It was a cold morning at the research facility. The large, hollow building had invited in the winter frost, and like an unwelcome guest, it lingered, refusing to leave. The chill in the air possessed everything it touched, and it coursed through Mia's veins as if her blood had turned to ice. Mia spent the night curled up on a bed in one of the imaging rooms next to the lab, desperately clinging to herself for warmth. It was another sleepless night; one of those nights where she felt as though she was lying in a prison of her own mind, simply waiting for the sun to rise. As she lay there, her mind looped like a broken record, turning back to the same thought, replaying the same moment over and over in her head. She couldn't stop thinking about the way she touched him that night, and the way she so boldly showed her affection. Did she really think she felt something for him, and he for her? She couldn't be sure; it happened so suddenly without a prompt, it must have surprised him as much as it did herself. But he didn't react startled; he simply stood back impassively, without a single word. Not even a word of rejection, which would have been less demeaning than silence. Each time she played that moment in her head, she cringed with humiliation. But perhaps humiliation was the price she had to pay to find that her heart was not dead after all, even though for many years she thought she could never feel the things a 'normal' woman should. But when he made it clear that those feelings were not returned, she knew that whatever awoke in her that night had died just as quickly, perhaps never to be awoken again.

The sunlight was already bright through the windows. Mia wondered what time it was. By the amount of light she could distinguish, she guessed it was mid-morning. She stood up, barely able to feel her legs beneath her from the numbing cold, and made her way into the lounge room in the west wing. As she walked through the door, she heard a faint snore from across the room where Ephraim slept. She let out a relaxed sigh.

"You're gonna be sleeping that one off for a long time," she muttered to herself.

"You shouldn't feel sorry for him," Malaika unexpectedly spoke from nearby. "He does this to himself."

"You're still here…" Mia remarked with surprise, as she thought Malaika had left with Quinlan the previous night.

"Quinlan told me to stay," she muttered.

"Well, I'm glad you're here," Mia smiled. "I appreciate your help last night… with Ephraim."

Mia's gratitude left her without a response, as she had never learned how to react to kindness; she was always more comfortable with anger. But Mia wasn't looking for a response either way.

"Can you help me to the kitchen?" Mia reached out her hand towards the sound of Malaika's voice.

Malaika stood unmoving for a moment. Then realising she didn't really have a choice, she walked reluctantly to Mia and let her take hold of her arm. "I thought you can find your own way," she grumbled.

"I can, but it's easier this way."

She led Mia into the small kitchenette at the front of the lounge room, and then she pulled away and stood back, watching her as she started to search the benchtop with her hands.

"So how old are you?" Mia conversed as her hands brushed across various objects on the bench until she found a kettle. Then she searched just as tediously for the tap.

"Seventeen."

"Seventeen…" Mia echoed as the number resonated in her head. She suddenly stopped and stood staring vacantly with a troubled expression on her face.

"Is there something wrong with that?" Malaika asked irritably as she noted Mia's reaction.

"No, I just…" her voice trailed off. She shook out of her daze and carried on what she was doing. She turned on the kettle and looked down towards it, listening to the humming sound as it started to heat the water. "I remember when I was seventeen," she murmured. "I remember it all too well…"

"Remember what? Deciding what colour to paint your nails?"

Mia laughed, but behind her eyes was a distant look. She swallowed a bitter taste in her mouth. "No, I remember losing my memory for six days and waking up in a psych ward with my wrists strapped down to the bed."

Malaika's expression changed as she stared at Mia.

"And I remember other things I wish I could forget…"

"Like what?" Malaika looked at her discerningly.

There were too many memories she could have recalled. But most of them she could not bring herself to talk about, or even think about, without her body violently shutting down to protect itself from the pain. She could only speak of the less painful memories from those years.

"I remember dying…"

"Dying?" Malaika repeated, confused.

"Yeah… I was in the back of an ambulance, and even though I was already unconscious, I swear I could feel the world slowly slipping away. It was almost peaceful," she smiled faintly. "Apparently my heart had stopped beating for almost two minutes, but they were able to bring me back."

"How did you die?"

Mia looked back down towards the kettle in front of her, which was now bubbling loudly, drowning out her soft, broken voice. She hesitated, "I… overdosed on narcotics…"

"So you took drugs?"

"No, I would never go near that stuff," Mia scrunched her face in disgust. "I didn't do it to myself…" There was tension on her face as she tried to suppress the memories, and she turned away as if she was done with the conversation.

Malaika's eyes lowered almost apologetically. "Rough past?"

"Look at what's happening to the world. Anyone who lived through yesterday could say they had a rough past. It doesn't make me special," Mia shrugged.

The kettle clicked as it came to a boil, interrupting the uncomfortable moment.

"Help me find some cups," Mia instructed. "They're in one of these overhead cupboards."

