The storm hit campus all at once; the wind abated for a moment, and then a great gust of snow and ice assaulted the dorm. The building was too sturdy to be shaken by it, but the windows rattled pretty good.

Lucky started at the noise and buried her face into my unyielding metallic bosom. I patted her gently, and we sat there in the kind of dense, all-encompassing silence that only comes in a blizzard. Outside, the wind moaned and the snow pattered heavily against the walls; inside, it was so still you could hear the clock tick - but the clock in question was me, ticking away in quiet regularity, metering out what felt like an eternity in precise increments.

The blizzard-silence does funny things to your head. You are at once both intensely aware that you are at the mercy of Nature's implacable might, and safely isolated from its fury. You feel a bit like a rabbit hidden away in a dug-out root hollow as a predator stalks around the other side of the tree; you may be safe, but something compels you not to break the silence. And the people around you are also affected, so despite the company, you just sit there in quiet, uneasy contemplation...

My mechanisms stayed even and quiet under the weight of the silence; but I couldn't stop thinking about her, out on the road. About what the pavement conditions were like right now. About the roller-coaster slope coming down the hillside, and the bend where, I'd heard, there had stood an exotic-fish shop - until an eighteen-wheeler lost control, skidded off the road, and obliterated the entire building one dark winter night...

I wondered about Emma, too. Would she be gone when the storm rolled up out of the lake basin? When did her flight depart, again? Hell, what time was it now? How long had we been sitting here, in the Silence? My own body was counting out time, yet I felt unmoored from any temporal frame of reference. Maybe Time itself had come unmoored, I thought. Maybe this was it, the final curtain; maybe the world would end in ice. Maybe tomorrow the Sun would rise feebly in the grey sky over a land frozen in absolute stillness, where not a clock still ticked and the Silence held illimitable dominion over all.^* Maybe...

...maybe then, I wouldn't have to have this conversation...

^* (The storm before the calm, I thought to myself, but the Silence suppressed my snicker.)

I shook my head, trying to snap myself out of it. God, this was interminable - how long had we sat here? How long did it take to drive up to the airport and back? I wanted to contact her, to know she was okay; but she couldn't stop to reply, and didn't need the distraction. But what if she wasn't...? It took me back ages, to the Before-Time when cell phones weren't ubiquitous and you might just have to wait, alone in an empty house, for someone's return; imagining the possibilities, never knowing for sure until the moment they walked in the door and that feeling of relief washed over you...

And then - there it was. Footsteps in the hallway; that brisk, punctual stride I'd know even through the zip-zop-zip-zop of snow boots. I felt relief mingled with dread. It was her, she was safe; she was here, and there was no getting out of this... I clutched Lucky to my chest and scritched her cap nervously. I didn't know what to expect here, and I was terrified that I'd screw it up; but I'd done far too much evasion already, and I knew what I had to say more than anything else. That'd be a start.

"Is she...always like that...?" my mother asked, as she entered, kicked off her boots, hung up her jacket, and sank down onto the couch next to me.

Tammy gave her a curious look. "Um, yeah, pretty much," she said, not knowing what was getting to her as I did, but figuring it was a safe bet that Emma was always "like that."

I nodded. "Yeah, ever since the change," I said, relieved to see her safe and not too traumatized, and glad to let my thoughts turn from the impending conversation. "It's apparently a subconscious mimicry of human body language. Her body may be a semi-distinct entity, as well."

"I...see." She suppressed a shudder. "Well, it was lucky we got there when we did; sounds like they're delaying later flights until the storm lets up. She caught the last plane out." She sounded as relieved as we were, for different reasons.

I saw her shiver - and fail to keep from glancing at the blanket folded up atop the couch. As ever, she'd go out of her way to avoid anything she thought of as being a bother, even something trivial... I draped it over her shoulders. "Oh, ah, thank you, honey," she said, giving me an awkward half-smile as she wrapped it around herself.

Why was she always like this? Why couldn't she ever just say what she meant? Tell me what she wanted? Why was I left to figure this stuff out for myself? To guess whether I was doing what she expected of me, or letting her down...?

Well, I knew that last one, didn't I...? Which brought me back to what I knew I had to say, but kept dancing around actually saying. I took a deep breath - another weird tic meant to help me "pass" as something I no longer was - and forced myself to speak the words. "Um, I'm...I'm sohhhsss..."

She was visibly surprised, and quickly escalated into mild alarm. "Stuart? What's happening? Are-are you choking? Honey, talk to me...!"

Dammit, why now, of all times...? Okay, I'd only had two cups today, and I'd done a lot of talking, but still...! I waved my hands, trying to communicate that this was nothing to worry about, but she misread it as panicking. "No, it's okay, Mrs. Freeman!" Tammy interjected, rolling up between us as she grew increasingly frantic. "This is, um, normal...!?"

