A/N: College needs to stop taking up my time with silly things like homework. I blame it for my lack of update time.

A warning: next month is November, which means NaNoWriMo. As much as I'd like to update again before December, I don't know how likely that is. So this may be your last update for more than a month (granted, I haven't been very good about updating frequently, but you should still know).

THIMBLES! And on with the fic…
Saran VD

PS: Happy Halloween, one and all!

Wishing the Unknown

Chapter 4

"Resignation is the timid sign of courage." ~Anonymous

"Mandi?"

Noa's voice brings me back to reality. I remember that there are other people in the room, and I blush. I must've been making quite an interesting facial expression, judging by the looks I see on the faces of the others. "Sorry," I mutter.

Noa smiles and takes my arm. "No worries," she tells me. "You're going to need to start with the videologs, but we swore to Hannah that she could see you first."

I frown in confusion. Hannah is a new name to me. I don't know what to think of it, but Noa sounds the slightest bit sympathetic, as if I'm going to face something bad. I immediately become nervous.

"Don't worry about it," Noa assures me as she leads me out of the room and through the halls. She walks briskly, and I jog to keep up. In no time at all, we've climbed a set of stairs and reached a sterile-looking white door. I understand immediately: a doctor's office. Hannah must be their doctor. Now it makes sense that I must see Hannah first.

Noa opens the door for me and lets me in. It is, indeed, a doctor's office, but a small one. It's nothing like the hospitals I've done time in. It's small and quaint, with a single bed and a few pieces of simple equipment. A door on the far wall leads elsewhere. My immediate reaction is that the office is not nearly well-enough equipped. But I realize that I am, after all, on Pandora. I'm sure that plenty of injuries have been dealt with here. The thought sends a shiver down my spine as I wonder how many people have died in this room.

The silence is broken by someone walking through the door. I know immediately that this is certainly not Hannah for one reason: he's a young man.

When I say young, I truly mean young. He doesn't look much older than I do, but he walks towards Noa and me with a surprising air of certainty. No matter his age, he very clearly belongs here.

I glance at Noa, hoping she'll introduce me. Instead, she looks confused.

"May I help you?" the boy asks. He speaks with authority, as if he's the one in charge.

"Yes, actually," she replies, sounding as puzzled as she looks. "Who are you?"

He holds out his hand for her to shake. "Dr. Alex Corcoran. Just arrived earlier today."

I'm so astonished by his title of "Doctor" that I fail to realize that he must've been on the same ship I was. Noa, too, looks awestruck as she takes his hand and shakes it. He turns to me and gives me the tiniest of smiles. This throws me off even further. I had been counting on this Dr. Corcoran to be all business, but he doesn't seem that way.

"You're Mandi Voclain, aren't you?" he asks me, offering me a handshake.

I shake his hand and nod silently, still trying to figure him out.

"Hannah just had something quick to take care of," he says. "If you'll take a seat on the bed, I can start the examination."

I do as I'm told. He pulls on a pair of gloves and proceeds to do the usual doctor-y thing: examine my eyes and ears, takes my temperature, checks my blood pressure. As he does so, I can't help but notice that he's, well, kind of cute. His hair is a dark brown, and his sleek bangs constantly fall in front of his bright green eyes. He tosses them aside with a movement I can only describe as instinctual. Unlike other doctors I've seen (other than Dr. Hayes), he doesn't attempt to make small talk as he examines me. His attention is focused entirely on the task at hand.

As he slides his stethoscope under my shirt to listen to my heartbeat, I can't help but blush and pray that my results aren't skewed at all. Fortunately, as this is happening, the back door opens again. This time, a woman enters. She looks to be in her mid-thirties. She's tall, with honey-blonde hair that was thrown into a ponytail. Behind her thin, metal glasses, her eyes are an unforgiving brown. This, I realize instantly, is Hannah. Noa's sympathy now makes a good deal more sense. Upon hearing the door open, Dr. Corcoran drops his stethoscope and stands upright beside me.

"Hannah, this is Man-"

"Yes, yes, I know about Miss Voclain," she says briskly. She surveys me with those dark eyes of hers, as if I am some sort of semi-delicious food item in a lunch buffet and she can't decide whether I should be eaten or not. "Dr. Sokoloff," she says by way of introduction, and she picks up where Dr. Corcoran had left off. "Heartbeat seems rapid," she murmurs as she listens. This time, I am certain that my bird-like pulse is from fear rather than attraction. "Inhale slowly," she instructs me, and I obey. She continues with her examination, her energy completely focused. I try to force myself to relax, but Dr. Sokoloff makes me far too nervous.

