Fall 2008, Charlottesville, VA

Elizabeth McCord sauntered into her office, extremely satisfied with her most recent lecture. She'd begun teaching International Relations of the Middle East this semester, and was completely in her element. She hadn't quite achieved full professor status, but had impressed the department chairs enough to be recognized as a rising star in politics.

Elizabeth flung her bag on her desk chair, and started unbuttoning her coat, when a knock sounded at her office door.

She turned toward the noise. A tall, sharply dressed young man stood in her doorway, a distinct contrast from her first impression of him, nearly two years before. His dress shirt and pants were impeccably pressed and precisely creased, and he wore a blazer under his coat. His black leather bag hung from his shoulder, and he carried a tray with two Starbucks cups in one hand.

"Blake! Hi!" Elizabeth greeted him eagerly. "I feel the need for a high five. I just rocked my lecture."

She shimmied her hips, shuffling her way back to where he stood. Blake snorted to himself. For all of her talents, Elizabeth McCord had horrible rhythm.

Blake awkwardly held up his hand, palm out. Elizabeth swung to reach it, and missed. The noise she made was somewhere between a snort and a giggle.

"Damn, I always misjudge how tall you are." She looked down at her heeled boots. "I'm not jumping in these shoes. Come down to my level, will you?"

She laughed, breathlessly, as he shifted his hand lower, and their palms smacked. Her enthusiasm forced Blake into a reluctant smile.

"Hello, Elizabeth," Blake responded somberly.

He'd fallen into the familiar address over time, as they'd remained friendly after their semester ended. Blake was Elizabeth's favorite student, as much for his aptitude with the content as for his witty quips and quick sarcasm. He'd also proven to be an intelligent, competent sounding board for her most complicated research hypotheses. Blake often stopped by her office bearing sugary treats and a bit of salacious university gossip, providing much needed entertainment when the rigors of academia threatened to swamp them both.

"It's Dr. McCord, now, punk." She winked with a broad grin and tilt of her head. "Official as of last month. If you weren't such a great student, and actually slacked off to play hooky for lunch with me, you might already know." The frequency of his visits had waned this semester, and Elizabeth missed the lighthearted moments they'd shared over coffee and donuts.

"Congratulations," Blake offered, soberly. His dismay hung like a cloud over his head.

"What's up, dude?" She joked, trying to coax a smile to his face. At his impassive expression, Elizabeth relented. "I still can't pull that off, can I? Huh." She jerked a shoulder. "I'll keep working on it."

"You do that. Boom is always timeless, if you want to be cool."

"I can sense your sarcasm, in spades," she retorted. "My kids claim I'll never be cool. I'm guessing you agree." Elizabeth waved off the rhetorical question with a wiggle of her fingers. Then she grew serious. "What's wrong, Blake? Your blazer is unbuttoned." He glanced down, acknowledging the uncharacteristic slight but unable to focus enough to fix it. Elizabeth reached out to straighten his pocket square, startling Blake out of his melancholy. "I'm sensing an Eeyore footnote here."

"Um, seems like I'm not such a great student, after all. I'm in Calc this semester, and you'd think I'd get it. But no, I'm struggling. Big time. I've put it off as long as I could, for this reason." His head hung slightly in defeat. "I have to pass this class or I won't graduate next spring." Blake sagged against the doorframe. "I was, well, hoping you could help." His voice trailed off in embarrassment, as his gaze settled on his shoes.

"Lighten up, bright eyes." Elizabeth smacked Blake on the arm, but not the one holding the tray of coffee. That she took from him. "If there's one thing I can nail better than a dance party, it's logarithmic differentiation. You came to the right math nerd. I've got ya."

Blake's face transformed with skepticism as he slowly raised an eyebrow. "What? Henry thinks I'm a good dancer," Elizabeth stated, firmly. And the other eyebrow shot up. "Seriously? I can't dance?" Now sincere shock tinged her voice. Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at Blake. He reluctantly shook his head negatively. "I should know better than to listen to him," Elizabeth grumbled, half heartedly. "He's never the right guy to ask."

"The other Dr. McCord is slightly biased," Blake pointed out. "I state the obvious, because I care."

Elizabeth regarded Blake a moment, then shrugged in amused resignation. "Well, Einstein probably couldn't dance either." A fierce light flashed in her blue eyes, as if she were contemplating a challenge she knew she would dominate.

Elizabeth shoved aside stacks of papers on her desk to make room for the coffee, and struggled out of her coat and blazer, motioning Blake to do the same. She tossed hers in the direction of the rack in the corner of the room; he grimaced when they landed on the floor in a tangled pile. "Bllaaakke," Elizabeth admonished with a laugh, drawing out his name in a mock whine. "It's not," she fished for a word, gesticulating wildly, "cashmere, it's fine." At his horrified glare, she acquiesced, planting her hands on her hips. "Of course, it's cashmere. This is you we're talking about here." Blake gingerly reached down and hung her garments and his precisely and neatly on the hooks.

"I assume one of these was for me?" Laughing, Elizabeth indicated the coffee, buried amidst books and folders. "If not, you need to cut back on the caffeine."

Blake actually snorted out loud in response, before he caught himself.

"Yeah, I'm really one to be the coffee police, aren't I?" Elizabeth smirked, unapologetically. "Normally, I'd agree with you, but this?" She waved with her empty hand, up and down her body. "This is all mojo. I have it in abundance today, so you're in luck."

Elizabeth gestured to the chair in front of her desk as she hauled hers around from behind it, tossing her bag her desk, nearly toppling the coffee. Blake winced, righting the cups as he began to systematically sort the hodgepodge of academia scattered across the wood. Elizabeth flopped down with gusto, grabbing the coffee and propping her boots up on the desk as she watched him affectionately.

"You didn't happen to bring any bear claws, did you?" Her tone was hopeful, blue eyes pleading. "I'm starving."

Blake reluctantly stopped organizing to pull a brown paper bag from within the depths of black leather. "Ah ha. You're like Mary Poppins today. Got an umbrella in that bag?" She pounced on the pastries, while Blake stared in confusion at the bright sun streaming through Elizabeth's office window. At his expression, Elizabeth burst into laughter again. "Never mind. Just gimme."

Elizabeth nearly buried her face in the bag as she took a bite of the warm sugar, the brilliant blue warming with bliss. She sighed dramatically. "I can always count on you to feed me."

"Now, I have a few hours free before my next meeting, and I'm caught up on my grading," she managed, mouth full. "Sit down, and let's see what we can do. Calculus has nothing on me."

Two hours later, Blake nearly skipped out the door, a spring in his step, his blazer perfectly buttoned. For what Elizabeth McCord lacked in dancing ability, she far exceeded in mathematical prowess. Calculus now had nothing on Blake Moran, either.