The tinkle of a bell and a blast of blessedly warm air welcomed me as I stepped out of the chill of the New York fall and I rejoiced in the heat, letting it soak into my legs. Tomorrow, I decided firmly, I was definitely checking the weather report before getting dressed. Skirts and cold fronts went together like ice cream and pickles.

"I'll be with you in a moment." The voice had come from somewhere in the bowels of the dark shop.

"Take your time," I called back, shifting my attention to inspecting the shop. Clocks of all shapes, sizes, and ages adorned every surface of the store. The few glass cases were full of more varieties of watches than I had known existed, all carefully and lovingly displayed. This area was calm and organized; chaos was obviously neither welcome nor tolerated here. It didn't escape my notice that every timepiece was perfectly synchronized.

Movement caught my eye, and I turned to see a tall, dark haired man coming out of the back. He wasn't actually classically handsome, but his dark good looks were striking and hinted at some Italian or Eastern European descent. The five o'clock shadow already darkening his jaw gave him a rugged look, starkly contrasting his immaculate clothes. "I'm Gabriel Gray. Can I help you?"

I smiled politely at him and shook his hand. "Hero Ramsey."

He blinked at me in the same way everyone did. "Is that some sort of alias?"

Having been through this drill with just about everyone I met, I had already pulled out my drivers' license to show him. "My parents are both Classical Literature professors with a warped sense of humor. My name is from Much Ado About Nothing."

He grinned and handed the card back. "It's one of my favorite plays."

I winked at him. "According to Mom, her vindictiveness was directly proportionate to how long she was in labor. Ariadne was born after 2 hours and an epidural, but my twin brother and I were a 20 hour labor that ended in a c-section."

Gabriel winced. "What's his name? Hercules? Macbeth?"

"Worse. Leonidas."

"Ouch."

"Yeah." Moving on the reason I'd come, I pulled an old battered box out of my purse and handed it to him, watching as he opened it to reveal an ancient-looking silver pocket watch and pulled it out for inspection. "I'm not actually sure how old it is, but it's been in my family for generations. I wanted to repair it as a Christmas gift for my dad. As far as I know, it hasn't worked in decades, though. At least, not since I've been alive."

As I spoke, he inspected the watch with ease that spoke of long practice. He pulled a tool out from behind the counter. "May I?" At my nod, he carefully pulled off the back, scanning the interior with an expert eye. It didn't take long before he clicked his tongue and replaced the back. "I can fix it, but it's going to be pricey. I'd estimate the watch is about 150 years old. Most of the parts will have to be special ordered."

I shifted my weight as I listened, silently cursing my choice of footwear. A day mostly on my feet was catching up to me. Damn stilettos for being so cute. "That's fine. I expected something like that."

He smiled and reached down to pull out some papers from the counter. He did some quick calculations in his head and scribbled them down before turning the paper to me. "I just need you to fill this out, and a number I can reach you when you can pick it up."

I nodded, already writing down my information. "This is my cell, but I'm adding a note here; if you need to reach me between 8 and 5 on Tuesdays and Thursdays, you'll have to call the university physics department, since there's no cell reception in the lab."

"You work at a university?" The surprise in his voice made me look up at him. He was watching me, his dark eyes unblinking.

"New York University. I teach physics when I'm not in the lab." I could tell he was trying not to look dubious, and I shot him an understanding smile, sliding the completed paperwork back to him. "I know. I get that look a lot. Being blonde and saddled with a name like Hero, my option was pretty much 'or doctorate' when it came to my career."

He didn't look chagrined that I had guessed what he was thinking. "With your accent and the way you look, I assumed you were some sort of executive."

This wasn't the first comment along those lines that I'd heard in the three months I'd been in New York, and it was all I could do not to roll my eyes and sigh. Instead, I smiled. "I'm originally from Atlanta, but I moved a few months ago. And the rest..." I shrugged, self-consciously tugging on a piece of my long hair. "In my field, it's hard to be taken seriously as a girl. Somewhere in grad school, I decided I didn't want to do the frumpy nerdy thing anymore."

"Just the nerdy thing," he asked, not looking up from the paper, but I caught his mischievous grin. Surprised, I laughed.

I smiled at him, but jumped about a foot in the air as every clock in the shop suddenly began chiming simultaneously. I arched a disgruntled eyebrow at his sudden coughing fit that sounded suspiciously like laughter. "Smooth recovery," I said dryly, rolling my eyes, but unable to stop my own smile.

He didn't bother to hide his smirk. "Alright, I'll call you when I'm done. Should be about five business days."