She didn't look convinced, but she glanced over and realized I clearly wasn't choking. I motioned for her to wait and went to the bathroom for a glass of water. "Hhhit's fine," I said, as it came to a boil. "This is, uh, just how my voice works, now..." I felt a pang of embarrassment at being so...weird. Sure, I wasn't the Headless Freshman, but what if I was making her uncomfortable just being this...?

She nodded, getting that uneasy look again. I probably was, wasn't I...? Good going, me. And I still haven't said it...

"I, um...look." I kicked idly at the floor, trying to find the words again. "I'm...sorry. I shouldn'tve kept it from you, or told you things were fine when they weren't. And...I know," I groaned, "I shouldn'tve gotten involved in this stuff at all..."

At first she was surprised, but nodded along with me; but she seemed taken aback at the last part. "It's just..." I continued, rattling quietly, "...I didn't know what to say. I thought if I told you, you'd misunderstand and...think I wanted this; so I was afraid to. But...I shouldn't have lied. I should've trusted you more. And...I'm sorry for that."

I sat back down, leaning forward so my key could turn. I heard her sigh beside me. "...I forgive you, honey," she said; I could hear her growing fretful again. "I just...I worry about you. I never know what you're thinking, and you won't tell me. And you don't seem to care about your own future; I had to drag you through applying. This is an important phase of your life, and I worry that all the burdens you won't share with anyone are going to keep you from ever making it off the starting block."

I bristled, a buffer spring in my head zizzing away; she clearly noticed, and I wondered if she knew what it meant. God, speaking of conversations I don't want to have... "It's not as if I asked for that," I muttered, half to myself; but I wasn't quiet enough, and I saw in her face that she'd heard me just fine. Down below, Lucky scuttled nervously back to her terrarium.

"Stuart Josef Freeman, you listen to me," she said indignantly, turning to face me directly. Her glasses caught the light again, obscuring her eyes. "You cannot just expect the whole world to sit and wait until you decide you're ready to start engaging with it. It'll come at you like it or not, and I do not want to see my child blindsided by that when there's anything I can do to help. It's a tough enough race to run when you are prepared for it."

I felt myself kicking into high gear, as I thought back over awkward conversations, probing questions, "suggestions" that never came across that way, little hints about where I got my natural aptitudes... "And when did I ask to be put in this 'race!?'" I said testily, humming like a swarm of brass hornets. "I don't recall anyone consulting me! Did I ask to be saddled with everyone's expectations? Did I request a spot in the Don't Screw Up Olympics!? Did-"

"Did I solicit thee from darkness to promote me?" The words hit like a bucket of cold water. The fretfulness was gone, and there was fire in her voice. "No, Stuart, you did not. You were given life because someone cared about you before you even existed, enough to give you the most precious thing they had to offer. Yes, it's difficult and confusing, but don't you pretend for a second that you prefer the alternative."

Something within me ground hard. Was she just projecting her fears onto me, or did she really think I felt that way...? I wanted to get mad, but I saw her trembling, and I felt myself start to shake slightly. "I...I don't," I stammered, wondering how I ever gave her that idea, if I had. "God, I don't! Listen, I'm...so confused right now, and I'm scared about what will happen to me, what I might become. But I've never felt like that - honest."

It was true, I realized. On this bizarre journey, I'd been scared, confused, upset, uncomfortable, angry, even a bit depressed - but I'd never really despaired over this. Maybe it was because my feelings couldn't consume me anymore; or was I just too busy trying to cope with this and keep up with college life on top of that...? I sighed. "I just...don't understand why it's my job to figure out what people want from me..."

Tammy had been quietly observing us the whole time, watching me to see if I was okay. Now I saw her open her mouth like she wanted to speak; but she decided that it'd be a bad idea to butt in, and said nothing. Her pectoral fins twitched uneasily.

My mother gave me a Look. "'What people want from you?' Stuart, your life is yours to live. The only reason I had to get involved is because you wouldn't decide for yourself, under any amount of prodding, and I couldn't let you wait around forever while life passed you by."

"Oh?" I said, feeling irritable again. Was it really as passive as that? It hadn't felt that way; with all the discussion about not "wasting" my talents, about how good a fit I was for science or engineering, did she really expect me to believe that she'd be okay with it if I...if I'm thinking of switching majors-

It was only after I thought it that I realized I'd said it. Oh, that was just perfect - yet another thing I didn't want to talk about, laid out there on top of everything else we could never seem to communicate to each other. And now she'd act all wounded because I was rejecting the plans I'd forced her to make for me, and-

"Oh," she said, surprised. "...I suppose it's better to do that early on. But...are you sure...? I really do think this is a good fit for your abilities, and there's your scholarships to consider, and...and..."

