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Mimsy studied his face. So it wasn't quite as simple as she thought. She could not just spit out information and receive exactly the same amount in return. There were follow-up questions and normal conversations to be had. Not terrible, but not ideal.

"One year and three months." Should it have been longer than that? The way he asked the question seemed to imply as much, but she had no way of determining how long was an 'acceptable' amount for friendship. She couldn't have guessed on that one.

More importantly, he believed her about Lucky. He really believed her. She smiled, teeth and all, when he mentioned his sister, moreso because it worked.

"We try to prevent this from impeding our work environment. We did not grow up together - he lived with extended family in Poland. Clerise was more similar to the quintessential older sibling role." Did that sound feasible? She settled herself against him, just in case it didn't. "I was unaware of your sister. Poe, correct? Did she grow up on another continent too?"

She was curious how it felt to have a sibling on the island, but asking would destroy the illusion that she had a brother here. Perhaps another set of siblings could enlighten her, if her curiosity lasted more than a fleeting moment.

A soft 'hm' left her throat as she glanced skyward.

"I declined to be an astronaut because I was uncomfortable with the knowledge that I would be rejected upon further inspection. The qualities that make us good hunters are the qualities that negatively impact other occupations. Could you fathom encountering an intergalactic shadow?" Her gaze fell to him again, and she leaned closer to whisper. "In space, no one can hear you scream."

He moved. Why had he moved? Mimsy pressed herself against him as closely as she could manage, eyes wide with concern that one year was wrong, and that Poland was wrong, and that not being an astronaut was wrong. Conversation was the most difficult thing.

But he was back on the subject of Poe again, as if nothing was wrong at all. She desperately wanted this to be as simple as astrophysics.

"Is she older? I hope that your older sibling experience was considerably more pleasant than my closest comparison." Somehow, picturing Robert with a younger sister was easier than an older one, but it was always safest to ask.

He was behaving strangely; it was less indicative of hesitation or discomfort, and more indicative of something she couldn't place. Brows knit, she blinked up at him.

"Why? Are you implying that you would have been my friend?" What a strange thing to say. Regrets of the past could only be settled by attempting to reconcile them in the present - wasn't that what he was doing, albeit for different reasons?

She didn't know what she would have done, were he her friend then. There was the chance that they never would have been friends at all, depending on the timeframe. But, humoring the thought, she knew that there would have been great potential for him to love her then, too.

The thought of all of the progress that she could have made by this point in time ultimately won her over. This game wasn't so bad to play when she could quietly play it with her own rules.

"I wish you had too," she said, refusing to let herself get lost in the what-ifs of having a childhood friend that was not 'imaginary'.

A little sister after all. As easy as it has been to imagine him with a younger sibling, Mimsy could not imagine a younger, female Robert. One of them was difficult enough to understand, so when he suggested that she 'not' run into her, she had no intention of opposing that.

"Of course. How naïve of me." He knew her now. Surely he could guess that she had not been so different as a child. Most children were not very accepting of quiet little science nerds who fought against friendship.

Especially after she tried to see their heart. Via vivisection.

No. He would not have been her friend, one way or another. It would have only been a matter of time.

"I would have insisted upon doing your homework, or tutoring you at the very least. I would have been your lab partner, if you behaved." He kissed her forehead. She knew he would not have behaved. "You would have found a challenge in your efforts to prevent my loneliness."

Wait.

"You would have taught me how to dance?" She nudged him and narrowed her eyes. "Could you elaborate? I am afraid I may be misinterpreting what you said." There was no way. Clerise was a gymnast, and she saw the kinds of people that came with that activity. It was impossible that he was anything like any of them. Frankly, she thought it was impossible that he was a dancer at all - especially considering his consistent lack of grace in the lab.

"A dancer." It was difficult not to laugh, so she just smiled very enthusiastically instead as she tried to stifle it. "Any of that is 'fancy' to a person who has never danced. And it certainly is not 'nothing'. I might have said the same about my potential to be an astronaut, but I elaborated."

The smile wasn't fading. It just kept going. This was too good.

"What else might you have taught me? What else did you know?" She tilted her head. "What could you teach me now? Or have you forgotten how to dance? Is that possible, or is it an action that fits within muscle memory, or the analogy of a bicycle?"

It was an intentional barrage of questions, but there were still a thousand more that she wanted to ask, still paths of inquiries that would lead to even more fantastic information.