I shook my head, amused. "I'll talk to you then. Have a good night, Mr. Gray."

0o0o0o0o0

Finished with the equation, I capped the dry erase marker and turned back to the class. "Does that make sense? I see some people nodding…I see some people nodding asleep. Levi! Look sharp!" The marker I chucked at the freshman nailed him in the head and bounced to the floor. I smiled as some of the students chuckled; they were all well acquainted with my method of calling on them. "Let's say that marker has a mass of 1 kilogram, and I threw it at 5 meters per second squared. With what force did it hit your head?"

He froze, and for a second I wondered if he'd reply. I was positive he knew the answer, but all semester I'd been trying to encourage him to say it out loud. Levi was sharp as a whip, but timid. I almost laughed triumphantly when he tossed the marker back to me. "5 newtons."

"Excellent." I didn't aim this time, just tossing the marker into the students in the small lecture hall. Some of them ducked, but the marker was caught by a small, pale hand. "Claire, how did he get that answer?" The pretty blond girl was much more confident than Levi, probably a consequence of her celebrity status as the poster girl for the Specials Movement. Still, physics didn't come as naturally to her as it did to him.

"He multiplied the mass of the marker by the acceleration," she answered, tossing the marker back easily.

"Very good," I said, smiling, catching the marker. I glanced at the wall clock and noticed the time. "Alright, guys. Do you have any questions about the final, or your project?"

A few hands rose, and I leaned back against my desk, crossing my legs in front of me as I tossed the marker at the first hand I saw. "Tyler."

"How many questions are going to be on the exam? Is it going to be very difficult?"

I arched an eyebrow. "You just want me to say it's going to be long and hard?" Some of the students laughed, and Tyler threw the marker back. Another hand was raised, and again the marker flew through the air. "Mark."

"Are you grading on a curve?"

I shrugged, crossing my arms. "You'll need to know this stuff for next semester, so probably not. But then, I'm a woman, and you know how fickle we are."

"Not all of us are going to take Physics 3002," Claire pointed out.

I frowned, gesturing for Mark to throw the marker back. "Most of you are. Why did you take this class?"

"You got really great reviews on RateMyProfessor," she said, grinning.

I snorted. "Yeah, my students tend to drink a lot. Lee."

"Do you want us to email you our projects or bring you hardcopies?" He threw the marker back, but it went wide and clattered against the whiteboard.

"Email. And bonus points will be awarded if your compressed file is smaller than your original file," I added dryly. Another glance at the clock, and I straightened, signaling the end of class. "Remember, this is a scantron test, so you will need a pencil. I'll bring some pencils, but they are of the mini golf variety. I call this the ultimate thrill...taking a final without an eraser." At this, they laughed again as they started to stand. "Alright, guys, I'll see you at the Final."

As they filed out of the room, I started erasing the whiteboard. A few students stayed behind with questions, as usual. For the most part, they were simple questions, clarifying equations or confirming lab times. Claire surprised me, though, lingering after the rest had left. She generally seemed to prefer finding the answers herself or with her study group.

"I got the rough draft of your paper, and it was very good," I said with a smile. "You sure I can't tempt you away from Liberal Arts?"

She laughed and shook her head. "Sorry, but I prefer psychology. Physics seems to be one step away from magic." I snorted, but had to admit thinking the same thing when I'd been a student. "Actually, Doctor Ramsey, some of the other students and I were planning to meet at a bar Friday, to celebrate the end of Finals. We were wondering if you'd like to come."

I couldn't help that my eyebrows practically flew off my face in surprise. "Normally, I'd ask if this were a bribe or something, but you're not the type. Alright, sounds good. Email me with the time and place."

"I'll do that," she said, looking pleased that I'd accepted. I returned her smile as she departed, and finished packing up my papers and laptop.

As I began to make my way home for the night, my thoughts kept returning to her. Claire Bennet, Indestructible Girl. I'd been in grad school a year ago, when she'd leapt off the Ferris Wheel on national television and effectively pulled the blindfold off of the world's populace.

Even more than the general public, the science community had been floored by the exposure of "supernatural abilities". Though evolution was scientific fact and Dr. Suresh's research – now required material for high school and college students alike – certainly explained why certain people had extraordinary abilities, the how behind their abilities had been the million dollar question. How did a man's power actually enable him to fly off the ground, let alone break the sound barrier? How could a human control the flow of life and death with just a touch?

