AMELIA STARED, open-mouthed, at the robot at Luca's side.

Suddenly all thoughts about Atlas and Gerald (What are they doing here? Does that mean that they're more important than I previously thought?) and Dr Samson (I don't trust her — what she's trying to say and what her eyes tell are two different things) faded, replaced by a lit-up sign of alarm:

"What the actual dank is this?" She was speaking to herself more than anyone else, but Lale apparently had an answer.

"It makes sense," he replied, and she felt the ball of annoyance in her stomach curl up a little more. She was the Learner. And it annoyed her that she wasn't connecting the dots. "I mean," Lale glanced at her quickly, perhaps sensing her indignance, "the Heads won't be with us to tell us anything. Why not record it onto a robot?

"Not that I like the idea of entrusting my life into the hands of a circuit board," he added. Amelia still glared at him, though she wasn't entirely certain on why.

He and Bradley seemed nice enough, for pieces of muscle on the Armed side, but she got the sense that she, Tina and Luca were imposing on them. They were different, and that was all. Them having their own moments of brightness didn't give her an excuse to be rude, but still.

"You're probably right," she relented, though she still looked away, back to the stage. Dr Samson was trying to get back into control, which was evidently failing by the chatter that continued all around them.

As the voices surrounding her rose, so did the temperature. Amelia suddenly felt stifled, wedged against Lale and Tina's sides, with a clawing feeling in her throat. It's too much! How much more could she take? Dinosaurs, time travel, and now robots controlling their lives — they were guinea pigs, Amelia had realized a long time ago. But only then did it make her feel far more invaluable that it should've.

She ducked away from Tina and Lale, forcing her way through the throng of people to reach the doors at the back of the meeting room, her hands clawing and sticky with sweat (some her own, most not) for air where she could breathe and think.

Her footsteps rang out on the metal steps as she climbed upwards, her mind on autopilot and her muscles operating on memory as she reached her dorm. Amelia flung herself onto her bed — white, white, all of it white, unlike the dusty covers that she longed for from home — and buried her face into her pillow.

You wanted this, a traitorous voice murmured in her mind. Didn't you want to find people who actually understood you? Valued you? And now you're being ungrateful? Amelia had no response for the doubts, yet her panic subsided, only a little, since she was alone.

Amelia rolled onto her back, wiping away the prickling sweat on her forehead, and stared at the concrete ceiling, just feeling empty. Was this what she wanted? She wondered, thumbing a seam on her suit's arm. I wanted a chance to save mankind — but who am I kidding?

Doubting oneself was apparently tiring work, as, when Amelia next opened her eyes, Dr Royson was gently shaking her awake. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty," the grey-eyed doctor smiled. Amelia blinked in surprise — by the fact that Dr Royson was in her room, or that the other woman had just called her 'Sleeping Beauty', she didn't know — but she felt a warm feeling stir in her chest.

"Hey," Amelia responded, a little hoarsely. She cleared her throat, then worked her way onto her elbows as Dr Royson sat down on her bed a little further down. Quickly scanning the other dorm beds, which were empty, she returned her gaze to the brunette woman. "What's the time?"

"Everyone else is having supper," Dr Royson answered, then her voice took on a more teasing lilt: "I didn't know Field Marshal Graham's announcements were that boring, Amelia."

Amelia chuckled, more embarrassed than anything else. Dr Royson is in my dorm ... on my bed ... right now. "Yeah; I mean, they're not, usually, but sometimes, y'know, they can be." What the dag am I saying? Okay, Amelia ... just play it cool. C'mon.

To Amelia's relief, Dr Royson laughed — a lovely sound with perhaps a little more than a little flirtation. "So you don't go to the meetings, then?" She questioned, realizing then that she hadn't seen the doctor at most, if any, of the announcements. Dr Royson shook her head.

"While that's going on, I get new supplies from the outside world."

"You make it sound like we're in a nuclear war bunker!"

There was that smile again. Okay. Dr Zoey Royson was definitely hitting on her. And Amelia liked it.

"Well, we're still isolated from the rest of civilization, aren't we?"

"True," Amelia conceded. Uncomfortable from leaning on her arms, she rolled over and set her feet down on the floor, close — but not too close — to the doctor. "But I guess it's better, right? At least we're actually doing something to preserve the future."

Past, present, future. Such fluid terms now that Amelia had learnt they could be adapted; stretched to accommodate to the needs of the Homo sapiens specie. But she also realized that yes — they were doing something to help future generations.

"Is that what you believe this is all about?" Dr Royson's question surprised Amelia, who gave her a side glance. "I mean," Royson continued, obviously noting Amelia's shock, "what about the personal gain? You don't think this all seems a little ... fishy, do you?"

