Chapter Text
Agatha walked briskly through the lab building, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. She was late, and she liked it that way. The PhD students she was about to meet, the three who’d been assigned to her this year, would be sitting in the lab common room, fingers fidgeting, heart rates spiking as they waited for her. Good. She wanted them on edge. It was part of the process - the first lesson in survival. Let them stew in nerves for a while. Let them worry. It was an excellent way to see who could handle the heat, who could stand up to the pressure.
Agatha had earned her reputation long ago. They called her The Wicked Witch of Neuro. Only behind her back, of course. She didn’t mind. It was true enough. She was tough, demanding, exacting. Those who couldn’t handle her methods didn’t last long, and those who did? Well, those were the ones who would thrive in the world of research. A world where people didn’t coddle you, didn’t pamper you, and certainly didn’t forgive incompetence. And besides, whatever people wanted to say about her behind her back, they also knew her reputation in academia. The 230 publications she had to her name, the 52 of those which were as primary author. She was good. Very good. And the students she supervised? They always, always received research grants for their next projects in the month after they received their PhD. Well, that is, if they survived through 3 years under Agatha first.
She passed a few research fellows and MSc students as she walked. They all met her eye, then immediately glanced away and hurried past. She didn’t care. She relished it. The students she trained would have to learn to command respect, just as she had. Confidence, unwavering and unapologetic. That’s how you got ahead.
Her outfit was nothing unusual, yet it always made a statement. A crisp white shirt, tucked neatly into high-waisted purple trousers. Her black hair was pulled tightly into a bun at the back of her head, practical yet elegant. But it was the long blue lab coat, billowing behind her as she walked, that made her presence feel almost theatrical. She moved like she belonged in the space, like the lab was hers to command. Her stage. She liked that.
She reached the entrance to the common area and paused for a moment, taking in the sight of the students through the glass door. Agatha had three students this year: Billy, Jennifer, and Alice. She made it a point to familiarize herself with their names and faces from the student list ahead of time, committing each detail to memory. It was a small but satisfying tactic. When she entered the room and called them by name without them uttering a word, it always caught them off guard. The sudden recognition, the feeling of being seen and scrutinised before they’d even spoken, it put her in control from the start. It was a subtle but effective way to assert her dominance and remind them that they were already under her watchful eye.
The three of them were sitting on the worn sofas, their backs ramrod straight, eyes wide with nervous energy. They were right where she wanted them. It was almost too easy. She could feel their collective unease from here. Good. They were scared. They should be.
But then, something caught her attention. There was a fourth student, someone she hadn’t expected. A girl, black-haired, sitting casually to one side of the room. Her legs were crossed, her posture completely relaxed, and she was twirling a pencil between her fingers with an air of boredom, or perhaps quiet amusement. Her lack of anxiety, her easy confidence, intrigued Agatha. She checked the student list in her mind, three students. Billy, Alice, Jennifer. This girl wasn’t supposed to be here. Interesting.
The girl wore black tailored trousers and a white shirt, the sleeves rolled up around her elbows, unbuttoned just a bit too much for someone on their first day, revealing a hint of collarbone and a casualness that didn’t quite belong in this setting. Her dark hair fell softly around her face, framing it with an effortless, almost careless grace. Her makeup was simple but striking. Dark eyes, smoky and sharp, the kind of look that made her seem detached from the conventional expectations of professionalism. There was something about her, a subtle defiance, perhaps, that made Agatha take a second look. She wasn’t trying to impress in the way Agatha would have expected, and that, oddly enough, was what made her so interesting. Agatha made a mental note to figure out what the deal was with this mysterious addition to her cohort.
For now, though, it was time to make her entrance.
Agatha opened the door, the soft click of the handle louder than it had any right to be in the stillness. All four students immediately snapped their heads toward her, eyes wide, like deer caught in headlights.
"Good morning," Agatha said coolly, scanning the room, her gaze deliberate as it flicked over each student, pausing just slightly longer on the black-haired girl. She could already feel the tension thickening. She was good at this. So good at reading people, at assessing them before they even spoke a word.
“I am Dr. Harkness,” she said, her voice cold and measured. She let the words hang in the air for a beat, watching as each student absorbed the weight of her name. Billy looked at her with an almost manic intensity, probably trying to read her. Alice, on the other hand, had the deer-in-headlights look she expected from most first-years. Jennifer seemed poised, but her rigid posture betrayed the anxiety that she was trying to conceal. And then there was the girl in the corner.
