A/N: Sorry it took so long to update, I had an extremely hard time writing this chapter. It takes place before the fall.

CHAPTER 10

There was no way in hell that girl had an medical degree. She was smart, he'd give her that, but he couldn't believe that some eighteen-year-old was a licensed physician. Then again, he never did find out her age. Although her physical recovery was complete, she had yet to remember anything vital about her life. Even her own name still escaped her, but occasionally she would conjure sparse memories. After she had spent two weeks in the hospital, Cottle decided to move her to the psychological ward. There, she spent most of her time writing down dreams in the notebook he had given her, but she refused to share any with him. After being moved, the girl seemed to be much more antisocial and uncooperative.

The first time her brain rewarded her with a small recollection was the day after they had first talked. She had informed one of the nurses that she had moved to the town of Andromeda after graduating from secondary school. Unfortunately, that was all she could remember, and it certainly wasn't enough to figure out who she was. Two days later, when Cottle decided to check up on her, she told him that she received her M.D. from the University of Aerilon in Gaoth. Naturally, he scoffed at her; Aerilon was known for its crap educational system. However, when Cottle brought that up, the patient quirked an eyebrow.

"Aerilon is home to the most brilliant minds in the colonies. Not to mention the highest graduation rates for secondary and tertiary school," she claimed.

Cottle narrowed his gaze and studied the girl's face. She was articulate and seemed intelligent, and yet the words coming out of her mouth made him think that he should have sent her to the Delphi Convalescent Institute.

"Kid, if I could, I would take you to that wasteland right now and show you what I mean. All Aerilon's good for is giving food to the rest of the colonies and making some damn good booze. That's it."

Her mouth opened and closed a few times as she tried to come up with a response. When none came, Cottle placed a hand on her shoulder, and assumed that she was just getting the colonies confused. Without so much as a nod or shake of her head, the girl simply made a guttural sound and stared ahead.

Small pieces of her life started coming to her one by one; she lived in a white house on a plantation. A man with bright blue eyes lived in the house with her. Even a few visions of standing in some university courtyard came to her in her dreams.

Yesterday, Cottle had walked into her room to find her crying, twirling the ring around her finger. After a moment of hesitation, he crossed the threshold and stiffly sat in the chair next to the patient's bed. They sad in silence, only the sound of the girl's soft whimpering filled the room.

"Would you feel better if you told me what you remember?" he had asked. Cottle knew it was paramount for him to be gentle, so he summoned all the tenderness he had in his body.

"I don't remember anything," she had finally let out between a sniffle, "I just...I feel very sad. My eyes won't stop watering and I can't shake this feeling of...of...I don't know, melancholy."

Cottle felt lost; it was new for him to feel a genuine desire to cheer someone up. With intense reservation, he slowly reached out and took her right hand in his. "I'm no psychologist, clearly, but it's possible that you're subconsciously remembering something painful," he suggested. He was having a hard time finding more comforting words to give distraught girl, but she seemed to accept his hypothesis. "It also sucks to be stuck in a frakking hospital for so long, so maybe you're just getting a bit stir crazy."

Her bottom lip poked out in a small frown, and she tilted her head. "A hospital," she breathed, "I think I worked at some dumpy hospital."

Cottle strode through the hallway after seeing a patient, intent on returning to the solace of his office. One of the nurses, he forgot her name, smiled as she took the file he was holding. He was the godsdamned Dean of Medicine, wasn't he suppose to strike fear in the hearts of his staff? Naturally, he gave a mere grunt in return, and made his way toward his office. All Cottle wanted to do was grab his cigs and smoke a whole pack in the fire escape, but of course he couldn't do that. His batshit crazy patient was standing in front of his desk, facing him and smiling widely. She was clutching her beloved notebook to her chest, and her smile only grew as he walked towards her. Make that two packs of cigarettes. Her strawberry-brown hair was combed, for once, and her auspicious, metallic eyes were gleaming. It was the first time he had seen her without hospital apparel. Looking at her now, standing tall, with her normal, tan skin color and above average height, Cottle saw that she was a very attractive girl. He shook the idea from his head; a thirty-one-year-old man shouldn't be ogling teenage girls.

