Chapter Text
She noticed him in the back of the class the very first day. His broad shoulders and dark eyes, his shock of tousled black hair that she would love to run her fingers through. Of course she had noticed him. In the crowd of post adolescent students, he was a man.
He was quite a man.
But she shook it off, because she was a professional, she was an adult, she was an academic. She was a professor, goddammit and she had always wanted to teach and NYU wanted her, despite her youth and lack of teaching experience. She still had to pinch herself, sometimes, that her PhD project, a documentary about historical Women Warriors that she filmed with her friends Monty and Jasper, had gotten picked up for a series by the history channel. Even if it felt somehow that she didn’t deserve to be a professor, sometimes.
All the younguns sat in the front, looking at her with a kind of hero worship she was just not quite comfortable with as she laid out a timeline of the archetype of the woman warrior in art and the media from ancient Greece to modern times.
When the time came for questions, he did not ask any. He simply sat and wrote in his notebook, long hand, looking up occasionally through his curling dark hair. Clarke would blink and press her lips together when she saw that, and turn to whichever girl asked the next question about the coming curriculum. The class was 75% female and they did seem to be the ones who were speaking up the most, probably due to the fact that this was an interdisciplinary course in women’s studies, media and art history. It was great, actually. They were smart and had interesting questions and really seemed interested in the topic. Yay women’s studies.
And then the class was over and he stayed where he was, finishing up whatever he was writing in his notebook. The kids waiting to talk to her thinned out, and her eyes went back to the man in the back. He didn’t look over at her. He didn’t come to talk to the semi-famous history channel host. She was pretty sure he’d barely looked at her the entire time she led the class. How do you not look at the person teaching the class you are taking?
The man packed up his bag and turned his back to put on his jacket and her mouth went dry at the flexing of the muscles she could see under his thin t shirt. Then his jacket was on, and he settled his messenger bag over his shoulders and walked out of the classroom without looking back at her.
“Professor Griffin?” the girl with the long blond hair and wide eyes was asking, “Will we be discussing the women who disguised themselves as men in order to fight during the Civil War?”
Clarke turned back to her students, giving them her attention. Wondering how in the world she was supposed to concentrate on teaching when she had a gorgeous greek god sitting in her class? Her reaction was totally inappropriate and she was going to have to do something about it.
***
It turned out, that wasn’t going to be a problem, because that first class was an anomaly. Sure, he remained just as gorgeous, but in the very next class, before she’d even gotten through her introduction to that day’s lecture, he raised his hand and started arguing with her, and then he didn’t stop. It took two classes before she finally had it.
“Mr. Blake! Stop dominating the conversation! You are not the only person with a valid point of view.” As the rest of the class stared with open mouths.
Blake closed his mouth with a snap and nodded, looking thoughtful. And from then on, he made it a point to make sure that the other students had the chance to speak first and he would even make sure to toss the conversation back to them, and that would have made Clarke respect him, but he still could not help himself from arguing with her position. Whatever she said, he seemed to take the opposite position. As if he were arguing just to piss her off.
By the second week of class, Mr Blake was not the only one who was arguing the benefits of war vs peace and ideas of feminine power. The entire class was now engaged in passionate debate over every text, artwork, or film she brought in. Some days it felt like a battle, and other days, she was so inspired by the discussion that was far deeper than she expected from a 100 level survey course that she could do nothing but go home and write out her new theories and questions and thoughts.
Near mid term, she met her best friend Raven at their favorite dive bar.
She threw Blake’s latest paper onto the table and slid into the booth across from Raven. “That asshole has the nerve to call me a racist!”
Raven looked up from her beer. “The same asshole who thinks your class is all about him?”
“Well…no. I mean yes, that asshole, but he isn’t taking over the class anymore. Actually he got the whole class discussing the role of women in ancient Rome and it was kind of awesome, and he contributed some insightful ideas but now he’s calling me a racist.”