Agatha's eyes slid over her. Relaxed, almost too much so, and still with that knowing expression, twirling her pencil between her fingers with an air of confidence. Agatha narrowed her eyes for a fraction of a second before continuing.
“Welcome to the neuroscience PhD programme,” Agatha continued, her voice as harsh as ever. She could see Alice’s shoulders tense, the poor thing probably regretting her decision to come here already. Billy was leaning forward a bit too eagerly, trying to hide the nervous sweat beading on his forehead. Jennifer was trying to maintain control, her hands folded in her lap, but her eyes darted between the others and Agatha, as if waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop.
The black-haired girl, however, didn’t seem to be as rattled. There was something about her, some subtle energy that made Agatha stop and take note. But this wasn’t the time to engage. She would get to her later. For now, the message had to be made clear to all of them.
“I will be your supervisor for the next three years,” Agatha said slowly, giving the words weight, ensuring they registered. She allowed her eyes to move from one student to the next.
“Now, I’m sure you’re familiar with my reputation,” Agatha continued, her voice not changing in the slightest. “But if not, let me make it crystal clear to you. I do not tolerate incompetence.” She took a few deliberate steps toward the group, watching as they reacted. Billy trying to maintain eye contact, but with an almost desperate edge to his stare. Alice was looking at her from beneath her lashes, face pale but attentive. Jennifer was more composed but seemed to shrink under Agatha's steady gaze.
“I am fair,” Agatha said, her tone sharpening slightly, “but my standards are high. I won’t coddle you, I won’t hold your hand and I won’t allow for repeated mistakes. Understand?”
The room was so still now, Agatha could almost hear their hearts pounding in sync. She let the silence stretch on, savouring their discomfort.
"This may sound harsh," she continued, her voice a little colder, as she leaned slightly against the back of a chair, surveying the students before her. “Think what you will, but the world of research is cutthroat. Millions of researchers competing for the same funding, the same grants, the same awards." Her eyes flicked to each of them in turn. "You think that being here means you’re special? No. It means you’ve been given a chance. But chances are fleeting. They disappear when you fail.”
The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Agatha could feel the collective breath being held, could see the way Jennifer's knuckles whitened as she gripped the edge of the sofa. Billy’s chest was rising and falling faster now, while Alice remained still, almost too still. Agatha’s eyes finally flicked back to the girl, she was still twirling that pencil. There was something there. A glimmer of an expression. Respect? Admiration? Something like that. It was subtle, perhaps she thought Agatha wouldn’t notice. Her gaze locked on the girl for a moment, a flicker of something passing between them. The girl didn’t flinch. Fascinating.
“The first thing you’ll learn here is that this lab is not a place for weaklings,” Agatha said, her voice firm and unwavering. "You want to make it to the top? Then you’ll need to work harder, think sharper, and fight for every inch. This is not a game."
She paused, her eyes catching the girl’s once more. The pencil twirled faster, and Agatha couldn’t help but feel a little curious. This one would either be an asset or a liability, and she wasn’t sure which yet.
Agatha savoured the moment, a quiet thrill humming beneath her cool exterior. She loved the theatre of it all. The heavy silences, the charged glances, the palpable tension she could almost taste. This first impression was a carefully constructed ritual, a performance she had perfected over the years. It was her stage, and each nervous shift, every hesitant glance from her students, was proof of her control. Her students were on edge. Right where she wanted them.
Well, all except the black-haired girl. She sat there, calm and composed. She wore an infuriating smirk which had been plastered on her face throughout Agatha’s speech. Agatha should be annoyed, but rather than unsettle her, the girl’s defiance was a thrill. A challenge wrapped in quiet rebellion. It excited her, this rare flash of resistance. She would break her soon enough.
"I expect excellence. Anything less, and you’ll find yourself out of your depth." She straightened, her mouth curving into a smirk as she clasped her hands together. “Right, so, you will be either in the lab or analysing data for most of your time until you start to write up your research. Your schedule is up to you. You’re grown-ups, you can manage your own time.’
Agatha’s lips twisted into a sarcastic smile as she let her gaze settle on the black-haired girl, still so infuriatingly relaxed. "But, of course," she began, her tone laced with dry amusement and her hands curling into a dramatic flourish, "when I was doing my PhD, I was spending all my time in the lab. I stayed well past sunset most days, and I assure you, I had little time for... other pursuits.” Her eyes swept over the group, watching as their shoulders tensed further.