"I have a proposition for you," she began as she crossed the room to sit in the metal chair in front of his desk. Cottle sauntered past her and yanked open one of his desk drawers.

"Are you finally going to tell me what you write in that frakking notebook?" he growled as he shuffled through his belongings, searching desperately for some cigarettes.

"No," she answered quickly and with a bit more force than she intended. She put a lock of hair behind her ear, and then spoke again: "it has nothing to do with that. It's about my future here."

"I'm not going to like this, am I," Cottle groaned.

"There's a chance that you may object, but I figured I had nothing to lose," she responded as she slouched her shoulders.

Cottle regarded her as he dug through his drawer, trying to guess what she wanted. Over the course of the week that she had spent in the psych ward, nine psychologists were hired to help her jog her memory. Every single one of them had quit, claiming that the girl was insulting of their techniques, and heavily conceited about her own intelligence. Once of them had even received a punch to the nose when he tried to read the girl's notebook. Outwardly, she had seemed so kind and calm, but it was possible that the negative personality change meant that her mind was reverting back to her original mental state. Though her attitude was becoming difficult to deal with, it signified that she was making progress.

"Then let's get it over with," Cottle replied thoughtlessly, pulling the coveted pack of cigarettes from his desk.

"I remembered a few more things. Firstly, in addition to an M.D., I also have PhD's in molecular biology and psychology."

Cottle was in the process of pulling a stick out of the pack, but he dropped the entire thing when she finished her sentence. President Odin must really be getting his shit together with Colonial education.

"You have three doctorates, and you're not even twenty yet?" he managed to choke out as he leaned down to retrieve his cigarettes.

"You don't know how old I am. And yes. Excuse me for being a genius."

"How old are you, then?"

"How old are you?"

Cottle rolled his eyes as he lit a cigarette.

"I'm pretty sure you can't smoke in hospitals, Doctor," she smiled as she scolded him facetiously.

"I'm the damn Dean of Medicine, I make the rules," he exhaled with his eyes closed, trying to relax. "Tell my your so-called proposition already."

"Okay, okay. Honestly, I can't see myself remembering anything glaringly about myself, so I figured I might as well start over. A clean slate, if you will. I think you should hire me. And don't tell me you don't need anyone, because I've already observed how short-staffed you are.

Dr. Cottle maintained a blank face as she finished, and blew out a flurry of smoke without changing his expression. Before returning the cigarette to his mouth, he released a raspy guffaw.

"You want me to hire you? As what, a janitor? That's the only job I can think of that requires neither credentials nor a name. You haven't really been here that long, anyway, it can take years before an amnesia patient remembers who they are."

"I don't want to wait that long to get my old life back, so I think it would be in my best interest to start a new one. And absolutely not," the girl huffed, "you need surgeons. I'll work for you as a surgeon."

"That's a definite and irrevocable no. You have no form of identification, you could be some sort of serial killer and neither of us know it."

"Don't you think that's a little hyperbolic?"

"Anything's possible," he puffed, leaning back in his chair.

"I thought you were the Dean of Medicine," she cooed, tapping her fingers on his desk.

"I am, so what?"

"I thought that meant you make the rules. Therefore, you can hire someone without identification."

Cottle squinted as he took another drag, he didn't appreciate having his words turned against him.

"Okay, fine. You're right. In fact, one of the receptionists is an illegal Sagittaron immigrant. But that wasn't the only thing preventing me from even considering hiring you. You have no tangible proof of your schooling. I can't hire a surgeon, or any other doctor, for that matter, if I'm not positive that they can perform the necessary tasks. How can I be sure that you remember how to be a doctor if you can't even remember your family?"

