"Would we be actually able to maintain technological contact with the surface as we progress?"

"I don't know, you answer. You're the physicist."

***

This question had been piquing him for ages. Well, in his petite lifespan, the equivalent of his "ages" was about an hour in normal time, ever since Meddles had given them the news.

And Arlene, with whom he was researching the newest scientific works in order to prepare for the imminent "waterwalk" out on the bed of the Atlantic Ocean, wasn't giving him an answer.

"Stop keeping secrets, will you?" He asked while the others worked far away.

"What?" Arlene stopped taking a book she had found while on a ladder.

"Stop keeping secrets." Led firmly repeated. The fact that he was with her in the same library that had suddenly changed from having 60 two-type books to over 40000 600-type copies in dispossession was startling to him. But at that moment, it filled him with more anger and irritation than the time when he had confronted Miss Chaisson about her publishing of his works. First the mental asylum, now this? He couldn't imagine this much stuff in two days.

He cleared his throat and continued, composedly, his voice electrified with deep-rooted rage.

"Even if you want to make me look insane, you fail to hide the fact that something's going on. I have multiple pieces of evidence, and multiple occasions have happened when you acted... strange. If you don't reveal the reason why you're doing so, I won't be able to trust you, and I will convince our team to follow suit. So if you're going to continue keeping your secrets,- "

Suddenly, Arlene fell down from the ladder. He scurried to catch her.

And suddenly, Led found himself holding her bridal style in his arms.

His breath caught in his throat, causing him to cut his words short. They gave in to the silence, as the others were far away. She looked at him for a fraction of a second, yet to him, every moment with her was divided into thousands of hours, or even days, as he would replay them continuously, involuntarily, in his mind nights after. Perhaps he could write a great scientific work about it.

But, perhaps, there isn't any theory that describes such transforming phenomena.

She felt so gentle in his arms.

"What evidence do you have?"

"What?" Led asked blankly. His mind could barely make out the endings of whatever she said, whispered, questioned - maybe she didn't say anything at all. Why should she say anything?

"What evidence do you have?" She quietly asked.

He opened his mouth, but could find no words. He had never been in such a position. Holding her.

Her eyes flickered down and up to his own.

"I don't."

She leaned in.

He froze.

"That's right. You don't." she leaned in even closer. He felt her hot breath on his lips. Her perfume of rose and peppermint.

He couldn't not lower his gaze, unable to withstand their intensity, but her cold fingers forcefully took the tip of his chin tenderly tilted it and gently touched his chest. Shyly.

For the first time, he couldn't stop himself. From feeling what he was self-instructed not to experience.

He was failling.

"And you may never know."

He was left alone, as she went back to the others and he stood there as the others came out, he stood there as they came out and they bombarded him with questions, as he said nothing, as they exclaimed, as they explained, answered, searched... It all was lost with him. He had often not cared about scientific inquiry and studies when he failed, lost motivation, was faced with criticism, and other unwelcome events that ruined his morale. He had not cared.

But he had never not wanted to care.