch her in the corridor. As a matter of fact, she was still scooped in the restroom.

Tristan sighed, rasping his knuckles on the door. The faint sound of sniffling stopped; she was holding her breath, hoping he would go away. But he couldn't leave her like this. So he knocked again and spoke softly through the door.

— "Frances, it's Mr Kristiansen. Can you please come out?"

A moment passed, the silence barely disturbed by Alain's voice that trailed in the deserted corridor. The certitude that she wouldn't open caused a pang of sadness to his heart, but the young woman didn't have to trust him. Should he pull the 'professor' card ? No. She'd been betrayed by her main teacher. Yet, he wanted to offer comfort.

— "Please", he whispered.

A slight shuffle echoed in the small restroom before the lock clanged. On a whim, Tristan opened the door then pushed the young woman inside, locking again behind him. As he watched her tear stained face, Tristan's heart lurched. His arms opened by themselves.

— "Come here", he commanded.

As she stood, frozen, he reached out and folded his long limbs around her. She didn't resist, but her arms were clenched to her chest as he embraced her lithe frame. The young woman shook, the nervous strain eventually catching up with her, and he tightened his hold.

— "It will be allright", he whispered in her ear.

Frances sniffled again, trembling like a leaf. For a long moment, he just stood there, one hand cradling her shoulders and the other tightly woven around her waist, crushing her into his chest. And it felt right, and wrong at the same time, to hold her so intimately. Because he never wanted to let go; she fit like a glove in his arms. Such a tiny frame, with so much hidden power. At last, the shaking subsided, and her hands circled his waist, allowing her cheek to rest upon his jumper. She remained here, drawing strength that he was too eager to share until she took a shuddering breath, and pulled back.

— "Thank you, professor"

Tristan had to struggle to keep his hands to himself; now that the distance had been crossed, her craved intimacy more than ever. Damn, he was probably just missing his wife.

— "You are welcome"

— "I fear she will hate me now, and ruin my year. Perhaps find a way to kick me out"

The teacher frowned; it was a valid concern. Going against your principal teacher was bound to stir unrest in those elite classes. Hopefully, his threat would quell any attempts at harassing Frances.

— "Mr Tebrus will not allow it. I will not allow it. If retaliation comes your way, we will report their behaviour to the academy"

— "You can do that ?"

There was disbelief in his student's voice, but Tristan didn't show how unsure he was about this whole reporting. For all he knew, the academy would dismiss them as loonies.

— "We can, and we will. Rest assured, your scholarship is not in danger"

— "Thank you, a lot. For your support, and for everything"

It was a tough world for bright souls… If he could make a little difference, he was glad of it. So he told her, without detour, what he thought of her attitude.

— "You are very welcome. You are a strong woman, and I think Madeleyne was glad for your presence yesterday."

— "Right. I think we should get out of there before the bell rings…"

Truthfully, Frances didn't pass unnoticed. Neither did he. Should they be caught in there by anyone, he would end up in a trial of some kind, or fired. So Tristan nodded, noticing that colours were returning to her cheeks. Hoping that his presence had helped her somehow. Of course, she would have managed without him… but he felt better than he'd been there anyway. So when she gave him a sad smile and walked, he responded with his own, startled that her scent lingering upon his shirt brought him such joy.

What a fucking mess.

Please review ? Or build me a golden castle, as you wish.