Andy stood outside Professor Bricard’s office door, his heart pounding. He swallowed hard. ‘He couldn’t do this. How was he going to do this?’ He looked beseechingly at Chris and Chris met his eyes. He too was nervous. He didn’t know what the professor was going to say, and a certain amount of this situation was beyond his control. He brought his hand to Andy’s shoulder and kept it there as he raised his other hand to knock softly on the door.

“Come in,” Professor Bricard’s brusque voice responded. Andy looked at Chris again and Chris squeezed his shoulder. Hesitantly, Andy pushed the door open and stuck his head around. “Well, come in, Andrew,” the professor encouraged sternly. Swallowing hard once more, Andy swung the door wider and stepped inside. Chris followed him and closed the door softly behind them.

“Ah! Mr. Flanagan, good morning,” the professor greeted.

“Morning, Sir,” Chris returned uncertainly.

“I’m glad you decided to accompany our young friend,” Professor Bricard assured in candid tones and Chris relaxed a little. “Have a seat, gentlemen,” the professor indicated the two chairs in front of his desk. With some hesitation, Chris obeyed. Andy, however, stood like a deer in the headlights.

“Andy,” Chris called his name softly and nudged the empty chair towards him. Finally, Andy took his seat, his cheeks burning as he looked at the ground.

“I assume, Mr. Grazier,” the professor began softly, touched by Andy’s obvious discomfort, “that by now Mr. Flanagan has informed you of the purpose for this meeting.” Andy bit his lip and nodded, shifting in his chair, not daring to look at Chris. “All right, then,” the professor continued gently, “suppose,” he gestured to the copy of Andrew’s paper sitting in front of him (the original, having been returned to its professed author, had met with a somewhat brutal and untimely death). “Suppose you tell me why I am sitting here looking at a paper written by Dr.John Kultgen, PHD, instead of one written by Mr. Andrew Grazier as the assignment required.” Andy shrugged and remained silent, staring with rapt fascination at the dark carpet that lined the professor’s floor. “I am very familiar with Dr.Kultgen’s work, Andrew. I wasn’t feeling a particular need to read it again,” the professor commented wryly after a minute.

“It was stupid,” Andy squeaked finally, his face flaming as he continued to avoid the eyes of both Chris and the professor. “I know it was stupid,” he whispered again.

“Well, it certainly wasn’t the smartest thing you ever did,” the professor agreed. “You want to tell me why you did it?” Andy bit his lip, willing the tears to stay back.

“Professor . . .,” Chris started, but Professor Bricard held up his hand.

“Let him answer, Chris,” he advised. Chris’ stomach tightened as he looked at his young partner. He longed for something he could say or do to make this easier on him, but there was nothing.

“I don’t know!” Andy protested desperately. “I don’t know why I did it! It was just me being stupid as usual!”

“Andy,” Chris rebuked softly.

“Well it’s true!” Andy maintained obstinately. “I don’t have a good reason! I never have good reasons for the dumb things I do!”

“Stop it!” Chris admonished. The self-deprecation tactic was not likely to go over well with this particular professor, Chris knew. ‘Why isn’t he just being honest like we talked about?’ he thought exasperatedly.

“Mr. Flanagan tells me there was another paper,” Mr. Bricard went on quietly. “Is that so?” Andy scowled and remained silent as Chris took his bag from the floor and opened it. “Well, was there or wasn’t there?” the professor demanded impatiently.

“Yes!” Andy retorted finally. “But it’s a piece of crap!”

“Is that it?” The professor indicated the neatly bound and covered report Chris was now pushing into Andy’s hands. Andy took it reluctantly, curling the pages (to Chris’ horror) and glaring sullenly down at it. “May I see it please?” Professor Bricard inquired.

Andy shrugged as he handed the report across the desk. “You’re wasting your time,” he cautioned balefully.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” the professor replied flatly. He took the report from Andy’s hand and laid it on the desk before him, licking his thumb, and leafing through the pages, pretending not to notice as Chris reached out to touch Andy’s arm. Andy jerked away from him, brushing roughly at his cheeks, and Chris bit his lip. “Why didn’t you turn this in?” the professor questioned finally, looking up again at Andy.

“I told you,” Andy replied sourly, pressing his fingers to his eyes, “because it’s crap!”