The Aerilonian sat up straighter and placed both of her hands in her lap. Cottle was already done with his cigarette, and was putting it out on an ash tray on his desk.

"My surgical skills are still engraved in my brain, I assure you. What if I told you my job history? You can choose not to believe me if you want, but everything I'm going to tell you is true. Then, you can decide to put me on a sort of trial, make sure I can perform those necessary tasks of yours."

Cottle lit another cigarette as he stared out the window. Allowing her to recount her job history may jog other memories, not to mention he was embarrassingly curious as to what she was going to tell him.

"Alright, alright, tell me about your previous jobs, and I'll consider your idea. Maybe it'll convince me that you aren't completely nuts."

"Can't make any promises," she replied as she looked the ceiling, trying to decide where to begin.

"First, I got my M.D. and PhD in molecular bio roughly around the same time at the University of Aerilon. I was the head of surgery...I think it was Perseus Hospital in Promethea. Then...I...I remember I moved to Andromeda, but I don't remember when or why. There, I went to the Athenian University and got my PhD in psychology. After that, I was a psychologist...of some sort...frak, I don't remember that either. While I did that, though, I was also a Professor of Endocrinology at the Athenian. Those are the last two jobs I remember having."

Surprisingly, Cottle didn't doze off during her spiel. His second cigarette had long since been finished, and he was leaning over his desk, listening intently. The girl crossed her arms and her legs and observed the doctor impassively, drumming her fingers on the spine of her notebook.

"Is that all?" he asked sarcastically. A suppressed giggle made its way out of her smirk. Covering his hands in his face, Cottle leaned back in his chair and groaned.

"I don't understand how the hell you were able to do all that in such a short amount of time. I mean, you can't be older than twenty. If that's true, though, then I guess it's quite impressive. I can see you as a psychologist, what with your apparently rich emotional spectrum."

"School doesn't take that long for people who already know everything," she smirked at him.

"You don't even remember your own name, kid, so you're far from knowing everything."

"Not before my little accident," she mumbled, "so when can I start?"

A drawn-out sigh escaped from Cottle's iodine-stained lips.

"I can't frakking believe that I'm about to do this, but fine. I'll assess your abilities tomorrow, and then go from there."

"Perfect," she beamed.

"Don't go thinking I'm doing this for you, though. I just desperately need a surgeon. Everyone else in the colonies either wants to join the frakking military, or build frakking robots."

"Didn't you tell me once that you were a medic in the military?" the girl teased as she stood.

"That's different, I never had to dive headfirst into some politically-fueled battle," he paused and looked at the girl, who was standing as if she wanted to leave. "If I decide to let you work here, you're gonna need a name. It'll make it easier for you to make friends with all my lovely nurses," he waved his hand around.

"Should I make up a fake one then?" she asked with knitted eyebrows.

"Nope, I have the perfect name for you," the doctor smirked. The girl's eyebrows came even closer together as she frowned at Cottle.

"I'm not some sort of pet, doctor."

"No, but you'll be my inferior, which is pretty much the same thing. Your name is now Chaos. I don't care whether you like it or not, because that's what I'm going to call you from now on."

"Chaos," she repeated with a smile, "too bad I like it."

"Well thank the gods for that I'll see you tomorrow at eight o'clock sharp, Chaos," and with that, Cottle grabbed his pack from the drawer, and left her alone in his office. She smiled to herself, and felt happy that she not only had something to do, but that it meant she could spend more time with the grouchy doctor. She immediately grew attached to the name he gave her; it was quite fitting, considering recent events. Chaos found that, surprisingly, she didn't care if she ever filled in the gaps in her memories; she was content with where she was. And she knew that Cottle was, too, because unfortunately for him, Chaos could perceive how severely curious he was about her.

