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By the time the slug returned to a level of relevance high enough to receive Mimsy's attention again, it was little more than a melted glob of minipet. This result was almost disappointing, as it meant that she would not be capable of identifying the point of distinction between this process and the process of leaving a minipet outside of a FEAR-rich environment in general, but she couldn't manage to feel anything other than satisfied with the results as a whole. Or just satisfied, potentially.

The entire duration of her journey from the office and into the lab again had been dotted with pauses to glance over her shoulder to see if he was still there, brief motions of ambiguous doubt in one of the two of them. But the look she turned towards him now held a much clearer image in her eyes: a need for validation, typically kept closed off and closely guarded, was just beginning to surface within them.

"I don't presently have any scheduled tests for the remainder of these," she began, her thumbnail picking at the corner of one of the boxes. "If one arises again, however, I am not opposed to proceeding as we did with the last experiment. In the absence of incentives...are you still willing to assist me with this?"

A tiny paw emerged from a small opening in the box and made an effort to clutch her hand, but came just centimeters short of reaching her. Had her focus not been entirely singular at the moment, she might have noticed, but she didn't.

Though the kiss elicited a partial squirm and a badly-stifled laugh, his assurances about incentives left her expression faintly confused.

"Is that allowed?" Mimsy asked, neglecting the box at her fingertips to turn towards him. It was only after she voiced the question that she realized how easy it might be to interpret it in ways she definitely didn't want, and after another more awkward laugh and a shake of her head she made another attempt.

"I mean--you are naturally welcome to as many minutes as I can reasonably mathematically provide, but." Her arm curled around his as it sat at rest on the box, but looking at what was inside was temporarily postponed as her curiosity remained on him. "Is it truly an incentive to you? You would not lament the lack of a reward specific to the task?"

Before a cascade of concerns about the effectiveness of all previous treats could come crashing down, she finally glanced down - then rapidly back up at him again.

"Are those eggs?" She chanced another look at what did undeniably appear to be eggs. "I do not know how to care for eggs. Do you have any experience in this subject?"

They had essentially tortured one of these creatures and celebrated its demise, and the majority of the subjects had an abysmal chance of survival by her own devising, but something about this was different. These were babies, and that was somehow an important distinction; not through any spontaneous development of newfound empathy, but a distinction nonetheless.

Through the remnants of a smug smile, Mimsy considered the options presented to her. The rise in confidence that accompanied his last affirmation, the assertion that she was a reward in herself, provided just enough of a deluded sense of superiority that far too many of the ideas that spawned seemed like good ones.

"We do not possess a chicken, to my knowledge." And it was a true pity that he had not asked about a chicken or an incubator, as her mind wandered directly towards the possibility of running a quick errand to fetch one.

She reached to collect one of the eggs from the container, her thin fingers encircling it in a firm, but delicate grasp. It looked so out of place in her hand as she stared at it: there were no soft down feathers or fur to protect it from her bones, which seemed little more than a brittle framework around it. Participation in Science Olympiad had provided information that easily proved this was far from a sufficient level of protection.

She was not built for this.

"Do we need to acquire a chicken?" With a frown, she extended the egg towards him, self-conscious of her body's shortcomings for the first time. "They are still warm, though I am not certain how they survived, if they have. Would they rely on FEAR rather than heat, in this case? Should we search the remaining specimens for a suitable substitute?"

The way she looked at him was something atypical, something she scarcely showed due to its inherent ability to prove that she lacked this knowledge - but he'd have seen it before, in all of the other instances where her trust was placed entirely in his hands as she desperately sought an answer.

The fact that Robert was thinking both critically and logically was enough to deter her from correcting his assessment about FEAR equating to water. As charming as this was to hear from him, the choice came largely because she had no proof otherwise, when she truly considered it. So she smiled at him instead, nodding once to indicate her approval.

"This is another very solid hypothesis, and I am curious once more to see what the result may be," she praised, and had already sprung upon his instruction to open the boxes before she registered the sound of the word 'wait'.

Horrified that he might discover that she'd begun following the instructions too hastily, she shoved it closed again. Fortunately, the tiny paws that emerged at the first sign of freedom were pulled back just in time, but the minipet still emitted a high-pitched wail, followed by a string of babbled noises, whose tone was on a level of sulky typically reserved only for small children.

When she glanced over her shoulder to see if he'd noticed, she was relieved to find that he was just returning to the room, encouraging the hope that he had not seen it at all. Attempting to appear entirely unsuspicious, she slid the box behind her back, remaining silent as she watched him set up the lamp.