Agatha’s gaze flicked back to the girl, who hadn’t moved an inch, still looking at her with that infuriating smirk. She raised an eyebrow. “But, I suppose,” she continued smoothly, her voice rich with sarcasm, “if you’d rather be doing something else, that’s fine.” Agatha paused to snicker loudly, as if she was amused by what she was about to say “I’m sure the world of research will be... very forgiving for that kind of behaviour.” She let the words linger, letting their weight settle over them all.
“The only scheduled time you need to spend here” Agatha continued, her voice steady and cold, “is two sessions per week, about 2 hours each, with me, assisting with my current research, it—”
But then, Jennifer’s hand shot up. Agatha suppressed an annoyed sigh, her gaze hardening as she looked at her. She hated being interrupted. “Yes, Jennifer?” she said coolly, watching the shock ripple through them all as they registered that she already knew their names. She allowed herself a small, smirk. Her tactic had worked beautifully.
“Oh, um, I actually prefer to go by Jen,” Jennifer stammered, clearly thrown by Agatha’s familiarity.
“What was your question, Jennifer?” Agatha replied, her voice icily unyielding. She could see Jennifer falter, her mouth opening and closing as she scrambled to regain her confidence.
“Oh, I just wanted to say…” Jennifer took a shaky breath. “I’ve read your research proposal for your current project…on depression in early life as a risk factor for developing Alzheimer’s. It’s just groundbreaking. Really, it’s incredible.”
Agatha’s mouth twitched as a sharp irritation settled in. There was always one—the inevitable suck-up, the overeager devotee who thought a few compliments would put them in her good graces. They never seemed to understand just how little flattery impressed her.
She took a deliberate step towards them, letting her gaze sweep over the other students. “See what Jennifer did just then?” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “She interrupted me, with no apparent question, just to... suck up. Do not do that.” She levelled her gaze at each of them in turn, pausing on Jennifer, who had gone beet red. “If you have an actual, intellectual question about my research, please, be my guest. But reading the abstract of my paper does not get you any points here. It’s, like, the first thing that comes up if you search my name on the university website.”
Agatha’s gaze swept over the students, landing on the black-haired girl. She noted the subtle lift of her eyebrow, the faint smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. She looked almost impressed. There was a glint of admiration in her eyes, as if she recognised Agatha’s performance for what it was and, against her better judgment, appreciated it. Good, Agatha thought with a flicker of satisfaction, one that she quickly smothered, If the girl wanted a show, she’d come to the right place. This one might prove to be more intriguing than she’d anticipated.
Agatha flicked her gaze back to Jennifer, who now looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her right then and there. “I do not care that you think my research is groundbreaking,” she said, a hint of amusement tugging at her lips. “I know it’s groundbreaking. Everything I do is groundbreaking.”
With flourish of her long lab coat, she began to strut out the door, calling ‘Come. Follow me.’ Agatha listened with pure delight as they scrambled up behind her, not wanting to fall behind and risk Agatha’s wrath.
As they walked briskly down the corridor, Agatha spoke, her tone cool and unwavering. "As I was saying before I was interrupted” she cast a pointed look at Jennifer, who shrank back slightly, “You will have two sessions per week dedicated to my research. These will either be lectures from me - the lecture hall is upstairs; I’ll see you there for the first one tomorrow - or hands-on research assistance in the lab."
They rounded a corner, and Agatha held the door open as the group started down a flight of stairs. “I’m taking you to the lab now,” she continued, her voice echoing through the stairwell. “It’s where you should be spending most of your time. The lab operates under standard protocols. If, for some reason, you are unsure of these protocols, do not ask me. I’m not here to spoon-feed you information you should already know. Find the handbook and study up if you’ve somehow forgotten your basic lab skills.”
They reached a long hallway lined with doors, and Agatha gestured to a few rooms as they passed. “This is a study space,” she said. “You can use it for data analysis if you need somewhere other than the lab to work. These next rooms contain microscopes, you can bring your slides and study them here if you wish. We have an electron microscope in the main lab, but if you just need a light microscope, these should work fine.”
She led them down a different corridor, pointing out a series of rooms. “Down here, we have neuroimaging machines: two MRIs, two CT scanners, and three EEGs. However-” she added with a wave of her hand, “our lab is home to the largest brain bank for neurodegenerative diseases in all of Europe. So, it’s your choice if you want to use neuroimaging, but personally, I’d recommend post-mortem samples if you don’t want to waste the resource which has just..” she added a flourish of her hand “fallen into your laps.”
