"Is there a, erm," fidgeting on the edge of a treatment table in the echocardiogram room, Mira bit her thumbnail.
"Sorry?" Warshon stood towering over her, his arms across. A loose strand of jet-black hair swept over his brow, framing those deep-set onyx eyes while a smirk frolicked between those burgundy red lips, too sensuous and distracting.
"Is there a woman technician who can do that?" she managed to ask, her voice the hum of a mosquito, her eyes fixed on her bony toes.
He slunk up close – so dangerously close that alarm bells pealed in her head. His arms stretched apart before her while he stooped, his hands pressing next to hers on the edge of the treatment table. "I could call Ashley in," he said, his measured voice amused. "But what do you think we should tell her about you when she does your medical record, Mr. Ginsberg?"
She averted her eyes, her chin tucking to her chest.
"While I don't care who you are," he continued in the lazy croon that grazed her ears. "I do need a new last name that can't be Ginsberg."
"Why not?" she ventured, her voice barely audible.
"The Customs security is still looking for Evan Ginsberg. It's safer to be Mira. And like I've said, I don't care who you are or were. Make up a last name, anything will do, so we can proceed with your new identity."
She bit her bottom lip. "I can't be a woman here."
A chuckle. "Why not?"
"I wasn't joking when I said I want to study medicine."
"So?"
"The medical schools here don't take women?"
"Be my apprentice."
She lifted her incredulous eyes.
"Well, at least that gets your attention." He leaned in another inch to her face, his cedar scent intoxicating.
"Your, erm, apprentice?" Her voice stumbled through her words while she nudged to the wall away from him.
He chuckled at that. "Well, I think you'll be a better lawyer, and chances are high that I could use a good attorney in the future," he said, his narrowed gaze alluring. "But it's your call."
Mira cocked a brow. "Can women go to law schools here?"
"They can, but no one would hire them, so, few bother. But you," he paused with a teasing smirk that tilted his lips. "You have a job offer already. Should the day my other identity get me into trouble, it'll be quite a headache to find myself an attorney and confide in him about what you saw."
"What if I don't want to defend you?" She edged another inch away, her lips pursing.
"That's fine," he said with much ease. "It'd be a shame to waste your eloquence, that's all."
"Eloquence is in and of itself a waste." She could taste the bitterness in her own voice. "To look the world in the eye and convince it that black is white with reasoning and sophistry alike – that's prime eloquence."
"What's evil doesn't make it a waste," he countered, his gravelly voice measured. "To a healthy body, all drugs are poisonous. But the poisons can also save you when you're sick."
Mira glanced up at the man, his presence pulling her in like gravity – a force fated to draw her closer yet capable of ripping her apart, like a star that strayed too near its sun. "Everything exists and can only exist as in a paradox," she hummed.
He smiled, closing the gap between them as he lowered his head, his cedar scent caught in their mingled breath. "A statement like this needs to be pronounced."
"But I want to study medicine," she said, as firmly as her voice would allow her. Clamping her back to the wall, Mira averted her eyes, but little could she do about the heat of his gaze.
"Fine with me," he remarked, his voice a velvet whisper, a smirk tugging at his tilted lips. "In fact, it suits me better now that I can always keep you around as my apprentice."
"Say, if I take the apprenticeship with you," Mira faltered, dreading the void of her future. "Will I be able to take the license exam and practice?"
A staccato of rapping came on the door, impatient if not prickly. Erdem cleared his throat and invited himself in. "Study Tamen medicine," he said, leaning on one leg against the wall as he picked his nails, his voice flippant, eyes rolling behind the glasses that gave his otherwise elegant face a comical look. "It's a different school of practice, and because it's Tamen, no offense boss," he paused to wink at Warshon. "It isn't affected by any of our protocols. So, study that first because nobody cares if you practice it here. Then, we'll see if you can stomach more."
Mira chewed on the seam of her lips. Most of what she had heard about Tamen medicine was negative. Pundits in the First World disparaged it, calling it a pseudo-science. But the same people had also disparaged the great literature of the past, the wisdom of providence, and the philosophical hand that defied the mainstream taste. Besides the mainstream contempt, she had also heard tales of how Tamen medicine helped patients with chronic problems when the most advanced First World treatments failed them. Better than nothing, she thought, and who knows, maybe the Tamen would have a cure for her asthma. "Flying by the seat of my pants seems to be all I've done of late." She puffed out her cheeks. Then, shifting her eyes to Erdem, she added, "Will you teach me?"
"If he gives me a raise," the young man snorted. "I'm expensive, you know?" He pivoted to Warshon, his eyes staring.
"Yes! Yes! I know!" Warshon grabbed the other's shoulders and spun him to the exit. "Have I not told you to take the rest of the day off?" Erdem flounced in protest.
As Mira watched the slanting shadows that trailed behind them, an unbidden smile came across her face. Their closeness, trust, and ease was nothing short of enviable. She thought of Reynold. Her smile faded. Had she not wasted all the many years on crafting her stupid words, had she not been so stubborn with what she thought was her calling, harnessing a talent no more useful than a steak knife in a nuclear arms race, had she studied medicine sooner, perhaps Reynold wouldn't have to die. Perhaps she would have saved him other than holding his hand on his deathbed and weeping like an idiot.
Hold your damn tears, you fool. She commanded herself when Warshon returned. Nobody gives a shit, and you're digging your own grave laying bare your weakness.
She tucked her cheek to a shoulder when his eyes bored into her. Her hands clenched, nails pricking her palms.