“That’s not the real reason, Andy,” Chris challenged quietly.

“Yes it is!” Andy insisted, looking up for the first time to glare at Chris.

“No it’s not. Tell him the real . . . .”

“It is!” Andy snapped, and Chris paused, uncertain now how to proceed as he was confronted by the intense pain and anger in his young partner’s eyes.

“You have to tell him, Andy,” he pressed finally.

“No I don’t!” Andy seethed. “She’s not an excuse, Chris! I don’t want her to be just some fucking excuse for not doing what I was supposed to do! She wouldn’t want that either! I just screwed up! Ok? I screwed up as usual! Whether it’s that piece of crap paper or the one I handed in, I failed! Ok? I failed as usual!” he sobbed, turning to the slightly open mouthed professor as he lost for once and for all the battle with his tears. “Just fail me,” he entreated, wiping angrily again at his cheeks. “I don’t deserve a second chance!” Professor Bricard stared at him. In all his years teaching, this was a first for him. “I’m fucking useless!” Andy went on, unaware of the impression he was making. “I’m a no good, fucking screw up! Just fail me ok?” he sobbed, shoving his chair back, and making his way to the door.

“Andy,” Chris tried to call him back, but Andy was done, done talking, done listening, done emotionally. He had to get out of there. He refused to look at either Chris or the professor. He just opened the door and stepped into the hallway, shutting it hard again behind him.

Chris sat for a minute, stunned. That hadn’t gone at all according to plan, and they had talked about this. They had worked it all out, he thought. Professor Bricard regarded his shell shocked assistant quietly, waiting patiently for him to collect his thoughts. He hardly knew, himself, what to think of Andy’s behavior.

“Sorry,” Chris mumbled finally, turning red as he tried to meet his mentor’s eyes.

“Don’t apologize,” Professor Bricard returned softly. “You want to tell me what that was all about?”

“His mother’s sick,” Chris replied miserably.

“Ah, I see,” Professor Bricard responded in the same undertone he had used a moment ago. “Seriously ill, I take it.”

Chris nodded. “Sounds it, from what he’s told me,” he whispered.

Professor Bricard gazed worriedly into his protégés anxious blue eyes, making note of the dark circles and the pale complexion that was so contrary to Chris’ usually poised and sharp-witted demeanor. It was obvious to him that Chris was over extending himself. ‘I wonder how his own work is going,’ he thought briefly. He knew how much time Chris had been giving Andy. Chris’ office was just down the hallway from his, and he had often heard them. He had wondered just how involved Chris was getting with the younger student, but until this situation had arisen, he had, in a considerable exercise of self-restraint, managed to refrain from asking. Chris was an adult and what he did on his own time was his business, but looking at him now, the professor was concerned. Law school was no joke and the demands of Chris’ T.A. position added enough to his plate without the emotional strain of a situation like this. “That young man has a lot to work out, Chris,” he said softly now. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Chris bit his lip and looked at the ground. He felt his cheeks getting hot. Professor Bricard waited for a moment, but when he still got no response he just sighed. “All right, Chris,” he said softly. “I will give him until next semester, ok?” Chris looked up quickly and the gratitude and relief reflected in the eyes that had a moment ago been so desolate cracked even the heart of the strictest professor on campus; he had to pause before continuing. “I will give him an incomplete for the semester,” he went on finally, “and if he hands me a completed paper by the beginning of next semester I will pass him.”

“Thank you, Sir!” Chris had no other words to express the gratitude he felt in that moment, but he didn’t need them; his expression said enough.

“All right, go on,” Professor Bricard replied softly. “Go on and find him.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Chris replied again as he got to his feet.

“Chris,” Professor Bricard called as his young T.A. reached the door. Chris paused, looking back at him, his hand on the doorknob. “You can’t do this for him,” Professor Bricard intimated softly. “He’s got to want to do it. He has to be a participant.”

Chris dropped his gaze, his stomach churning once more as the truth of the statement hit home. “I know,” he managed quietly after a minute. He started to open the door.

“Chris!” Chris stopped, looking back once more. “Take care of yourself, ok? Get some rest,” the professor advised anxiously.

Chris nodded. “I will. Thank you, Sir,” he said again softly, “for everything.” Professor Bricard nodded and Chris stepped into the hallway shutting the door behind him.