She abruptly stopped in her tracks, causing the students behind her to stumble and nearly collide as she turned to face them. Agatha crossed her arms, her gaze sharp. "Can anyone tell me the advantages and disadvantages of post-mortem studies over using clinical evidence?"
A tense silence fell over the group as Billy, Alice, and Jennifer exchanged panicked glances. Agatha’s expression hardened; she was unimpressed. This was bog-standard evaluation. They teach this to 17 year olds in A-level Psychology for god’s sake!
But then, the black-haired girl stepped forward, her voice steady and confident as her smirk grew. “Post-mortem brain donations allow for a more detailed study of brain tissue without the ethical limitations of studying a living patient. You can isolate deeper structures within the brain, and you can use stains to test for chemical markers that can’t be detected through neuroimaging.”
Agatha raised an eyebrow, impressed despite herself, though she opened her mouth to remind the girl that she’d also asked about the disadvantages. But before she could speak, the girl continued.
“—but, the brain is dead,” the girl added, as if reading Agatha’s mind. “Meaning you can’t study activity in real time or see how specific tasks activate different brain areas, which you could with EEGs or fMRIs.”
Agatha felt a small surge of approval. She was about to speak, but then the girl went on, seemingly unfazed by the attention and deep in thought. Agatha could practically see the cogs whirring in her mind “Though, I guess for neurodegeneration research, dementia in particular, it’s neuroanatomy and neurochemistry that matter most. Finding a neurobiological basis for these disorders would likely be genetic, neuroanatomical, or neurochemical. Imaging techniques like MRIs or CTs wouldnt be as effective for that.”
For the first time, Agatha allowed a faint smile to cross her lips. “Precisely,” she said, her voice low but approving. “Well done.”
The girl, rather than showing relief or shrinking back like the others, simply widened her smirk. An expression so confident, so unapologetically bold, that it was almost as if she hadn’t expected nor cared about the praise. The girl’s audacity, her calm self-assurance, sparked something in Agatha, a rare flash of genuine respect. There was intelligence here, yes, but also a boldness, a quiet confidence that she hadn’t encountered in years. This one might be something special, Agatha thought, her intrigue deepening. She’d set out to put her new cohort on edge, to see who would falter, who could withstand the pressure. And already, it was clear, this girl wasn’t just holding her ground, she was thriving under it
Agatha nodded to the black-haired girl, acknowledging her sharp answer, before turning and continuing her strut down the corridor. “At our lab's brain bank,” she began, her voice taking on a matter-of-fact tone, “we collect about six donations a week, give or take. These are individuals with neurodegenerative diseases, mostly Alzheimer’s or Parkinson’s, who choose to donate their brains to research after they die.”
She reached the door to the lab, pushing it open with a flourish. “This,” she said, sweeping her arm to the left, “is the lab.” The space stretched out before them, a vast expanse with rows of workstations, equipment, and research areas that seemed to go on forever. The students stared, wide-eyed with awe. Even the black-haired girl couldn’t entirely suppress a small, appreciative smile at the sight.
Agatha continued, clearly relishing their reaction. “On the right,” she said, gesturing again, “is what we call ‘the room of doom.’” She activated an automatic sliding door, revealing a room filled with freezers on one side and shelves stacked with what appeared to be white buckets.
“Stupid name, really,” Agatha admitted with a scoff. “But it’s where we store all the brain donations.” She shrugged. “When the donations come in, we split the hemispheres. One is fixed in formalin,’ Agatha gestured to the white buckets lining one wall, “this makes it easier to study the neuroanatomy. The other hemisphere is dissected fresh and then frozen.” She gestured to the line of freezers.
Agatha paused for a moment, “Now, I don’t really expect anyone to know this, but—” she eyed them, her gaze particularly sharp on the black-haired girl, “—take a guess. When would you use frozen samples instead of fixed ones? The frozen ones are much more inconvenient. They melt within minutes of coming out of the freezer and start to decompose. So really, they’re just a pain to work with. But why might we still use them?”
She watched as the students exchanged uncertain glances. Her eyes locked on the black-haired girl. Agatha raised an eyebrow, sensing the girl was onto something but hadn’t quite pieced it together yet. She could see the realisation dawning as the girl thought through the possibilities, and Agatha gave her a small nod, silently urging her to speak up.
“Genetic testing,” the girl said after a few seconds.
Agatha’s expression shifted to one of surprise and admiration. She nodded, the smallest smile tugging at her lips. “Yes, very good.”