"And you do?" Amelia's words came out harder than she had intended, though she had dabbled with that thought before. What would investors gain from saving humanity as they were left behind? "Maybe it's because you're a doctor," she recovered quickly, but perhaps not quick enough. "You see more than others."

"Maybe." Royson seemed contemplative, before her eyes fixed on Amelia's shoulder. "How's the heal-pad working?"

"What?" Amelia remembered that she'd been hit in the shoulder with a spanner the day before. "Testing the EEG", she remembered Luca saying, before he snapped his mouth shut. Her heart sank slightly. How much more was going on, right beneath their noses?

"Oh, yeah," Amelia rolled her shoulder. It didn't twinge like it would've before, and only a dull ache remained every time she prodded it, like a bruise. "It's doing great, actually. Thanks."

"You don't mind if I take a look, do you?" Dr Royson reached over, and felt along Amelia's neck, her fingertips touching the edge of the cool plaster-like material beneath her ERAA suit. Amelia's neck prickled with goosebumps, though she wasn't remotely cold.

"Uh ... go ahead."

Dr Royson expertly undid the magnetic that connected the suit together — four pieces placed over the torso and shoulders, which connected to the sleeves, and then extending downwards to the thighs and calves. Ingenious, really, with its anti-sweat cooling system and ability to stretch and reform over muscles that definitely weren't there before Amelia's recruitment, what with their 'oh-so-menial' physical training — and placed her hand onto the heal-pad, removing it from Amelia's shoulder.

"Oh, that's healed nicely!" Royson's breath was cool against Amelia's neck as the doctor slipped closer, and her knee jarred Amelia's hip.

Her hands pressed against the wound, which made the other girl wince. "Sorry — But I do believe I can just apply a muscle cooler and then you'll be ready to go!"

"Great, doc." Amelia tried to insert some suaveness into her voice — something that had slipped the past few minutes. "How's your day been, Doctor Royson?"

"Just call me Zoey," Doctor Royson — Zoey — murmured kindly, though it appeared that she was very focused on Amelia's shoulder. "And it has been perfectly fine, especially since I've been able to chat to one of my favorite patients!"

Amelia pushed away the more negative thoughts on Zoey's doubts on the true motives of PAST, and allowed her body to grow warm with the flattery. She knew what attraction — even to another woman — looked like. And she felt like she was falling, and fast.

"Not your favorite?" Amelia faked a pouty lip, and her insides became jumbled with emotions and something more instinctual as she realized how close their faces were; their breaths mingling, and the air suddenly seeming electric. Amelia had the sudden fear that her hair was standing on end from the tension palpable between them and their cold skin —

Zoey looked away, shuffling from Amelia's side and setting her feet down on the ground once again. The electric tension was replaced by a more awkward one as she felt her ears heat. Were we about to kiss?

Well, the moment had clearly passed; Amelia shook her head of such fantasies, cringing at the echoes of her flirtations that still rang around the room. The doctor stood up and gave Amelia a small smile. She couldn't tell whether it was pitying — or merely sad.

"Well, that cut's healed well. Tomorrow, come in to get the cooler, and then you should be ready to go!" She pressed her foot against the small metal lever of the dustbin, and threw the heal-pad in, its job having been done. The clang as the lid came down was jarring in the silence.

Amelia tried — she really did — to not feel disappointed. There were a few reasons, her rational side reasoned, on why their relationship, or whatever it was, would not work (Tina's not-so-subtle encouragements aside). Firstly; there was mission to focus on. If she failed in any of the latest critical stages of the training, Daryl would be affected.

And, she realized, she was doing this for him. A cold hand tightened around her — how could she have been so selfish as to doubt her final objective? If she backed out, the whole of humanity would be affected. No 'but's or 'however's.

Secondly, weren't there regulations against doctors having romantic interactions with their patients? Surely they still applied, even within a cold, metallic facility such as that one.

These thoughts made Amelia feel a little better — but just a little. And then there was the colonization in itself to worry about. How would she be able to sustain a relationship through the dinosaurs and hardships she knew were to come? (Even though, she knew deep down, that she would try her hardest to make it work if it could.)

"Thanks, Zoey." Amelia returned a weaker smile. Act like nothing's wrong. And don't be stupid about it.

"It's no problem, Amelia." Zoey hesitated, then waggled her fingers in a wave, before exiting the dorm. She watched the doctor's distorted figure through the glass, before she flopped back down on the bed with a groan.

Nicely done, Amelia. Nicely done. You have officially, royally, screwed up.

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