Chapter Text
Deanna is fumbling with the copier in the Student Union mailroom the first time she sees Will Riker. It’s already been a long morning, and she isn’t in the mood for how finicky the copier can be. All she needed was a few sets of syllabi printed for her faculty advisor, but it looks like she may only get the first lecture’s worth.
She sighs and resigns herself to lost time. She’ll have to deal with sorting these out later if they don’t come out now. She’s just jamming the new cartridge into the front of the printer, swearing quietly under her breath, when she hears a rustle behind her. She swings the cover closed and steps back, brushing a curl out of her face as she goes. She assumes whoever is behind her will also need copies, so maybe she can rope them into troubleshooting if the new ink cartridge doesn’t work. What she
isn’t
expecting is to see the most handsome man she’s ever met, at 8:31 on a Tuesday morning, while she’s frazzled beyond belief and running late. She also isn't expecting someone so tall and wearing so much plaid.
“Oh–” she cuts herself off. There’s nothing she can possibly say in this moment that will sound really smart, so she just settles for putting her hands behind her back and waiting.
“I would offer to help, but I think I might be more of a hindrance than anything else.” He offers her a warm smile and sets down the stack of papers he’s carrying. “Will Riker, first year in the Forestry grad program.”
He’s holding out his hand, and Deanna doesn’t quite know what to do. She manages to unstick one hand from behind her back and grasp his. “Deanna Troi, second year in Psychology, a PhD that is.”
She feels like none of her sentences are making sense, even in her head. It’s been a while since she’s tried dating, and this was certainly not where she saw herself running into a good looking person and trying to make conversation.
Will just nods and then turns to the copier. “Does this thing usually cooperate or should I anticipate a struggle each time?”
He’s laughing, but she can sense a genuine question when she hears one.
“Sadly, it loves to cause problems,” she stares at the key pad and punches in the required number of copies–300–for the freshman lecture she’s TA-ing. “Let’s see if this works.”
She crosses her fingers, literally, and listens while the printer starts chugging along. It begins to spit out copies, and she lets out a breath, hoping it keeps going. Will moves to stand next to her, where he can also see the copies flying into the tray on the right side of the machine.
“Well, looks like we’ll be off and running!” He offers her a bright smile, his eyes crinkling pleasantly. Although things are certainly off to a bumpy start today, he’s managed to put her at ease (odd, she ponders, given that he’s objectively very tall and a complete stranger). He isn’t done though. “Any chance I could convince you to run me through the necessary pieces while you finish your copies?”
“Sure,” she replies, and she starts to gather the copies from the tray. It’s short work to order them and flip them to start the next side of the syllabus. She shows him how to get it to double-sided copies and inserts her next page. Thankfully, the machine has decided to cooperate, and it’s quick work to finish up her copies. Once all her pages are finished, she gathers the stacks of copies and moves to the table in the center of the room.
“Pleasure to meet you!” She stacks up her copies and pulls the strap of her bag over her shoulder. He returns the smile and looks like he wants to say something, but she has no time to stay. She blurts out, “good luck with your copies!” She shoots him a quick smile and a nod before pulling the copies to her chest and half-running out of the room toward the lecture hall.
Deanna is very nearly late to the lecture, rushing past students into the hall and making hurried eye contact with her professor at the front of the hall. The professor is an older man, very nice but sometimes too absorbed in his own research, which makes her an invaluable resource for the undergrads. The professor gives her a jolly smile and continues sorting his papers for the lecture. Deanna stacks the syllabus pages and the class information handouts at the front of the hall, ready to pass out to the students.
As she sits down, Deanna finds herself thinking about Will Riker from the copy room. HOnesetly, no one has a right to be so charming in a (minor) crisis before nine am. It’s just not reasonable. She listens with half an ear as the professor begins his lecture, ready to stand and help the other TA pass out the handouts. She’s already TA-d this class before, so she knows the material and vaguely remembers where the students usually get hung up. She’ll hold her regular office hours and work with the other TA, a woman named Alyssa Ogawa, to get the students set up.
Once the lecture is over, Deanna unfolds herself from the (admittedly uncomfortable) fold-up seat and heads into the building where the Psychology grad students have their offices. It’s a beautiful, old building, and Deanna has a pleasant view of the central courtyard. There’s a beautiful garden with roses (each with a placard with the name of a famous psychological expert), and a fountain that burbles soothingly. She breathes a sigh of relief when she sets her bag down on her desk chair. She shares an office with another grad student, Chandra, who is one of her best friends in the program. They are from almost the same area near Los Angeles and have similar families (mostly the very energetic and slightly overbearing mother).
Deanna’s office has a few decorations, although it’s relatively bare after the summer break (since she finally gave in to her mother’s pleadings and went home). She pulls a framed photo out of her backpack, one of her and her father, and places it on the corner of her desk where she can see it each time she sits down to work at her computer. Ian Troi was a giant in her eyes, and being able to see him always lifts her spirits. She lifts her laptop out of the bag as well and pulls out a notebook. She needs to get started with her own research again this term, including setting up studies, tracking down data, and even reserving a study carrel in the library. Such is the glamorous life of a grad student. She sighs again.
Some of her fellow grad students have leaned into the ability to take work home, and they’ve all set up their remote stations with laptops at home. Deanna prefers working on campus so that she can keep home separate. She needs an oasis outside of campus. Last year was overwhelming enough, and she knows herself well enough to see that her own private space is precious. Quite soon her office will be overrun with the anxious undergrads (well maybe really only in a few weeks), but maybe she has a few weeks until they really start coming in.
Deanna meanders down the hall into the kitchenette available to the grad students, and she makes a cup of tea. She offhandedly notes the nearly-empty carton of her favorite brand, and she makes a mental note to buy more when she goes shopping. It’s still warm out now, but soon it will be cold enough that she will want tea constantly–she always feels cold here once the weather truly changes.
She heads back to her office and settles in for a long haul afternoon. She goes through emails, opens files, and starts setting up a spreadsheet for her newest survey study. By the time she looks away from her computer, it is nearly five pm. The light has begun to change and even is falling over the city. Deanna packs up and glances down into the garden, where the roses are still in bloom. She stretches her shoulders and tidies her desk before leaving for the evening. It’s going to be a long term, and she needs to start setting up her schedule early. As she walks out of the building, her mind turns to Will Riker again, and all his plaid. It's never been a thing for her before, but she can't deny it's a good look on him. This year might get interesting after all.