Miko Kusanagi had a beautiful brain. She had heard this assertion many times throughout her life. Whenever her heart told her the teacher, class-mate, co-worker or relative commenting was sincere, Miko would blush crimson with embarrassed pride.
Sometimes, the remark was made in a mocking lilt that had Miko wishing that her eyes were less large behind her glasses, that her hair was better suited for hiding behind. Other times it was drawn out in a voice made sharp by a cruel edge that left Miko wanting to crawl away in humiliation.
One time, a gaggle of marines had whooped it loudly after her desperate epiphany had helped Dr. Zelenka save their lives. Dr. Kusanagi had a brain that had carried her all the way to Pegasus and it was beautiful. Even Dr. McKay had told her so. It was a treasured memory that often held her up when his tone became short and impatient.
And now Colette had breathed it – You have a beautiful brain, Miko! – face alight as her eyes had roamed over Miko’s brain scan. When she looked up from it her gaze was warm and intent and made Miko flush hot underneath her hospital gown.
“I do,” she heard herself say, and allowed herself to smile.