I'd earned my Ph.D. through working on that problem. My dissertation had proposed the idea of an omnipresent particle that Special's had evolved the ability to manipulate. When I'd managed to prove its existence, the board had signed my doctorate blindfolded.

Unfortunately, it wasn't just the scientific community that was thrown. Though day-to-day life continued for the most part, culturally, the world was in upheaval. Ultra-religious communities declared Specials an abomination and were seeking to take away rights. Even among the secular population, fear was rampant.

I certainly held no religious beliefs, and thought it was ridiculous to try and deny rights to another human being, but…some of those abilities were terrifying. How did someone like me, with no special ability, protect themselves against someone with superpowers? Specials were like any other demographic: some were the very best of humanity, and some were the absolute worst.

There was something of a wary truce between Specials and Normals; for the most part, no one would bat an eyelash now if some guy leapt into the air and flew away, but many Specials spoke of their ability only to loved ones, if at all. I couldn't blame them; danger from bigots was very real.

Plus, I reasoned, it was probably like owning a truck: once word gets out that you had one, suddenly everyone wants you to help them move.

My thoughts ended abruptly when a hand wrapped around my mouth and I was pulled into an alley, too surprised to even struggle. It wasn't until I was surrounded by the gang that my brain caught up to the situation. Adrenalin surged almost painfully, and I could practically feel my pupils dilate. My bag was already being dumped on the ground and rifled through.

Though my first instinct was to fight, I forced myself to stay still. Let them take what they want, and maybe they'll let me go. One of the men was holding me against his chest, one hand on my mouth and the other pinning my arms to my side.

It wasn't until I felt another hand beginning to pull my shirt up that I started struggling. Robbery was one thing, but I wasn't going to let them rape me without a fight. I bit down as hard as I could on the hand covering my mouth, simultaneously stomping hard on his instep and ramming my head back against his delicate nose.

For some reason, as though my mind were trying to protect itself, calculations were running through my head. The slender steel of my high heels focused 10N of force to a single point on the fragile bones of his foot, equivalent to 22lbs falling on his instep. A clenched jaw was roughly 500 pounds of pressure. The combined mass of a human skull and the sharp acceleration of panic hit his nose with approximately 6lbs of force; not enough to break it, but it would hurt like an S.O.B.

With a cry of pain, he released me long enough to scream bloody murder before one of the other thugs punched me hard on the jaw. My head snapped back, the blow stunning me briefly, but then I was fighting like a wildcat. Sharp nails caught one of them across the face even while another grabbed my hair and yanked my head back hard enough to throw me to the ground. Instinctively, I kicked out blindly.

As though in slow motion, I saw one of the men pull a pistol out and aim it. My eyes closed and I felt my lungs exhale, waiting for the pain.

Instead of the sharp crack of a gun, I heard one of the men scream. My eyes flew open, and I blinked, unable to trust my eyes. The shooter was pulling himself off the ground, and one of the thugs was being hurled against the side of a building by invisible hands. The other three cursed furiously before taking off down the alley. Confused, I clambered to my feet and turned grimly to face whoever had scared off my attackers, knowing I'd never be able to outrun a telekinetic.

"Hero Ramsey?" Though the tone was of utter disbelief, the voice sounded familiar. Blood was dripping into my eyes and I could only make out a shadowy figure approaching. "It's Gabriel Gray. Are you alright?"

I literally sagged against the wall in relief. The watchmaker. He was close enough now that I could see it really was him. Instinctively, I buried my face in his chest, seeking comfort in the pseudo-familiar. Gabriel tensed for a moment, as though unused to contact, but then wrapped his arms around me. "I'm fine," I muttered into his chest, my voice shakier than I'd intended. With a deep breath, I closed my eyes to try and collect myself. Gently, he pulled away just enough to tilt my chin with one hand, inspecting me for damage.

"Yeah, you look fine," he said dryly, but his tone was gentle. "Let me take you to the hospital."

I shook my head, but winced when the movement hurt my head. "No, I just need to go home. I'm fine," I said again. With a deep breath, I pulled back and scanned the alley, frowning when I didn't see what I was looking for. "They took my bag."

"But not your life," he pointed out, watching me intently.

"Thanks to my knight in shining armor." I tried to smile to show I was teasing, but my face didn't want to cooperate, and the joke fell flat.

"You're in shock. My shop's just around the corner. You can get cleaned up, and then I'll take you home," he said gently, but there was underlying steel to the words that said it wasn't a suggestion. He held out his hand, and after a moment of hesitation, I took it.

"I don't live far," I said, letting him lead me out of the alley. "My apartment's only a few doors down from your shop."

