Fic: What The Student Learns Isn't Always What's Taught
Title: What The Student Learns Isn't Always What's Taught
Setting: Modern AU
Character(s): Ray, Mireille Duroc
Summary: He's getting something completely different out of her lectures than she's intending. But that doesn't mean he's not finding them fascinating.
He attended the first lecture in Paris, on a whim. There had been a few hours to kill before he was supposed to meet Laurentine for one of their rare face-to-face meetings. He'd recognized her name on the small sign and figured it was as good a way as any to pass the time. The subject matter hadn't been particularly riveting - in general he cared little about literature analysis - but it had proven an unparalleled chance to observe the Luxembourg State Minister's wife. In general academics were a field he didn't involve himself in much, except in the cases where it interacted with politics, or where access to was involved. Thus, despite her admittedly impressive CV, Mireille Duroc would never have pinged on his radar. Which would have been a travesty, because he's found her fascinating.
Not her subject matter, not particularly. Literary analysis had bored enough him in secondary school that he had no desire to pursue it once he's escaped those walls. But the speaker was fascinating enough to watch that the subject matter hardly mattered. He was of course, familiar with the public, official perception of Madame Duroc - that of the coldly polite fashion plate, providing the more intellectual balance to her husbands policies. Not really worth his notice, in the grand scheme of things.
But in that first lecture, and the few subsequent ones he'd seen something else. Just hints mind you, but he liked that. Where was the fun in figuring people out if they just lay everything out up front? No, the cooly professional mask still made up the majority of Madame Duroc, but there were hints, tantalizing glimpses of a deeply passionate core somewhere under that ice. Granted, it was passion for the subject matter, the same one he found so painfully boring, but that didn't really matter. He could keep himself entertained quite enough just watching her, watching the obvious enthusiasm she had for her topic - muted of course, but still very much there. Enthusiasm suddenly and abruptly reined in every so often, as if she suddenly realized she was in danger of cracking her mask.
He found himself watching her with far more interest than he'd expected, wondering exactly what she knew in regards to her husband's activities, the ones kept so carefully out of the public sphere. Did she realize those designer clothes she wore so well were paid for in the blood of warring African tribes? Did she sleep well at night knowing how much of her lifestyle was built on blood? He couldn't decide which he would prefer to be the truth - that she didn't know, or that she did. The latter would make her a hypocrite of the highest order, but the former would make her a fool. And he was pretty sure she was not a fool. Still, her husband was an obnoxiously slippery man, so it was possible.
Questions upon questions. So he kept attending lectures and seminars, on those few occasions when his business and hers landed them in the same areas. If nothing else, it was an hour or two where he could put aside the need to focus and follow eighty different things at once, where he could focus his mind on one, wholly trivial puzzle. If it paid off eventually in regards to the lady's husband, so much the better, but if it didn't, he was pretty sure it was still time well spent.
Still, he had never been good at just listening - lecture courses had been the downfall of his attempt at formal higher education. So while others were taking notes and such, he brought his paper and folded. Usually several models over the course of a lecture, but he always folded at least one flower, and at the end of the lecture, always managed to slip it onto the lectern without getting otherwise engaged in conversation. A simple little gift perhaps, but he figured it was only appropriate for someone so interesting.
If not in the way she intended.
Setting: Modern AU
Character(s): Ray, Mireille Duroc
Summary: He's getting something completely different out of her lectures than she's intending. But that doesn't mean he's not finding them fascinating.
He attended the first lecture in Paris, on a whim. There had been a few hours to kill before he was supposed to meet Laurentine for one of their rare face-to-face meetings. He'd recognized her name on the small sign and figured it was as good a way as any to pass the time. The subject matter hadn't been particularly riveting - in general he cared little about literature analysis - but it had proven an unparalleled chance to observe the Luxembourg State Minister's wife. In general academics were a field he didn't involve himself in much, except in the cases where it interacted with politics, or where access to was involved. Thus, despite her admittedly impressive CV, Mireille Duroc would never have pinged on his radar. Which would have been a travesty, because he's found her fascinating.
Not her subject matter, not particularly. Literary analysis had bored enough him in secondary school that he had no desire to pursue it once he's escaped those walls. But the speaker was fascinating enough to watch that the subject matter hardly mattered. He was of course, familiar with the public, official perception of Madame Duroc - that of the coldly polite fashion plate, providing the more intellectual balance to her husbands policies. Not really worth his notice, in the grand scheme of things.
But in that first lecture, and the few subsequent ones he'd seen something else. Just hints mind you, but he liked that. Where was the fun in figuring people out if they just lay everything out up front? No, the cooly professional mask still made up the majority of Madame Duroc, but there were hints, tantalizing glimpses of a deeply passionate core somewhere under that ice. Granted, it was passion for the subject matter, the same one he found so painfully boring, but that didn't really matter. He could keep himself entertained quite enough just watching her, watching the obvious enthusiasm she had for her topic - muted of course, but still very much there. Enthusiasm suddenly and abruptly reined in every so often, as if she suddenly realized she was in danger of cracking her mask.
He found himself watching her with far more interest than he'd expected, wondering exactly what she knew in regards to her husband's activities, the ones kept so carefully out of the public sphere. Did she realize those designer clothes she wore so well were paid for in the blood of warring African tribes? Did she sleep well at night knowing how much of her lifestyle was built on blood? He couldn't decide which he would prefer to be the truth - that she didn't know, or that she did. The latter would make her a hypocrite of the highest order, but the former would make her a fool. And he was pretty sure she was not a fool. Still, her husband was an obnoxiously slippery man, so it was possible.
Questions upon questions. So he kept attending lectures and seminars, on those few occasions when his business and hers landed them in the same areas. If nothing else, it was an hour or two where he could put aside the need to focus and follow eighty different things at once, where he could focus his mind on one, wholly trivial puzzle. If it paid off eventually in regards to the lady's husband, so much the better, but if it didn't, he was pretty sure it was still time well spent.
Still, he had never been good at just listening - lecture courses had been the downfall of his attempt at formal higher education. So while others were taking notes and such, he brought his paper and folded. Usually several models over the course of a lecture, but he always folded at least one flower, and at the end of the lecture, always managed to slip it onto the lectern without getting otherwise engaged in conversation. A simple little gift perhaps, but he figured it was only appropriate for someone so interesting.
If not in the way she intended.