Malaika unwittingly obliged without thinking. She found two mugs and placed them down on the bench in front of Mia.

"You know, I'm not the kind of person you think I am," said Mia as she filled the mugs with hot water from the kettle and took one for herself. She brought it close to her face and let the steam warm her frosted skin.

"And what kind of person do I think you are?" asked Malaika as she awkwardly reached for the other mug.

"The kind that worries about what colour to paint their nails," she teased, smiling. But then her smile faded. "The kind you hate…"

Malaika looked down in shame. "I don't hate you. I just…" she stopped. Suddenly, she was overcome by emotion. The kind of emotion she never really talked about. But this time, she could not stop herself from speaking the words from her heart. "I just wanted you to stay away... because..." she furrowed her brows and clenched her fists, "I cannot see him hurt no more!"

"You mean… Quinlan?" Mia's face twisted with confusion. "What do you mean, 'see him hurt'? You think I'll hurt him?"

"You already do."

"I don't understand," Mia stammered. "How?"

Malaika frowned in frustration, shaking her head. "Don't you see? He will never be a man. He will never belong in this world. It is a curse he must live with, and he had accepted it – he had accepted what he is. But then you came, and you reminded him what he can never be. You reminded him all the things he can never have! The way you smile at him, the way you reach for his hand, and the humanity you show him… it is like a cruel joke for a man who knows he can never be a part of this world!"

Mia stood stunned and speechless. Her heart sank to her stomach, and she suddenly felt a crippling numbness through her body. "No… That's not what I…" she could hardly get her words out. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt him, and the thought of it tore her heart to pieces.

"I knew what you would do," said Malaika. "I knew from the moment I saw you, and I prayed to God that you would disappear…"

Her harsh words struck Mia deeply. "Is that really what you want?"

Malaika lowered her head, unable to look Mia in the eye. "It was what I wanted..."

"Ok…" Mia murmured softly, her voice carrying the injury in her heart. Suddenly, her mind turned back to the previous night, and she remembered so vividly the way he felt at her fingertips in that small moment before he moved away from her touch – that small moment before she realised her mistake. No matter how right it felt in that moment, she would not make that mistake again.

Mia looked up with furrowed brows, certain and resolute. "Ok," she nodded as if she'd made up her mind. "Tell me to stay away. Just tell me it's what he would want and I'll do it – I'll stay away, and he'll never see me again."

Malaika's eyes widened with surprise. She never thought it could be so easy – all she had to do was say the words. It was what she wanted since the moment she saw Mia. But now, given the opportunity, she somehow couldn't say it. She stood speechless as her conscience battled her heart. In the past, she would always surrender to the impulses of her heart, and she knew that every time she did, she became her own worst enemy.

"No," Malaika shook her head. "I will not tell you." She placed her untouched mug of hot water down on the bench and left its warmth. She looked at Mia's pained expression and could not help but feel guilt. "I just hope I am wrong," she murmured. She turned and started to walk towards the door. But then she stopped and looked back at Mia. "By the way, you are stupid for challenging those men last night."

Through her heavy thoughts, Mia managed a smile. "Yeah, it was stupid. I saved your ass though."

Malaika almost let a smile slip before she turned and walked out. She did not say 'thank you' for what Mia did that night, but Mia wondered if her acknowledgment just now was perhaps her way of saying 'thank you', or the closest thing she could manage without saying those words.

After Malaika left the room, Mia felt a solemn serenity wash over her. She couldn't tell if she felt sad or happy, lonely or peaceful; perhaps she simply felt clarity, like she somehow understood the hearts of those around her a little better. As she reflected on the previous night, and Malaika's words, and general ponderings about nothing specific, a soft grunt turned her attention back to the sleeping man on the couch. Mia remembered the first time she saw Ephraim – she was only nineteen. She was at one of his conferences, in a room full of doctors and reporters, and she was neither. Doctor Price brought her along because he wanted to show her the world of science that he so loved. It was the first time she had been to a conference like that. She felt nervous yet excited, and quite out of place in this world of important-looking people in suits and flashing camera lights. She remembered sitting in the audience and looking up at the man standing at the front of the room, speaking to the crowd. Even though he was about ten years her senior, she remembered thinking how handsome he looked in his immaculately fitted suit and perfectly styled thick brown hair, and how confidently he spoke. That night at the conference, and every other time she saw him or his picture in the paper, he always seemed without a fault. She used to think, 'a man like that must have it all in life'. And now, in the strange turn of events, either by chance or the hands of fate, here he was in front of her, somehow broken and vulnerable, and not the man she had always pictured in her mind.

She sat down on the couch beside him.

"Your life was never perfect, was it?" she whispered softly. "In the end, we all have a story to tell." She reached up and touched his shoulder. "I'm sorry I left you alone in this place, Eph. I should've been here for you."