She wasn't as perfect as everyone thought. One eye was bluer than the other, and she never would have made it through freshman English if it wasn't for automated spell checking. But the thing that was most imperfect about her was her thoughts. They weren't perfect at all.
Chloe was a lot darker and a lot savvier than people gave her credit for. She was willing to accept things at face value, but she still knew that they were, more likely than not, more than they seemed.
She had once hated Rush. Just hearing his name made her mind turn to her father's death. But the longer she knew the mad Scotsman, the less she could hate him. Now, in fact, she couldn't help but feel a sort of camaraderie with him. He saved her life when he didn't have to. He wasted time rescuing her. It was risky and reckless; logically, it was the wrong decision. Each second he was on that ship lessened his chances of a successful escape. He must've known that, but he did it anyway. For the first time since she'd known him, Nicholas Rush performed a thoroughly unselfish act of kindness. And it was for her. Somehow, she knew deep in her soul that if it had been James or Greer on that ship – people far more useful than herself – he wouldn't have saved them.
His rescue was so genuine. She could clearly remember the look in his eyes as he pulled that oxygen mask off of her face. There was tenderness there. It was unexpected, but it suited him well. After that moment, she began to pay special notice to his eyes. There really was a soul behind them – a living, breathing, and very human soul.
He was human. He was a man. Everyone was so wrapped up in his genius (and insanity) they ignored that fact. But Chloe couldn't ignore it anymore. Nicholas Rush was a man.
And that was why she couldn't sleep.