Your feet hit the pavement in a steady pattern, a little splash accenting every few steps from the rain that had fallen overnight. You glanced at the silver watch on your wrist and quickened your pace. Although the private university was small and you only had a block or two to walk, you still found yourself having difficulty making it in the time you had allotted. It would not do to be late to class on the first day.
A hurried "thank you" rushed from your lips to the boy who held the door open for you. You broke into a jog, hugging your messenger bag to your hip, to keep it from bouncing and bruising you. You reached the door of your classroom with one minute to spare.
Entering the classroom, every head turned towards you. Your heart stopped. Apparently, being on time was not going to be good enough.
"Nice of you to join us. Take a seat," the professor said, disdain dripping from his lips.
Spotting your roommate, you moved to take the seat in the back row next to her so you could die of shame appropriately. At least she had saved you a place. Thank goodness for small mercies.
"No." The deep voice stopped you. "Front and center."
You saw the empty desk in the front row. It might as well have been a gallows. Staring at the floor, you felt the heat spreading across your face, the few feet to the desk felt like miles. If only you would suddenly appear naked, you would at least know this humiliation was a dream.
But no, your clothes stayed stubbornly put. This wasn't a dream. You glanced up to see the blue eyes of Steve Rogers bearing down on you, brows furrowed as he moved from behind his desk. He looked so different in a pressed white shirt and black slacks. Much less a superhero without the stars and stripes but so much more than a mortal. And now the most beautiful man you had ever seen was glaring at you. This was a living nightmare.
"I'm passing around a seating chart. Write your name in the appropriate spot. This is your seat for the rest of the semester. I will take attendance using this chart. Three missed classes, and I will drop you from the course."
When you selected courses for the year, you had been so excited to take this class. American History 101 taught by Captain America himself. It was one of the reasons you had chosen this institution. Everyone tried to get into his classes. You couldn't believe you had made the cut. You needed this class and the next one he taught to fulfill your history credits. And now you were stuck, in the front row, with a teacher that already hated you for an entire year. You would just have to prove yourself. Show him you were an excellent student and earn his respect.
"I assume everyone printed out the syllabus that was emailed to you. I want to go over some expectations before we begin the lecture."
You glanced to your right and left. Everyone was pulling out papers from binders. You took out the notebook in your bag with a small sigh and settled it in front of you. A shadow fell over the lined pages before he came into view. A small stack of paper stapled at the top was thrust under your nose. Tilting your head back, your heart sunk at the disapproval etched on your professor's face. "Thank you," you whispered.
He turned and started pacing the front of the room. "First thing to know in my class, if you are on time, you are late. Second, I expect everyone to come prepared every day."
You steadied your breathing, focusing on the black print in front of you. You could cry later if you needed to, but not here.
Steve knew the moment she walked in she'd be trouble. Cutting it so close to the beginning of class time. The doe-eyed way she'd noticed everyone's gaze on her, searching for a familiar face or a seat in the back to seek refuge in. Looking so lost. He should have let it go, let her hide out of his sight for the rest of the semester, but he didn't. He could always spot potential. Someone who could be molded into so much more. In that moment, the temptation was too great to resist. He wanted her where he could see her. Why did it have to be a student?
By the end of the class, he'd told himself to keep his distance from her. He caught glimpses of her as he lectured, tapping her toes, chewing on her pencil. Wound up so tight. So in need of release and a guiding hand to show her how. He shook his head. He never succumbed to his desires and prided himself on his self-control. All he needed to do was treat her with the same coolness he treated the others. She would rail against him, feeling nothing but contempt and looking back on him someday as the professor that treated her harshly. And wasn't it better that way?
Days quickly became a massive blur between classes, studying, and work. You had managed to find a part-time job at the local grocery store unloading the early morning trucks and stocking shelves on Mondays, Wednesday, and Fridays while working the registers the other days of the week. This meant little to no sleep but isn't that what college life entailed anyways; burning the candle from both ends? Maybe they meant more partying and fewer responsibilities, but when were you supposed to fit in a kegger?
Your roommate, Heather, didn't seem to have any trouble balancing school and fun. She spent far more time socializing than you did working. You didn't know how she was surviving. It always seemed she was collapsing into bed about the time you headed out to work. You never saw her study, but she didn't seem stressed whereas your nails were bitten to the quick.
All your hard work was going to pay off. You were sure of it because it had to. You were maintaining good grades in most of your classes. The only concern you had was history. Professor Rogers didn't have many assignments or tests throughout the semester. Just 4 papers and a final. You'd worked hard on the first paper. Spending so much time in the library. Typing and retyping. You felt fairly confident and hoped it would smooth over any lingering annoyance he might still have. Although you'd been early, prepared, and completed all the readings, he still seemed cold. Not that he was overly friendly with the other students, but he occasionally cracked a smile or even a joke with them. Never with you.