To his credit, Gabriel didn't say a word during the five minute walk about me walking so close to him that we were practically occupying the same space, or the fact that I still hadn't let go of his hand. We didn't speak again until we reached my apartment building and I realized the thugs had taken my keys. Perhaps the flustered look on my face told him, because he waved his hand and the door unlocked before I could say anything. He did the same with my apartment door, and it wasn't until I felt him let go of my hand that I realized he wouldn't follow me inside without permission.

It was a small apartment, all I could afford on a professor's salary and my meager savings, but it was the first time I'd ever lived without roommates, and I'd done my best to make it home. The front door opened into a small living room, with a kitchen off to one side that I'd separated with a worn out couch I'd bought on Craigslist my first week. The only real decoration in the room were the framed photos of friends and family that spanned the length of one whole wall, a collection of memories I planned to expand. The bedroom – opposite the front door – was the only room I'd spent real money on; the walls were the same soothing green of summer sunlight shining through leaves, and the king sized bed was my big splurge in my move, though the worn cream-colored comforter had carried me through college.

"Is there someone you can call," he asked. "You shouldn't be alone right now."

I almost said yes, but then I realized they'd taken my cell phone, and I didn't have any numbers memorized. I ran a hand through my hair. "If you need to go, I understand."

He stared at me intently, as though trying to read me. Then, without a word, he stepped passed me into the tiny apartment. It occurred to me as I shut the door that he seemed to know what I needed better than I did. More perplexing was that I felt safer with what was essentially a stranger than I would with any of the friends I could have called.

"Would you like some coffee or something," I asked, balancing myself with a hand on the wall as I unstrapped my heels. He watched me for a moment as I struggled with the strap, and I realized my hand was shaking. Frustrated with my inability to control my own body, I clenched my hand and forced it to stop trembling long enough to undo the buckle.

"Why don't I make some coffee while you go shower," he suggested when I was finally barefoot. I realized, staring up at him, that he was significantly taller than me, even though at 5'8 I was basically eye level with most men. "You're covered in blood, and the hot water will help relax your muscles."

Surprised, I looked down to see he was right. My white button down was liberally speckled with red, though whose blood it was, I couldn't be sure. I decided to avoid any mirrors until I was clean again. "Yeah, you're right. Please, make yourself at home. I'll be back in a bit."

"Take your time. I'll be here until you want me to leave." I could feel his eyes following me as I padded past him to my bedroom. Strangely, instead of being creepy, it made me feel protected to know he was looking out for me.

I made a point not to look at my clothes or in the mirror as I stripped down in the bathroom and turned on the shower. For several minutes, I simply braced my hands on the warm tile of my shower, head bowed under the hot spray, trying not to notice the red tinted water pooling at my drain. The adrenalin rush began to fade, leaving me shaky and exhausted and yet strangely wired.

It still felt like there was a hand clamped painfully over my mouth, still taste my attackers blood in my mouth as I bit his hand. I tilted my head back and let the spray fill my mouth, swilling it around before spitting it out. Was it just my imagination, or could I still smell his breath, a pungent mixture of toothpaste and cigarettes? It felt like even the man's cheap cologne was clinging to my skin from where he'd groped me with cold hands.

Shaking my head as though the motion could clear the dark thoughts, I made a conscious effort to pull myself together. Reaching for my shampoo, I started reciting celestial bodies aloud by distance, letting the repetition and the scent of peaches soothe me. When I ran out of stars I knew, I switched to listing the periodic table of elements.

By the time I stepped back into my living room, I was warm, clean, and calm. Gabriel was holding a steaming mug as he stared at the pictures on my wall, but turned to me as I entered. I smiled at him on my way to the kitchen, intent on getting something warm in my stomach. It was past 8 now, but the aroma of coffee was too tempting to pass up.

"You have a large family," he commented, following me into the kitchen.

I smiled at him, relieved that the expression came naturally again. "I'm the youngest of 6. Four brothers and a sister."

He seemed to realize that I was calmer now and some of the tension left his shoulders. "You seem very close."

I winked at him. "We are, now that we're all adults. We were constantly at each other's throats growing up, though." I took a sip of the coffee and burned my tongue. "Do you have any siblings?"

"I was adopted," he said simply. Something about his tone warned me against pursuing that particular topic, so I steered the conversation away.

"So, have you lived in New York your whole life?"

He shrugged. "Yes, but a few years ago I ended up traveling quite a bit."

I raised a curious eyebrow at him, blowing on my coffee to cool it. "Where'd you go?"