The black-haired girl began to explain further. “The formalin used to fix the brain limits the DNA you can extract from the cells—”
Before she could continue, Jennifer, unable to resist the urge to jump in, cut her off. “Freezing the brain preserves the genetic material! So, you can use it for genetic testing!” she said, with an overly eager tone, as if she’d just solved the problem herself.
Agatha froze for a moment, shocked at the interruption, and then let out a sharp laugh. She had seen it happen before, one of those students who liked to steal someone else’s thunder, without even understanding the question in the first place. Jennifer had had no idea when Agatha first asked. She just heard the start of the other girl’s answer and ran with it.
The black-haired girl shot Jennifer an incredulous look, her gaze turning into a glare of utter disdain. Agatha gave her a subtle, almost approving glance, amused by the girl's reaction. The girl, for her part, simply smirked, looking between Jennifer and Agatha, almost as if to silently say, Can you believe that just happened?
Agatha smirked back, choosing not to dignify Jennifer’s interruption with a response. She made eye contact with the black-haired girl, her voice dripping with approval as she said, “Excellent. I’m impressed.”
The girl nodded, flashing one last glare at Jennifer as Agatha moved on, her tone shifting to one of business. “Now, take a look around. Choose your workstation, lay out anything you might need for tomorrow. We’re done here for today. I expect to see you in the lab early tomorrow. My lecture starts at 11, but if you want to get a head start on your projects, it would benefit you to get here as early as possible. I want to see your project titles and a rough abstract in the next two weeks. The sooner you get started, the better.”
As the other students wandered off to their chosen workstations, settling in and arranging their materials with a mix of excitement and uncertainty, the black-haired girl lingered behind. She leaned casually against the doorframe of the lab entrance, her smirk still firmly in place, watching Agatha with a sort of bemused defiance.
Agatha raised an eyebrow, her gaze narrowing slightly. "You," she said, pointing a finger directly at the girl, her voice firm.
"Me," she replied, her smirk only widening, her low tone almost mocking.
Agatha tilted her head slightly, her curiosity piqued but irritation bubbling under the surface. “You weren’t on my student list. Who are you?”
"I’m Rio," the girl said with a casual lift of her chin, before performing a playful, exaggerated curtsey, lifting an imaginary skirt with mock elegance.
Agatha scoffed, unfazed by the theatrics. "So what, you don’t have a last name?" she said, emphasizing each syllable as she repeated, "Rio?"
Rio stood up straight from her exaggerated bow and, without missing a beat, replied, "Rio Vidal. And I was transferred from a different PhD supervisor yesterday."
Agatha’s eyebrow arched skeptically. "Transferred, huh? So, what? You changed your mind about your topic last minute? You were in a different specialty and suddenly decided you wanted to dive into neurodegeneration? You should know that I don’t tolerate indecisiveness. It’s a sign of weakness. I want my students to be driven and to know exactly what they want."
Rio’s laughter filled the room, a smooth, confident sound that seemed to irk Agatha. "Trust me when I say there is no one more driven than me, don’t you worry your pretty little head," Rio said with an almost teasing edge.
Agatha’s jaw tightened, feeling a flash of anger surge through her. The girl’s confidence was impressive but she was overstepping her boundaries by a mile. "How dare you—" Agatha began, her voice laced with venom.
"Sorry, Dr. Harkness," Rio interrupted smoothly, her voice dripping with feigned seriousness, though her smirk only deepened. "But genuinely, I’ve wanted to go into neurodegeneration research since I was taking my A-levels. I’m driven. I was under a different neurodegeneration researcher for my project, but my course director, Professor Calderu, swapped me to you. She said my talent would be wasted under any other supervisor."
She shrugged as though it was all no big deal, but Agatha’s eyes narrowed.
Another scoff slipped past Agatha’s lips before she could stop it. "Wow, a little cocky, aren’t we?" she said, crossing her arms over her chest, her eyes studying Rio with growing amusement.
Rio tilted her head slightly, an eyebrow cocked in quiet challenge, but she only shrugged yet again. This air of nonchalance was beginning to really annoy Agatha. "Those were Professor Calderu's exact words. I don’t know what else to tell you."
Agatha couldn’t help but admit, begrudgingly, that the name Professor Lilia Calderu meant something. Lilia had been the neuroscience program director for the BSc, MSc, and PhD programs for the university for over forty years. Agatha had worked alongside Lilia for the better part of two decades, and the woman was a genius. If she believed this girl was truly special... well, Agatha had to at least consider the possibility.
This was starting to get interesting.