"Where have you been?" my father wondered as soon as I walked into the house and stood on the doormat. Puddles pooled around me as I dropped my satchel onto the floor and wrung my hair out. He remained stood near the staircase, yoghurt in his hand as his other hand spooned the food into his mouth. "I thought you would have been home half an hour ago."

"I would have been," I said as I winced whilst tugging at my hair, "but my car decided to break down in the parking lot."

"How did you get home?" he asked me, a brow raised on his forehead as I removed my squelching shoes from my feet and kicked them to the side where all of my other shoes were. "Why didn't you call?"

"Professor Crane...he was still at the college...he gave me a lift," I said and my father's eyes went wide in shock and wonder. He placed his spoon into his yoghurt before he spoke again;

"Jonathan?" he checked with me and I nodded at him. "Jonathan gave you a lift home?"

"I don't see what the big deal is," I shrugged. Seriously, I would have done the same if I saw him struggling with his broken down car. I would have done it for anyone who I knew. My father didn't seem to think in the way which I did, though.

"That's odd," dad replied, blinking profusely as I sighed once and flapped my arms against my side.

"Why is it odd? He was being nice."

"Exactly," dad mumbled. "Crane doesn't do nice."

"I'm sure he's not as horrible as you're leading me to believe," I deadpanned and my dad shrugged.

"You should have called," he scolded me slightly. "There's something about Jonathan."

"What?" I wondered aloud. Yes, he was slightly...odd. But that was it. I couldn't find anything wrong with him. I thought he had been slightly pleasant and kind when I was in the car. Yes, he had done more than an average professor would have done, but that didn't make him a strange person.

"I can't explain," dad mumbled and he shrugged once, brushing it off as I shook my head. "I'm being daft. You had best go and change before you catch your death."

I trounced up the stairs, my clothes feeling ten times heavier than normal as I moved into my bedroom and shut the door. I quickly shut the curtains before moving into the shower in my en-suite. I slowly peeled the wet clothes off and threw them to the floor.

There was nothing wrong with Jonathan. He was a Professor and I was a student. And that was all there was to it.

...

My car had been vandalised. How joyful. I returned to college the next day with my dad and we had called for a mechanic to meet us there. He spoke to my dad, mainly telling him what to do next and how much it would cost for new part. I wasn't listening. I was more concerned about who would want to even vandalise my car. I didn't speak to anyone in college! I kept myself to myself and did no one any harm, but, it seemed someone didn't like me. My dad had forked out the necessary money on the spot, moaning under his breath as he did so.

On the way home, he asked me if I knew who would have done that to my precious Mercedes and that if he ever found out then they would pay for it. I wondered if CCTV was an option and dad snorted at that. Apparently, Gotham University didn't like to actually run the CCTV camera, claiming it cost too much money. So, clearly, security was tight.

Mom was as annoyed as my dad was, but, she didn't threaten to wring anyone's neck. She even became worried and wondered if coming home was an option. I told her not to be so silly; I didn't need her running back from NY when it was clear she was having a good time. I said it must have been a petty prank by someone. She didn't seem convinced but she dropped the matter when I told her dad had threatened to find who had done it.

"That's your father. Always thinking violence is the option," she had said rather condescendingly.

I had humoured her and told her to enjoy herself before I hung up and remained laid on my bed, looking over to my desk where my half finished paper was. Truth was, I just didn't care enough to get up and do it.

...

"How is your car?" his voice snuck up on me as I sat in the empty lecture hall. I was in the middle of the rows of seats, my books resting on the floor as I looked up and down to the front of the room. Professor Crane was stood on the stage, his hands in his pockets as the door swung shut behind him and he looked up to where I was sat.

"Someone took a part from it," I called down to him and he arched a brow, pushing his glasses further onto his nose as he did so.

"Really?" he wondered and I nodded. "Well, that's terrible. Do you know who would have done it?"

