Because I can still be useful.
It's painful how pleased she is when she says it. There's an extra snark to her that wasn't there before. Not even just recently, but... before. Not that he truly paid that much attention to her before, but he is quite certain it wasn't there. He wonders idly if that's his doing, or if it's Eli.
Back in his own quarters, Dr. Nicholas Rush drops the damning notebook on his bed. He takes a deep breath, not surprised when it comes out in a shudder. His heart is racing, and his eyes flash about. He doesn't know what he expects to see, but he's not surprised when he finds nothing.
Eventually, he sits down with a sigh. He wraps an arm around himself, while covering his face with a hand. It was a gamble, and an admittedly cruel one. Wray was right – he knew better than anyone else what it was like to be there, under their needle. He'd certainly had enough nightmares – and so had she. But he hadn't had to endure the physical change. There was the knowledge that they'd planted something inside him, but they hadn't turned his very blood, his very mind against him.
...Well, alright. That could be debated.
Tapping a knuckle on his lips, the wiry beard course on his skin, his eyes flitted to the notebook. It was just a leather notebook, like so many he had – moleskines were a trick of the writer's trade, be ye of the fictional or mathematical variety. He was in college before he got hooked on them, but now he had a stash of them among his things always. Good thing, too, because if he ran out of them now, he'd be sore out of luck. He shuffled his features, and reached out to the notebook again, flipping open the cover and brushing over the equations.
She'd chosen random numbers, random sequences. Stars, planets, constellations. Varying velocities and even masses. She'd complicated them, simplified them, changing minor details, or a variable here and there. But line after line, it was...
He sighed. "Perfect." He recognised the false start he had made himself, once, about a month into a problem, scratched over, and her solution just beneath. Part of him ought to be miffed that a slip of a girl could outdo his maths, but it had the opposite effect. Little Miss Brilliant.
He closed his eyes at the thought, and pressed fingers into the sockets, rubbing them. Oh, Mandy would have been impressed. He indulged the thought of the two of them working on a problem together, and him standing by, helpless after two months of no luck on the damned thing, and the two of them tittering at him for being a 'silly old man', stuck in his ways, without the brilliance of the female mind to conjure up such fantastic ideas. It was a biting bit of misanthropy that might amuse some to know about. But there was something to be said about old dogs and new tricks.
His eyes looked over the equations again.
But I'm supposed to be back to normal.
It was a good thing, he told her. And part of him knew it. Knew that... this was a blessing. Just as he knew that, if they'd taken her away and never returned her, it would also have been an acceptable end. Instead of watching her descend into madness, already far beyond their control, and them put down like a rabid dog... She was handed over to them and not a burden to them any longer.
These were the things that told him why he was working with computers, and not with people.
But some people... No, some women. Some women had an effect on him. Brave, brilliant women. It's what drew him to Gloria, all culture and uninhibited thought. The way her fingers danced on the string of a violin, the way her crisp words floated over poetry and philosophy. The way she'd chide him, call him "Nick", and managed to pull him out of his think tanks and back into the real world. That had been the hardest part of being in the chair – that knowledge that she was just there, just out of reach. But it'd been so painful to be so close, knowing that it was just a memory, and a cruel, crushing, fleeting one at that...
...Mandy had reminded him how much he loved the delicate, feminine mind. The shy way she spoke, as if she wasn't doing the work of lifetimes, battling monsters and centuries of prejudice as she worked in her codes. A woman in engineering, the kind of thing was unheard of. Or when it was, she was merely the pretty gem in the shop, the sort of thing that slept with professors and drew the eye of her classmates, stealing their work for an easy grade. But there was the rare truth of it – the woman who was genuinely brilliant, and shone so much brighter for her individual successes. Even for the chair, she drew the pity of many, but Nick... Nick saw the beauty of her mind, the kind soul inside. The soft smile, and the spark of imagination and challenge of the spirit. He could talk of his work, and she knew what he said. He could give her puzzles and codes and traps, and she would navigate them with a sureness, an ease that left him breathless in admiration. He could tempt and trick and try her, and she would best the challenge with a raised brow, as if to say, 'Is that all you got?'
And she had the philosophy. She knew better than most the existential nightmare that was reality, understood his thirst for a higher plane of being. They could dream of a better world, together, and he took comfort in the company, so rare in the world. The balance to his equation, a brilliant woman.
Little Miss Brilliant.
He touched his hand to his jaw, and realised it was shaking. He tried to clench down, but his teeth chattered. He tightened a fist, closing his eyes.
He let himself focus on her face. It was hard, with Wray and Gin there, too, but somewhere in the eyes, you could see her. The length of her jaw, the bright blue of her watchful gaze, soaking everything up, learning. Studying, and hoping. So hopeful. He'd been a fool to take her attentions for granted. To let his self-doubt disregard that opportunity... So many times.
It pained him to think of her own heart, yearning for him. He'd been alone for so long... Had practically basked in it, and had forgotten the ache of someone else in your thoughts, disturbing your dreams. When you see yourself die on a kino, and that face appears in your head.
They say that any life worth living is full of regrets.
Tears are falling. Nick gasps, his hands are shaking, now, as he goes to wipe away the tears.
All of this over a girl.
It's always a girl, isn't it?
He lets them fall, once again basking in the sorrow. It hurts, but it's feeling. It tells him why he's here. Why he's doing this. And... as much as it hurts, it's making him stronger.
So... Everything happens for a reason?
He can almost hear Mandy laugh, or see his Gloria roll her eyes. He can't help the momentary smile. Oh, the women he loved. Mandy asking him about the coffee. Gloria asking him if he was going to accompany her to the doctor. He wasn't the bravest, strongest man in the world. Having no caffeine, no nicotine, and not even an acceptable source of alcohol... It was incredibly difficult, surviving on nothing. Nothing but sleep and gruel, and truly, he doesn't do very well. It's getting better, but...
...But he has weaknesses. So many weaknesses...
Like the shuttle crash? Those kinds of mistakes? You killed that boy!
...so many weaknesses.
Nick sighs, again. He looks down to the notebook. The equations on it are...
He doesn't know what they are. Are the aliens mocking him? Is it a gift? Divine providence giving him a break?
Or is it just another set up, so that they can survive another near-death experience later?
It's cruel, stringing him on, like this. But if there's one thing the world is, it's cruel. But also purposeful.
With a last sniff, he closes the notebook, and puts it on his bedside table. He stares at it, for a long time. For what it holds, what it promises. That brilliant mind, and perhaps the girl that has hung out with him long enough to pick up his snark.
He doesn't want to think on what that means – what it means when someone starts to emulate you. Who changes her manner of speech for another. When she calls for you, and you alone, and you hurry to her call. How you stop important work at the mere mention of her request, and brush aside the Colonel's rather justified questions, because she called for you.
He doesn't want to think, because thinking is not what love is about. Love is about feeling.
And he's not sure how much more feeling he can take.