Naturally, Chaos had succeeded in impressing Dr. Cottle with her surgical skills. Three appendectomies and a heart transplant later, Chaos had officially become a member of the Caprica General staff. Her knowledge of the human body was unmatched by any of the top doctors that Cottle had associated with throughout the years. It wasn't just the mechanics of the organ systems that the young girl had a keen understanding of; she was very in tune with how the people around her were feeling. She would often return to the psych ward to observe and sometimes even talk to some of the patients. Most of the time, Cottle would kick her ass back to the O.R., but occasionally he'd find her in deep conversation with one of the more mentally unstable patients.

One patient in particular was an older woman named Marjorie Clement. The woman was around fifty, and had lost her son in a school shooting around fifteen years ago. She hadn't spoken a word since then. She was responding to none of the treatment, from group therapy to a one-on-one with clinical psychologists. Her own family had even given up on her, and stopped paying for her to stay in the Delphi Convalescent Institute. That's how she ended up in the asylum wing of Caprica General. The hospital board didn't want the woman to live in the hospital for free, of course, so they gave Cottle six months to figure out what to do with her. Cottle didn't give a frak whether she was staying for free. He took an oath, and as the head doctor of the hospital, it was his job to make sure she was taken care of. There was no way he'd be able to just kick her out onto the streets.

"All you blowhards care about is money. None of you are doctors, and therefore can't understand my concerns. Marjorie Clement is in need of some serious help, and just because her family sucks doesn't mean she should be thrown onto the streets of Caprica City," he had presented his case to the board, but the snooty Caprican men simply turned up their noses.

"And you can't understand our concerns, Sherman," one of the gasbags began, "money keeps this hospital up and running."

"Dying people keep this place up and running."

It had been three months since the board's ultimatum, and Cottle had assigned a number of different psychologists to assess her. As expected, all had been unsuccessful in getting her to talk, let alone acknowledge their existence. Contacting her family did nothing, they had all moved to Gemenon, and there was no way for him to find out whether there was someone else who was willing to take her in. He was on his way to the psych ward for one of his weekly checkups with her. She hadn't changed at all in those months, so he definitely wasn't expecting the scene he found when he entered her room.

Both Chaos and Marjorie were sitting at the small eating table that was provided in each room, and they were talking. Both of them were talking. They were having a conversation. The frown lines on Marjorie's face were replaced with creases that were stemming from the demure smile on her face. She was sitting extremely still and her body language suggested that she wasn't use to being in contact with another human being for so long, but hell, at least her vocal cords were moving. The sound of Cottle closing the door behind him caused their mouths to stop moving, however, and Marjorie looked down at her lap. Cottle had barely stepped into the room before Chaos was pushing him out of it.

"What the frak are you doing?" he growled through his teeth as Chaos closed the door behind him.

"I just got her to talk, and I didn't want you frakking it up," she answered as they both made their way down the corridor.

"How would I frak it up? I'm her attending, for gods' sakes," he whispered as they passed one of their colleagues.

"Marjorie isn't ready to talk in front of men yet," Chaos snapped, as if that were something that Cottle should already know. They had entered an elevator, so Cottle dropped his hushed tone.

"She never exhibited any weird behavior towards men before, what the hell changed?"

"Nothing changed." A swarm of people piled into the elevator as they stopped at the pharmacy floor.

"Well of course nothing changed, the woman never talked before!" his whisper returned, but the harshness remained, "how did you know she had a problem with men?"

"Wasn't it obvious? She never looked any on the male nurses in the eyes, only the females."

"Oh, well something as blatant as that, how could I have missed it," he said sarcastically as they exited the elevator on the first floor, "what's her issue with men then?"

They had both finally made it to Cottle's office, and Chaos beat him to his own chair. His glare pierced her skin as he fished for a cigarette in the pocket of his coat.

"You've been here for a year, haven't you figured out that no one's ass is allowed in that chair except mine?" he slouched his way to the desk, and reached down to fetch a lighter from one of the drawers, pulling it out far enough to slam it into Chaos' knee. She clenched her teeth in pain, but was otherwise unaffected.