Raven had been glancing through the paper. “Well, he does have a point. Your class is pretty biased towards western civilization.”
“Of course it is, it’s about the influence of Greco-Roman warrior ethos on women in western culture and media. I study western civilization.”
“I’m just saying, you could be a bit more inclusive.”
“Not you, too, Raven?”
“I think as an academic, you could expand your repertoire, I’m not saying you’re a racist, and,” she tapped at the pages of the paper she was flipping through, “I don’t think he is either.”
“Clarke Griffin. Well look at you.”
Clarke looked up from her conversation to see a beautiful woman standing there, with a gorgeous hunk of man coming up behind her, a pitcher of beer and two glasses in his hand. “Octavia!” she said. “Lincoln!” and stood up to hug her.
“When did you get back to New York?” Octavia said, hugging her so tightly she could barely breathe. “I loved your show. When are you doing another one?”
Octavia let her go and Clarke reached out to grab Lincoln, bringing him in for a hug too. He lifted her up off the floor. “So good to see you,” Clarke said. “I guess you’re still together, then. Do you guys want to join us?”
Octavia nodded and Clarke slid over to let them in. “And forever indebted to you for introducing us. Raven!” she hugged and kissed Raven. “You’re here, too! It’s like a mini college reunion. I swear, Clarke, I just about fell over when I came back from Brazil, opened the door to my apartment, and found my brother watching you on tv. He was so enthralled, he wouldn’t even give me a hug, just waved me off until the commercial break. And I’m like never around anymore because I’m always taking jobs over seas. ”
“Wow, that’s really flattering,” Clarke said.
“Yeah, he’s a real history nerd,” she said, drinking half of the beer Lincoln poured for her in one go, “and then pair history with someone who looks like you?” she laughed. “I told him I could get him a date with you. He almost died. So, what do you think? You want to go out with my huge history nerd brother who has a crush on you?”
Clarke thought it was hysterical. Octavia hadn’t changed a bit. “No, Octavia. I don’t need help getting a date, I’m a semi-famous History Channel host, I’m in demand,” she laughed at herself.
Raven finished off her beer and Lincoln poured her some from his pitcher. “You totally need help getting a date,” she said. “Ever since Lexa, you’ve been shit at meeting people.”
“Yeah, well, once burned… twice burned…aww hell. I’m just totally a burnt piece of toast over here. Maybe I shouldn’t date at all.”
“I think you’d really like him,” Octavia said. “He’s so awesome. He raised me since I was 12 and our mom died. Can you imagine? Some 18 year old kid going to work instead of college, all to raise his little sister by himself? He paid for my college and grad school both and I had to practically force him to apply to college himself when I finally got my master’s. He thought he was too old to be going to school with 18 year olds. But I swear to god, I think your show finally convinced him that he loved history enough to apply to NYU.”
“NYU,” Clarke said, her stomach flipping over.
“Hey,” Raven said, “You’re teaching at NYU.”
“You are? Awesome. Maybe Bell will get to take a class with you.”
“Octavia Blake.” Clarke stared at her.
“Clarke Griffin,” Octavia grinned back at her, raising her glass in a toast.
“Is your brother Bellamy Blake?”
Octavia’s face lit up. “You’ve met him.”
“Oh shit,” Raven laughed, and flipped the paper that they had been discussing into the middle of the table. “Your brother is the asshole.” Raven fell over herself chuckling.
Clarke felt her face heat up and she knew she was blushing. Bellamy Blake, the asshole of her Women Warriors class, had a crush on her. “I can’t date your brother, Octavia.”
“Why not?”
A flash of Bellamy Blake’s broad shoulders went through her mind, with her hands spanning them, reaching under his t shirt to caress his hot skin. She clenched her hands into fists, focusing on how her nails cut into her palms to banish the sudden fantasy. “Because he’s my student.”
Lincoln choked on his beer and Octavia flashed a feral smile. “Oh,” she said. “Oh, this is going to be good.”