"No idea," I responded and he set his briefcase down onto the podium, opening it up and pulling some papers from it. I watched him and checked the time. I didn't think anyone was scheduled to be using this hall for the rest of the day, hence why I came in. It was a feeble attempt to finish the paper my father had set. We had only just handed one in on that Monday morning and another one was set.

"I'm not due to start my class for another twenty minutes," he informed me, closing his case and then placing papers onto the front rows of desks. "My class is small. There are only ten people. You're welcome to just sit there and continue working, if you need to."

"Oh, right," I mumbled. "Well...thanks...I might need to..."

"Is the library full again?" he asked me, a smirk on his face as he looked down onto the sheets of papers he was placing onto tables. Was he mocking me? Evidentially judging by the grin on his face.

"When isn't it?" I mumbled back and I heard him chuckle.

"Working on another paper?"

"My dad set another one this morning. It is due in on Wednesday."

"Harsh," he said, seeming to understand how horrible it was. I shrugged once, trying not to look too bothered as he walked up the steps and took a seat on the row in front of me, turning his upper body around as he rested his arms on the back of the chair.

"Why do you bother?" he wondered. "You don't intend to go into Law. You wouldn't make it. What is the point in these pony essays?"

"Have you met my father?" I asked him and he cocked his head to the side and nodded with my valid point. "I've been working at this for three years now. I'm not going to chuck away a degree. Besides, it could open doors for many other things."

"Like?" he pushed me and I bit down on my lip, twirling my pen in my hands as I did so.

"Something," I simply responded and his lips tugged up at the sides for a millisecond.

"You just can't say no, can you?" he said, amusement evident on his face and in his eyes. I could say no! I have said that word before! Just...to mediocre things...like sugar in my tea...or...when I don't want an add on at the mall.

"I really don't know what you're insinuating," I said, my nose sticking up into the air as he pushed his own brown hair behind his ears and took his glasses off. God, he had beautiful eyes. What? No! I couldn't think things like that! He was a professor! But he was only six years older than me. Was it that wrong? We ogled the PE teacher at high school.

"Nothing," Crane shrugged. "I just observed that you don't like to disappoint people. It is trait which many people take for granted."

"Well...I don't have to worry about being taken for granted," I mumbled back, trying to look back at my work as his eyes continued to watch me. Talk about off putting.

"As you've mentioned before," he responded in a whisper. "I'd best get back to my lesson plan and let you continue with your paper."

He stood up and walked down to the front of the room, sitting on a front seat with his legs crossed as he began work on his lesson, scribbling notes as he did so. It wasn't long until students began to walk into the lecture hall, sitting in their, seemingly, allocated seats.

I remained looking down at my work, trying not to listen as Professor Crane set about his work, yet, I couldn't focus. There was something about his voice. I couldn't put my finger on it. I didn't need to know what he was talking about but I felt I did. He commanded the room when he spoke. He never raised his voice and never became angry. He remained neutral, emotionless. But he was compelling. I looked up on more than one occasion and every time I did so, he noted me and looked up, but he never lost his point of conversation.

He ended his lecture by informing his students what they were to research and they moved out the room without any complaining. It was much different in comparison to when my father sent pupils away with a paper.

"You've only wrote half a page in the last hour," Crane commented as he shut his briefcase and I turned a slight red, my cheeks heating up as I did so.

"I don't really know what I'm writing," I admitted and he smirked once as he looked back up at me.

"You should tell your father that you don't understand," he said as he strolled across the wooden stage to the doorway.

"Are you going?" I wondered as his hand froze on the handle and he looked up at me. Christ. Did I just ask that? Of course, he was going. Why would he stay with me?

"I have research to do," he informed me. "I don't want to distract you any further."

By the time I registered what he had said, he had left me. I sunk down in my seat and shook my head. What was it about Jonathan Crane?

...

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed today! Means a lot to me! Glad you're all enjoying it! More to come very soon! P.S. I'm a gal!