The day he handed back the papers, you sat in your seat. Zach, the boy diagonally behind you said "hi" like he always did, asking about your weekend. His dimpled smile and dark brown eyes almost gave you something to look forward to in these classes.
But the weight of the paper made it difficult to breathe let alone converse. Your heart and lungs felt constricted in your chest. You prayed for an A, hoped for a good solid B, and tried not to think of anything below that. Anything lower would make it hard to bring your average up by the end of the semester. Having to be perfect had never been your strong suit.
Finally, he passed them back. A red curved C was at the top of yours. You flipped through the pages. No other notes or markings were in the margins. What had you done wrong?
Heather walked from her safe seat in the back, up the isles to yours. "Bam!" she said, slamming her red A on your desk. "How did you do?"
"Not so good," you whispered. "You go on ahead. I'm gonna talk to him about my grade."
"Ok. I can wait for you outside if you want." She shoved her paper in her backpack, crinkling as it met with resistance.
You shook your head. How had she done so much better than you? She wrote it the night before it was due. You had to show her how to format her sources properly. Jealousy rose from your stomach, coating everything until all you could taste was your own bitterness.
Professor Rogers was gathering the last few remaining items, placing them in his leather satchel with care. It was now or never.
"Excuse me, um, Professor?" You stood at the desk, waiting for him to acknowledge you.
His blue eyes met yours. He straightened in his chair, leaning back, his elbows resting on the arms as his fingers interlaced before him. As it occasionally happened while he lectured, your mind drifted off marveling at his chiseled physique, wondering how many Nazis he killed with those hands. Long fingers wrapped around throats, curled into fists breaking jaws, pulling triggers. Your name on his lips roused you. "What did you need?" he asked.
"Sorry, sir. I was just wondering if I could ask you about my grade?" You placed your work on the desk.
He glanced at it briefly, his eyes coming back to you. "What about your grade?"
You swallowed hard and took a deep breath. "Well, I was just wondering why you gave me a C." You could hear your voice trailing off as you finished your sentence watching his brows raise in incredulity.
"First, I did not give you a C. You earned that. If you believe that to be unfair, then I would suggest taking your studies more seriously instead of using my class as your hunting ground."
You could feel your mouth hanging open as you struggled to process what he had just said. "Hunting? Hunting for what?"
His eyes traveled over you. "I know an M.R.S. degree candidate when I see one.
"A what?" What was he even saying? How could this be happening? Never had anyone ever treated you with such open hostility. What had you done to deserve this?
"A girl who goes to college to find a husband." His arms crossed, challenging you.
Heat was coiling in your stomach. Bile rising. "That's not—"
His fingers steepled under his chin. "Really? What's your major?"
"I don't know." You shifted your feet, averting your gaze to the floor. "I haven't de—"
"You don't know?" he interrupted again. "Then why are you here?"
"To learn." Your eyes burned with unspent tears as you tried to will them from falling.
"To learn what? What is it you want?" His voice though still clear and demanding and softened slightly.
Glancing up, you tried to study him through your water-blurred eyes. What did you want? No one had ever asked you that. Your parents had always made sure you chose what they wanted for you. "I-I don't know yet."
"Mmhmm. Until you figure that out, I suggest you start taking this class more seriously. You can begin by dressing like you're here 'to learn.'" He stood, gathered his things and left.
You stared at your paper with more questions swirling around your mind than you had before you set it down. You glanced down at your clothes. You wore a tank top and some jeans with a few holes in them. Nothing everyone else wasn't wearing too. An M.R.S. candidate? Did he really think you were just here to ensnare an unsuspecting husband? Shame quickly became anger. You would show him.
Steve turned back to see her trembling hand retrieve the essay. A quick brush of her cheeks rid her face of any errant tears. Navigating the halls, Steve reached his office. Had he been too harsh? No, he told himself. She'll go out of her way to piss you off. Tighter clothes. Flirting with more boys. Then you'll know she's just like the rest.
Ever since he'd come back, regardless of all the fights he'd won; his own inner demons had always been his biggest battle. He fought against his needs. Against his desires. His few relationships had only confirmed that he required more than an equal partnership where all decisions were based on compromise and a natural give and take. He needed control.
Finding, a like-minded woman, one willing to give herself over to him had proven difficult. Even the women who claimed to be submissive only meant within the confines of the bedroom. He required more. He would wait until he found the perfect woman for him. He was nothing if not patient.
Stubborn pride fueled you. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday you wore your best, most modest outfits. Blouses, skirts, pants without rips and holes. You stopped talking to Zach, well, talking to any guy really. You were here for an education not to arrange an advantageous marriage.