"Evidently not," she spat, "but back to Marjorie. Did you know that she was at Little Goat Elementary School during the shooting?"

A large plume of smoke expelled from Cottle's mouth as he huffed in frustration.

"Of course not, how could I possibly have known that if she doesn't tell me anything?"

"I don't know, I figured her family must have told you that she was threatened at gunpoint by the man who shot up the school, and that she subsequently witnessed the murder of her five year old son," Chaos was now glaring at him, and he shook his head as he pulled the cig from his mouth. That certainly would have been valuable information, and it was just another reason to absolutely hate the woman's family.

"They didn't. Well, how the frak did you get her to talk?"

"Easy," she began, relinquishing the chair to Cottle, "I sat in her room until she decided to talk to me."

Cottle dropped his cigarette on the carpet, and let out a muffled 'frak' as he stomped on the sparks.

"That's it? Do you have any idea how many professionals I hired? And all you did was frakking sit there?" he sank into his chair and stared at the strange girl, who was now sitting opposite him.

"All those idiots barged into her living space and demanded that she speak to them. You cant' just make someone talk when they clearly don't want to talk to you. I brought in two meals, one for each of us, and ate while I just talked. Not necessarily to her or at her, just about random stuff. Eventually, she sat down and ate with me, and she shared some things."

Cottle was afraid that the disbelief caught on his face would be permanent. Chaos had been a constant thorn in his side ever since he hired her. She rarely respected his wishes. Whenever she'd disregard them, though, the most recent being 'don't bother the neurosurgeon while he's operating,' she ended up saving the patient's life after pointing out a bleed that the surgeon had missed. Her incessant narcissism made Cottle want to throw her out a window, but her behavior was something he'd have to deal with if it meant saving people's lives.

"Do you think you can have her at least somewhat mentally stable in three months? Enough to be able to live in her own place with some help?"

Chaos nodded, reaching across the table to grab Cottle's pack of cigarettes. She started stacking each of them, constructing a square structure, and the two sat in silence for a few moments.

"How have you been feeling lately?" the older doctor's rumbling baritone pushed through the silence as he suddenly decided to ask her about her well-being. It was something he had been doing a few times a week ever since she had left the psych ward. He wanted to make sure that she was adjusting to the change, and although it had been a year already, he still sensed some instability from her.

"Fine," Chaos didn't look up from her project as she answered him.

"Had any of those prophetic dreams lately?"

"Yeah. I wrote them down."

Normally, Chaos never shut the frak up, especially about herself. This amazed Cottle, considering she still didn't remember much of her past. No new memories had come back to her, so her identity was still a mystery. She was loud, and certainly fit in with his chatty nursing staff. On occasion, however, Chaos would become distant and quiet. Cottle deduced that the dreams she would have did that to her. He still didn't know what the nature of her dreams was, but it was clear that they disturbed her to a certain extent.

A few months ago, Chaos had brought up the dreams in casual conversation, informing Cottle that they seemed like visions. That gave him a better understanding as to why the dreams seemed to dishearten her so much; they conflicted with her atheistic view of the universe. Cottle became even more concerned about her when she started reading the Scriptures. Chaos insisted that it was simply a part of her desire to know everything, but her sudden obsession with them still made Cottle uncomfortable.

"Good. I'd like you to keep seeing Miss Clement. In fact, I'm going to assign you to some of the other patients in the mental health wing. Think you can handle that along with the surgery rotation schedule?

"Of course," she scoffed with furrowed eyebrows, "also, I'm coming over for dinner tonight."

"You have your own apartment now, why do you have to keep intruding in my living space?" he groaned. It had become a weekly thing, Chaos showing up at his doorstep with fully prepared meals.

"Because I know what an awful cook you are, and I know how much you like to wallow and navel gaze when you're by yourself. I'm making a spicy Tauranese noodle dish."

"I hate Tauranese," Cottle complained as he stabbed the butt of his finished cigarette into his desk