"All over the U.S. I spent some time in Mexico, too," he added as an afterthought.

I led him to the couch. "Sounds exciting. Did you have a favorite place?"

"I never stayed long enough in one place to have a preference," he hedged. Another topic to avoid. Before I had a chance to rack my brain for another topic, he supplied one. "You mentioned you were a physics professor."

I nodded. "Originally, I wanted to be an experimental physicist and test other people's theories, but I fell in love with teaching. That's why I took a job here; they let me do both. Plus, I get to help Special's who can't control their powers."

He regarded me curiously. "Is that something you're interested in?"

"Heck yes. People fear what they don't understand and can't control. If we can show them the science behind it, shove a giant spotlight on the mysteries and show how we can fix the problem, then people will get accustomed to the idea. Then…well, then hopefully there won't be anymore kids being dragged through the street just because they're different," I said bitterly. The event was unique only in that the video had gone viral. Like most of the people back home, I had been deeply ashamed that it had happened in the state I grew up in.

"And you do this research on Specials?" His tone was casual, but some instinct kicked in and warned me to tread lightly.

"It's anonymous and voluntary. The subjects are paid, and there are several organizations that make sure no one is being mistreated," I told him. After a moment, I added, "And we make damn sure that we have no affiliation with companies like Primatech or Pinehearst."

He looked at me sharply, and I met his gaze levelly. It was the truth. After the Revelation, as Claire Bennet's leap had been termed, the real nature of Primatech and Pinehearst had been exposed. I knew of multiple ongoing studies of Specials, and was personally acquainted with many of the people conducting the research. All of us were deeply affronted by the unethical Machiavellian methods utilized by those "scientists".

Gabriel looked at me intently for a long moment, eyes unblinking, and I let him get what information he could glean from my face. Finally, he relaxed, and his gaze turned merely curious. "Why are you so interested in Specials?"

I opened my mouth to give him the cookie cutter answer about helping people, but something stopped me. "My best friend had a power that she kept secret. After the Revelation, she came out about it, because she said that silence helped no one, that those who have the ability to ease suffering have the responsibility to help. " I hesitated before continuing, my voice lowered with still fresh pain. "Eight months ago, she was killed counseling a Special who couldn't control their power."

He inclined his head in silent acknowledgement of my grief. "And you think you can ease someone's suffering…with physics?"

I frowned thoughtfully, wondering how to explain it. "Biology is applied chemistry, which in turn is applied physics. Your power is telekinesis, but I've met other people whose powers aren't so easily controllable, or so benign, and they're asking for help. Like the person who killed my friend. I'm working on a device that will help those people live normal lives, without risk of losing control or having to isolate themselves. So yes, I think physics can ease suffering."

"So the answer is to remove their abilities," he challenged sarcastically, dark eyes flashing.

"No," I shot back, arching an eyebrow. "Their powers are part of who they are. Diabetics take insulin, schizophrenics take anti-seizure medication…why should Specials who need help controlling their power be any different? Hopefully, I'll be able to give them the choice of controlling their ability or blocking it permanently. Why should they be denied help just because it offends someone else' sensibilities? A Special's involvement in research, or their decision to get treatment or not, is their choice to make. Not mine, and not yours."

The answer seemed to surprise him, because he suddenly leaned back and looked at me like he was seeing me for the first time. "You're actually telling the truth." I decided not to be offended at his astonishment.

"Of course I am," I said in exasperation. Who had he met in the past that he was so suspicious of people studying Specials? My mind instantly came up with the answer, and I wondered if he had been caught by Primatech or Pinehearst. I decided not to ask.

We lapsed into a surprisingly easy silence. The conversation had taken my mind off of the night's events, and I found myself strangely relaxed. Relaxed enough, in fact, that I found myself fighting a yawn.

My gaze flicked to the wall to check the time, but then I remembered the sign I'd taped to it, "time is relative." It had seemed funny at the time, but without my phone for a clock, I was somewhat at a loss for the time. "I know you probably have work tomorrow, and I don't want to keep you if you need to go. I really appreciate…well, everything," I said, suddenly at a loss. How do you thank someone for saving your life and then taking care of you?

"I'm glad I was there in time," he said, his eyes suddenly piercing again. But then he looked away. "I…" he seemed to change what he was going to say at the last moment, "should go. Will you be alright tonight?"

I stood and walked him to the door. "I'll be fine, Mr. Gray. Thank you."

"After everything…you can call me Gabriel."

I smiled. "Then you should call me Hero. Only my students and my boss call me Dr. Ramsey."