Work Text:
Alice Goes to School
"Alice? Is that you?" The blonde head ducked and the woman clutched her books to her chest more tightly as she scurried past. "Alice?" he called again.
She stopped this time, turning slowly. "Hey, Handsome," she said softly.
She was slow to raise her eyes to meet his and he got the feeling she was embarrassed to be seen here. He looked at the jeans she wore, the T-shirt that had some cartoon character on it that he couldn't make out because it was hidden behind the books. And he looked at the books. Introduction to Psychology. The Norton Anthology of English Lit. And a math text of some kind -- algebra probably.
"What brings you up the coast to Jamison?" she asked in that lazy way of hers.
"I, uh ..." He floundered, searching for something to tell her. "I'm considering going back for my master's. Thought I'd check it out first."
"Master's, huh?" she said with a smile. "Always figured you for the one with an education, Hutch."
He glanced at his watch. He still had time. "You got class?"
She shook her head. "Just finished."
"How about a cup of coffee?" When she nodded, he reached out and took her books, adding them to his own and led her towards the cafeteria. They didn't speak again, just joined the line, and when he looked at her, she seemed lost in thought. Her stomach growled as they waited and she looked away, avoiding his eyes. He didn't say anything, didn't tease the way he would have if it had been Starsky, just added two sandwiches to their tray, and a bag of chips. He paid, then struggled for a minute to balance all the books and the tray, but he waved away her offer of help and instead, let her lead them to a table by the large window wall that looked out over the bay.
She picked up the sandwich he placed in front of her, said, "Thanks," and nibbled. What was he supposed to say now? After all, he was the one who asked her to join him. She'd seemed almost to want to avoid him, stopping only at his second call.
He took a sip of the coffee, then bit into his own sandwich, watching her carefully. She looked so -- normal. No one up here would ever know she was anything other than what she appeared, a slightly older student or a young woman returning to school after a few years absence. "So," he said, waiting till she looked at him, "you, uh, passed the test?"
She blushed and he wondered how many men could make her do that. Probably not many, he imagined. It took her a minute to decide to speak. She tilted her head for a moment, studying him as she chose her words. "I did. Passed on the first go round."
"Congratulations, Alice!" he said with a genuinely happy smile. "That's wonderful!" He reached out and took her hand gently. "I knew you could do it."
She smiled at him, then slowly pulled her hand away, returning to her sandwich. Another bite, a sip of coffee, then she said, "I took some college tests too. CLEP -- you heard of that?"
He shook his head.
"College Level Examination Program. You take a test and if you pass, you don't have to take that course. I CLEPped out of American History, American Lit, Western Civ, and English." She reached out and touched the Norton. "I probably could have tested out of English Lit too, but I thought I'd enjoy the class."
She paused a moment, then lifted her cup and looked at him over the edge.
"And do you? Enjoy the class, I mean?" He couldn't for the life of him figure out why he suddenly felt so awkward around this woman he'd known for years. Maybe it was that seeing her here, at a college, in normal clothes, in the middle of the day -- well, it just seemed somehow -- out of context.
"Oh, yeah," she said with enthusiasm. "It's wonderful! I love the discussions, the chance to talk about what I've read with others who are interested." She paused, then lifted the book and thumbed through it quickly.
"O could I feel as I have felt, or be what I have been,
Or weep as I could once have wept o'er many a vanish'd scene-"
"Byron," he said without thinking, and was rewarded with her smile. She was somehow brighter, more vibrant away from the small apartment she called home. Away from the reminders of what she did? Did she want to be what she had been? Feel what she had felt?
"You look happy, Alice," he said quietly.
"And you, Hutch. What's made you look so sad today?"
"Sad?" He looked around, staring out the windows at the bay.
"When you saw me, Hutch, you looked like something was wrong. What happened?"
He shrugged. "Just sat in on my first class." One hand came up and ran through his hair in a nervous gesture. "I had a little, uh, confrontation with the professor."
Her eyebrow arched as she looked at him, waiting.
"Oh, hell." He dropped his sandwich. "I shouldn't have let him get to me. It's just ..."
"Just what, Hutch?" She reached toward him, but pulled back before touching.
"He embarrassed me. I was late. I apologized. And he made a big deal out of the whole thing. It was just too reminiscent of the last time I was in school." He gave a shaky little laugh, then took a swallow of the cooling coffee.
She sat back, watching him. "What's your degree in, Hutch?"
"Hmmm?" It took him a minute to focus on her. "Oh. My degree. Sociology." He laughed again, then added, "Not what my parents wanted me to do at all."
She laughed then, too, and touched his hand, taking the cup before he completely mangled it. "Now I know I didn't turn out the way my folks wanted, but you, Hutch? What could your folks possibly find fault with?"
He colored at her words and looked away. What could they find fault with? Everything. He didn't study law and join his father's firm. He didn't study accounting and join his mother's firm. He didn't stay at home where his parents could introduce him round as 'our son, the lawyer/accountant/successful anything other than cop.'
"Well, with my parents, finding fault has been elevated to an art form," he said dryly.
"So how did this professor acting like a jerk stir all this up for you, Handsome?"
He smiled at her use of the nickname, and opened the bag of chips, dumping them on a napkin then grabbing one. He held it in his hand as he spoke, gesturing around them. "This is sorta like the school I went to back home. Same size campus, similar feel to the place, even on the water." He waved toward the windows. "My father was on the Board of Regents there, and for four years I lived with the same kind of thing as what happened today. If I did anything wrong, it was held up for public scrutiny, repeatedly. I swear, I would have dropped out if I hadn't been so intent on proving I could finish." He dropped his head, shoved the chip in his mouth and crunched angrily.
"Nothing wrong with proving yourself," Alice said quietly, and his head jerked up. He'd almost forgotten she was there.
"I'm surprised it still hurts this much." He shook his head. "It was really just a lot of pointless little power games."
"You were young," she said, "and more vulnerable. You didn't know who you were yet, so you were a lot more susceptible to others' opinions." She smiled at him, then helped herself to a chip.
"How'd you get to be so smart?" he asked.
"Experience," she said with a laugh, and his face fell.
It all came crashing back to him. All that she'd gone through. All that she'd suffered. And here he was complaining over being a little embarrassed in a class he'd probably only be in a few more times. "God, Alice," he said quickly, "I'm an idiot. I have no business complaining about stupid shit like this to you. You've been through so much ..."
"Hey, if I'm missing a foot completely, and you stub your toe, my missing foot doesn't make your toe hurt any less."
He laughed at her words, and she joined him.
"Feel better?" she asked.
He nodded slowly. He did. "Yeah, actually, I do."
"Good." She finished her sandwich and started to gather up their trash.
"When you getting out, Sweet Alice?" he asked, as he stopped her with a motion, touched the Psych text and looked a question at her.
She tilted her head, watching his finger run up the spine of the book. "I just thought I'd try to -- understand." She looked at him then, emotions swirling across her face too quickly for him to name. "I'm still me, Hutch," she said softly. "I think it may be too late to change that." Her eyes filled and he reached up to wipe her cheek as one single tear made its way slowly downward. He closed his eyes, searching his memory for the words he wanted.
"When Friendship or Love,
Our sympathies move,
When Truth in a glance should appear,
The lips may beguile,
With a dimple or smile,
But the test of affection's a tear."
He shook his head and reached for her hand again. This time, she let him hold it. "It's never too late to change, Sweetness."