The stocky professor watched the lanky graduate as he watched the hockey game. He wasn't wearing a jacket in the cold rink, simply a maroon scarf and a black shirt. Instead of yelling like everyone else, he would simply smile whenever the maroon and gold clad players found a way past the other goalie, gray and navy.
The biggest game of the year, Starfleet Academy against Daystrom Research Institute. It was looking as if DRI would be breaking the long tradition of losing to the Academy, as the game was tied 4-4 with ten seconds left.
The tall student jumped up and screamed with the rest of them when number 22, a player few people really knew gave a amazing little wrist shot through the corner of the Starfleet goal. The professor couldn't help but grin, too, as a rush of gold and maroon flooded down the stands onto the ice. The student didn't follow, and 22 didn't celebrate for long. As the student thundered down the bleachers, the professor stopped him.
"Reginald Barclay?"
"Y-yes."
"Like hockey?"
"N-not really. B-but my friend plays on-on t-the team..."
"Walk with me."
The taller student fell into step.
"Barclay, I know you're a little shy, but extremly brilliant."
"Here we go." Barclay muttered under his breath. The professor ignored him.
"We'd like you to come back after your final year to teach."
"No way." He replied flatly. "Never."
"Why?"
"Starfleet offered me a positon as diasnostic engineer on the Zhuktov, and lieutenant jay-gee."
"Reg-"
"Graduate Barclay will do." He became cold. "I do not wish to humiliate myself in front of students. I'd much rather do it in space, amoung my peers, than here on Rigel Two. Thank you for the offer." He walked away.
'That was the longest piece of speech without stuttering since he was fourteen.' The professor thought to himself. 'Must really want to go to Starfleet.'
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