"Oh! What a wonderful idea!" She stared at the eggs, now bathed in lamplight, and rocked impatiently on her toes. "How long did you typically wait for your chickens to hatch? Do they need attention aside from the heat of the lamp? Should they be spoken to, like the flowers?"

As juvenile as she appeared, between her large eyes and fidgeting, her questions were entirely serious - even the last of them.

An almost sly smile and a sigh of relief came at the first signs that Robert had not noticed her indiscretion, and she felt comfortable in returning her full attention to him as he focused on the specimens.

"Yes, I suppose that any metric for determining the age of chicken eggs would not be entirely effective as a metric in determining the age of these anyway," she mused, watching with great interest as he began to inspect them for something. A harder shell did not necessarily mean that it was not avian, considering the relative durability of ostrich eggs and the like, but the expanse of options was tremendous when the eggs were Halloween in origin.

Mimsy intended to share these thoughts with him, wanting to be helpful in some capacity, but her silence continued as her gaze flickered towards the now-illuminated egg in his hand. The only exception was a small sound of discomfort that never quite left her throat when she unconsciously curled her arms around her stomach.

"What will be the result if they are not strong? Is it not permissible to aid them in their effort to emerge from the shell?" Was there merit in increasing their statistical chance for survival, as there was with frail children? "They are no longer in their native environment, which may typically have some bearing on their ability to hatch...would extracting them now have negative or positive results?

The concerns were motivated not by sympathy, but something resembling camaraderie - she would never have broken through that shell, if humans were monotremes.

The answer was as expected, even if it was not what she'd hoped. This dismal outlook was a natural requisite for familiar principles of evolutionary theory, and there was no humanity to be found in it.

But she found it there anyway, buried somewhere in this situation's shadow. In the absence of technology, she would not have survived beyond birth, and she was certainly not the image of physical fitness now. She could offer no protection or defense to a child. Even if she did uncover some method of conception that would result in a normal human offspring, she was aware of the unfortunate parallel of how her well-intentioned efforts might result in its death. All that Mimsy knew revolved around destruction in one way or another, a hundred methods of making the sum into its parts again, but she still could not manage the opposite.

And how could she face him if she destroyed his child instead of providing one?

Though it was not her own disappointment that she'd grown concerned about, the reassurance did seem to help, easily drawing her out of her thoughts.

"I believe in your capabilities." She smiled, careful to leave herself out of it, in spite of his inclusion of both of them. "You are impressively knowledgeable about this subject. It remains a pity that the island cannot yet sustain animals. I truly enjoy learning from you regarding your subjects of expertise - your passion for your interests is very attractive."

As badly as she wanted to inspect the eggs just as he had, she refused them attention to avoid irreparably damaging them. Her fingers curled around the distraction of his hand, and held tightly onto its support.

"Would you do it again, if you could?" she asked, leaning into his palm. "Or would you prefer to leave these activities in your past, in favor of other 'passions'?"

As appealing a result as his reaction initially was, the blush gave way to something almost shy, then went away entirely. Mimsy held her breath as she waited for his response, no longer sure what to make of the physical indicators.

Thankfully, the answer he gave was better than any answer she could have imagined when she first asked. Not even the silence could dissuade her present optimism with skepticism, though she did refrain from commenting to allow plenty of room for whatever explanation he might have resting on the tip of his tongue.

"I understand." And she actually did, to depths that were a bit disarming to address. "I would have wanted to locate you much sooner as well, but I do not doubt that I would have disregarded all other attempts to seek happiness. I may have failed to become who you love as a result, or failed to provide you with adequate happiness...so I am content with these circumstances, for the points of irrefutable certainty that they can give us."

She pressed her cheek against his chest and smiled, swaying as she shifted her body towards him. To someone who was often entangled in the endless pursuit of improvement and infinite progress, there was a significant weight in the acknowledgement that she was enough, just as she was. Even if she would never believe this about herself, she was grateful that he could.

"You don't need to ask," she insisted, giving him a weak little nudge with one shoulder. "It is my responsibility to ensure that you are satisfied by supplying you with what you want, as well as I am able. If you are dissatisfied for your lack of opportunity to dance, then I will work until we arrive at a solution. But..."

In a display of how much willpower she really had for this matter, she moved just enough to look up at him.

"I believe that you are a dancer. The evidence of this is very common in all of my observations." She raised her brows, as if to ask if this data required elaboration. "Your present occupation does not need to define you, no matter what you may have been told. Such strict classification removes your humanity, which is a profoundly tragic loss."