You spent all of your free time in the library. Heather had found herself a partner and as much as you wanted to be happy for her, you needed quiet to do your work. The library had been a pleasant sanctuary until Professor Rogers started frequenting it as well. Every night, he would sit at a table just within your periphery, reading and writing on his yellow legal pad.
In fact, you had started seeing him just about everywhere you went around campus. You crossed paths on your way to classes. Never acknowledging each other. He would pick up dinner to go from the dining hall every night as you sat down to eat. Maybe you had just never noticed him before you wanted to avoid him. But how could you not have noticed him? He was Captain America. He stood out in a crowd even in dress shirts and blazers. You would probably die if you ever saw him in jeans. Of course, the gaggles of girls that giggled their way after him was hard to miss too. They wouldn't be so lovestruck if they knew what he actually thought about girls like them.
Steve watched her closely as she scanned items at her register station. This was getting out of hand. He had noticed immediately, that she started dressing more conservatively. His favorites were the little cardigans she began to wear. That little prick Zach could barely catch her eye anymore. She never spoke to him. Or smiled at him. The fact that she had listened to his criticisms and changed her behaviors to fit his expectations, made Steve feel something he hadn't felt in years. Hope.
After gaining access to her student file and schedule, it was easy to adjust his own to observe her more. But it wasn't enough. He needed to know where she was when she wasn't near him. He'd finally followed her to her job. Retail work was not something she should be subjected to. It was easy enough to get a glimpse of her work schedule by asking the manager what times the store was less crowded to avoid making a scene. It was right there, hanging in the hallway by his office. His poor little girl was working so hard. He'd have to see what he could do to remedy this. But how to get her to come to him?
Steve loaded his groceries into his car. Sitting in the front seat, he pulled out a stack of papers from his satchel flipping through them until he came to yours. It was grammatically and factually correct just like the first. It was lacking in insight, also like the first. This was what he needed. She approached him once. She'd do it again. But just in case…he marked a red C at the top of her paper and added "Please see me" underneath.
You couldn't believe it. Another C. It made no sense. You researched everything. You had sources. What were you doing wrong? You'd never been a stellar student but you'd always managed A's and B's. You waited until everyone had left, Heather didn't even bother to ask if you wanted her to wait. Her love was in a classroom down the hall waiting to be escorted elsewhere. Sighing, you gathered your things and closed the gap between you and the teacher's desk.
Professor Rogers stared at you. Waiting for you to approach. As always, he was difficult to read. You could never guess his mood. Would he yell at you? Would he laugh at you? Did he enjoy making you nervous?
"You wanted to see me, sir?" you asked, forcing your voice to sound firm when you so badly just want to hide.
"Yes, I think we need to discuss your grades. I think you could be doing much better. I'd like to meet with you during offices hours to go over your papers and offer you a chance to correct your previous ones as well as work on the next one. I don't offer this opportunity to many."
"Thank you, sir. I just—" you sighed. You didn't want to decline his generous offer but…
"You just what?" he prompted.
"I have classes during your office hours." You knew you couldn't skip and fall behind in your other classes to catch up in this one. You were actually doing well in the others.
Professor Rogers stood, forcing you to crane your head back to maintain eye contact. "I'll meet with you at 7 p.m. in my office on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays then."
Your eyes widened. The building would be empty. Evening classes were only held on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Alone with Professor Rogers. How should you feel about that? You were definitely nervous and scared. But some small part of you was excited. "Yes, sir. Thank you so much for this opportunity. I'll see you tonight then." Turning on the spot, you left before he could change his mind. What the hell had just happened?
What had he just done? Steve had put himself in the situation of being alone with a female student after hours. This was against every employee handbook ever written. But he had been right about her having potential. Untapped. Unvarnished. He knew he could help her in so many ways. Maybe someday she could help him.
No. He turned to clean the board behind him off for the next class. He had to put those thoughts away. Long strokes erased the black marker on the white surface. She was his student. He needed to keep this professional. Any possible scandal would put both their futures in jeopardy.
Steve enjoyed his job teaching. He didn't particularly need the money but he needed the outlet. Retirement would never be something he was comfortable with. He had a book deal in the works for an autobiography. If that did well, then he could write whatever he wanted. But no one would want to publish a book by a creepy centenarian that got caught with much much younger student. One who would forever be cast as a pariah for the rest of her life.
Self-control had never been a problem before. He was always disciplined and level-headed. Steve was sure he could muster enough willpower to keep things professional. But the fact that he had taken it this far at all was concerning. She was going to disappoint him eventually and he needed to give her the opportunity to do so. Then he could move on without regrets. He repeated this to himself, his own mantra, trying to tamp down the voice that kept asking "But what if…"