Now that he isn't working, Dr. Corcoran is all friendly smiles and pleasant, if awkward, conversation. "Don't worry about her," he says to me, obviously noticing my discomfort. "You can always request to see me instead."

Unsure how to take his comment, I laugh it off. If that was an attempt at flirtation, it was a rather strange one. "I'll keep that in mind," I say to him.

"You should," he replies. "I've only just met her, and I'm already pretty sure that she's a right pain in the-"

"Alex, if you value your life, you will not finish that sentence," says Dr. Sokoloff tartly. She takes the stethoscope out of her ears and grabs a thick wooden popsicle stick. "Say ah," she says, using it to flatten my tongue and examine my throat. "Vital signs appear normal," she says. "You didn't have any problems waking up from cryo? No excessive weakness, debilitating dizziness, loss of memory?"

"No," I answer.

"Really?" says Dr. Corcoran, sounding surprised. "Because I did."

Once again, I have no idea what to think of him. "Oh," I say. What a charmer I am.

"You should be all right for now," says Dr. Sokoloff, who has chosen to ignore him. "I'll want to see you at least once a day, preferably immediately after you leave your link. Is that clear?"

I nod.

"Good," she says. "You may go now. I'll be seeing you tomorrow."

Still silent, I stand and walk over to Noa. As we head out of the room, I hear Dr. Corcoran quietly say to Dr. Sokoloff, "She doesn't look like she's dying."

She replies, simply, "No. She doesn't."

The door closes behind Noa and I, leaving us standing outside and alone.

"Well," she says cheerfully. "Now that that's done, we can start you with your video log."

I'm seated in front of a screen, a small camera aimed at my face. My instructions are simple: just talk into the camera, tell it what I've been doing and how I feel about it. So why does this feel so weird?

After about 10 minutes, Noa walks by my desk. I haven't done anything. I've been staring at the computer, waiting for something, maybe, to inspire me to speak. But I can't get past the awkwardness.

She walks over to me, having noticed that I'm sitting with my head in my hands. I don't notice her, though, until she puts a hand on my shoulder.

"Something wrong?" she asks me. There's genuine concern in her voice.

I shrug and look up at her. "What's the point?" I ask. "I'm not going to be making any important discoveries. No one's going to watch these."

Noa looks at me for several long minutes. "If you want them sent back… after you're…"

"Gone," I say as she falters. She stares at me, as if amazed with my comfort with the situation. "Why shouldn't I talk about it openly? I'm not going to be around much longer. We all know it. Hiding it or ignoring it doesn't help anybody."

She nods and continues. "They can be sent back, though. Just… think of them as letters. You're writing letters to home. Does that help?"

I smile and nod. It helps more than she could possibly realize. She gives my shoulder a squeeze and departs.

I turn to the screen and flick on the camera. I see my face on the screen, my auburn hair in loose waves, my eyes looking almost sunken into my gaunt face. I'm a mess. I give a nervous laugh and begin.

"Well, here I am," I say. "Pandora. We thought I'd never get here, but here I am. I miss you guys already. For you, it's been six years, but I've only been awake for a couple of hours. Everyone- well, almost everyone- has been really nice to me. I seem to have gotten Dr. Augustine's attention, and I think in a good way." At the memory of it, a happy glow overwhelms me for a moment. When it subsides, I think through my day in an attempt to find something more to say. "Not much has happened here yet. I've met a few people. There's Norm and Jake, two other avatar drivers. The doctor here isn't nearly as nice as you, Dr. Hayes, but she'll do. And there's Noa. She's one of the techs or something. She's probably the nicest person I've met yet. She showed me my avatar." I pause and try to remember the exact feeling of seeing it. In an almost religious murmur, I continue, "It's… the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Like it's out of a dream. It looks like me, but healthier, stronger. Looking at it, I can almost believe…" I take a deep breath. "I can almost believe that everything's all right. That I might get to see you both one last time. Like I can get back from here alive. But we know that isn't the case." By now, my eyes are dangerously moist. "I want you to know I never stopped loving you, and I never will. I hope these logs will give you some solace when I'm gone."

I turn off the camera and flop onto the desk, burying my face in my arms. I finally release the tears. I feel as if I've been holding them in for years. First for Father, then for Dr. Hayes, then for all the scientists and Wishing Star employees. I've been the strong one for so long, it's almost strange to give in to sorrow.

Almost.

I hear footsteps behind me. They pause for a moment before continuing onward. They must have realized I'll need a moment alone. Unable to let this go unrecognized, I choke out a muffled "Thank you."

They probably don't hear me. I don't care. It's the thought that counts.