Somehow, instead of being informed, she found herself with his hand on her forehead. Just sitting there. She assumed this was something she should have known about, one of those things that people just did together, but it was too bizarre to leave unquestioned.

"Robert?" She stared at his palm past the top of her glasses. "What are you doing?"

A 'damnit' was definitely not an explanation, and when he dropped his hand and still failed to explain, Mimsy made a face at him. She didn't like not knowing something, especially when it was dangled in front of her and snatched away again. Thankfully, that did not happen twice in a row, when he released the fact that he went to school for dancing. For dancing!

There were no less than five dozen comments she wanted to make, to tease and berate and demean, but - as she had learned - people did not like that sort of thing. That was not the best way to create more love. She sorely wished it was, because at least three of the comments were very clever.

She took a deep breath and pretended she was a better person.

"It is nothing to hide, especially when it is something that you claim is 'in your bones'. I assure you that I will keep this between us, but I encourage you to attempt to hide it less. I cannot imagine being secretive about my love for science." The last part was entirely true; it was so ingrained in her existence that she felt she would not be herself without it.

In fact, she had a very strong feeling that she knew exactly what she would not be without it, and that was not an option that she wanted to explore. Ever.

Her fingers found his palm, and she carefully took his hand, then stood with his assistance and a startled squeak. That was not what she'd expected, and if dancing was anything like this, there was a high probability that she was going to end up sick. Or faint somewhere. She leaned into his arm and tried to regain her balance.

"I promise. But please be gentle. If you promise to do that, then I will give you a lesson about being an astronaut." That was impossible all across the board, but it sure sounded nice, and might have been a fair trade for dancing. Maybe. Was it? When would she ever use the ability to dance? But it was something to learn, and that made it marginally intriguing, so she watched him and waited.

Was he joking? The way he spoke sounded as if he legitimately wanted to do those things. Mimsy tried to convince herself to not be insulted - he just didn't know what it was really like. That was all. At least that was an easily reparable problem.

"Er...yes. We can play astronaut, at a later point in time. Indoors. I will bequeath the role of commander to you, just this once." It was difficult to tell if this would be harder or easier than actually teaching him anything about the training process, which tended to get extensive and complicated. This was probably best for both of them, she realized, the longer she thought about it. She could just pull knowledge from her experiences at space camp, then hypothesize what they might have been like with friends.

A soft tap against the toe of her rainboot drew her attention towards their feet: hers facing his, his facing hers, so close that there was no room left between them. This fact was neatly tied with a bow when she felt his arm around her waist, and she wanted to both cut the ribbon to tear it apart and cherish the perfect specimen of a parcel of adoration all at once.

She shifted from one foot to the other, with the same tiny 'mm' that she used to make as a child who did not like to be bothered, an uncertain noise indicative of deep thought.

This wasn't what love looked like at its most distilled level, but it was a byproduct, a sample of its results, and it offered substantially helpful information towards her goal. She memorized every detail, down to the bees that smiled up at him.

"A fair point, albeit generalized." Her eyes caught his grin, and she mimicked the rainboot bees and smiled up at him too. "I understand the importance of equilibrium in this circumstance. I rescind the request for you to be gentle. Please do not hold back or exercise restraint on my behalf."

Following his movements seemed like something that she could do, Mimsy thought...for a very brief moment in time. It was hard to believe that there was something that Robert could do that she couldn't, but here it was, and all it involved was rhythmic moving. That should not have been as unmanageable as she was finding it.

"A waltz. Right." After storing that information away with everything else she expected to never use again, she lost her balance and stumbled backwards. Any confidence she'd been feeling was gone, and she rapidly felt like she no longer had the upper hand here. And why wasn't he finishing his sentences? She stared impatiently up at him and waited for him to spit some words out, awkwardly trying to avoid stepping on his feet.

It was next to impossible to enjoy this when she was so tremendously terrible at it. Now that Clerise was dead, there was nothing that she hated more than exhibiting the fact that she did not excel at something. She didn't expect to actually be good at everything that was ever possible to do, but it was easy to control perceptions of her if she just avoided anything she knew she would fail at.

Except now. This was another excellent choice added to the list of questionable recent decisions.

"You're in charge of me, hm? How is that going?" Not particularly well, in her opinion. Bee boots were not the most optimal footwear for dancing, and that was the excuse that she was sticking with. "What do you focus on? What is on your mind at this moment, for instance?"

Maybe she could distract him with--well. Him.