"...and you've always thought it was nice that I take after Dad - I know. But...I'm not him. I can't be him for you." I was a bit surprised at not being immediately guilt-tripped. She'd seemed so invested in this; wasn't it what she wanted me to be? "I'm...not sure what I am anymore, but...I'm someone else, no matter what I got from him. And..." I could feel myself clamping down on a runaway mechanism, keeping it under control; and I saw her looking a bit taken aback, but I continued.

"And I'm...not sure yet. I need to think it over, and everything's been so crazy that I haven't had time. But...I'm not in the metaphysics program because I had a plan for it, I'm just...here because there wasn't anywhere better for me to be. And I've been..." I hesitated, still feeling awkward, still afraid to say it - but what did I have to lose? We were already so far into Things I Did Not Want To Talk About that it hardly made a difference...

"...I've been...considering going into post-transformation rehab and demi-human therapy," I said, forcing the words out of my mouth. "Um, I mean, as a therapist. Professionally. It's...it's a good job, and it suits my interests, and..." I trailed off, whirring nervously as she got that uneasy look again.

"Stuart," she said, after a brief, uncomfortable silence, "were you...being honest with me when you said it'd be a misunderstanding if I thought you wanted this...?" She fixed me with an inquisitive stare, her soft hazel eyes locked with mine; there was something in her face that I couldn't read...

My body...sort of seized up. For a moment, I felt a disconnect, like I was an outside observer and the person sitting on the couch was someone else. Then I was back, but something in my head was clicking as it got stuck trying to move past a certain point, like a record skipping a groove; both Tammy and my mother were staring in concern. I closed my eyes, clenched my teeth, and focused, and it finally slipped past the sticking point.

I took a deep breath. "I never intended on changing myself," I said, slowly and deliberately; I wanted her to understand this. "I never felt like I wanted to be something else; and I never anticipated becoming this. The only reason I didn't try to change into something closer to my old self right away is that we got in trouble over it, and we were banned from touching the device until they say so. Does that answer your question?"

She nodded, slowly, but didn't look very convinced. I frowned; was I not clear? Everything I said was factually accurate, wasn't it?

So...why did it feel like I was trying to massage the truth again...?

I shook my head and tried to focus. "I...I'm serious," I said, starting to judder a little; she had to believe me, didn't she? It was one thing for Emma to blithely assume that she knew me better than I did, but for her... "That's...not why this stuff interests me; I just...find it fascinating, okay? I know you're not comfortable with it, but...this is part of who I am, and I want you to understand that...to understand me."

"Honey, I..." She trailed off, looking a little hurt, but considered it for a moment. "...I guess I'm not, am I? I just...yes, I did think you were intending to...to alter yourself. It seemed like a natural conclusion when you started showing interest in that stuff. And..." She sighed. "You're my child, Stuart, and I love you, and I've never thought that anything was wrong about you. I'll just say that outright. So it hurt to think that...that you might feel that way." I could hear the quaver returning to her voice.

"But more than that...honestly, honey, you couldn't even decide on a major for yourself; how could you possibly be sure about something like that? Gambling your own body on a matter of chance? It's not like...like getting a tattoo, for God's sake...!" I looked away uncomfortably, and she threw up her hands. "And even if you could try again, what if you never ended up as something you were comfortable with? I'd hate to see you do that to yourself..."

She shook her head slowly. "But...I'm sorry if I made you feel like...like I thought there was something wrong with you for...that. And if that wasn't how you felt, well, I'm sorry for projecting; but it seems to be an occupational hazard, one way or another. I just..." She gave another heavy sigh. "I worry about you, honey. Because I care about you, and sometimes it seems like you don't."

I wasn't sure how to feel. It was a relief to hear her say that she didn't think I was a...a freak for being interested in this; but it hurt to think that she'd just assume she knew what I was thinking. And was she really okay with it, or was this just a way of saying that she couldn't logically support any formal objections? I still remembered the uncomfortable expressions, the uneasy tone of voice...

I heard her breathing deeply beside me, centering herself; whatever she was about to say, it was something she knew she had trouble with. "So...talk to me, honey," she said quietly, taking my hand in hers. "About...this. This side of you. What you're dealing with. Whatever it is you need to say. I...I'll listen - I promise."

"I, uh, I..." I stammered, surprised. It was strange enough for her to say she was okay with this, but to invite me to talk about it? Did she mean it, then...? My brain was suddenly all a-clatter; I hardly knew where to begin...

"...Honestly, I don't know what to say," I said, sorting through my jumbled thoughts. "This is...just something I find interesting. Learning about demi-humans and how they're put together, what challenges they face in human society, how they fit in, culturally; and, um...what transformees have to say about the experience of being one, and how they adapt to the physiological and psychological changes. I've been fascinated by this stuff since...pretty much forever, I think."

She looked uncomfortable for a moment, but I could see her focus and try to get past it. For myself, I felt relieved at finally being able to admit this to her - hell, at finally being able to admit it to myself - but I still didn't know what to expect here...

"Go on," she said. Down on the floor, Lucky - who'd crept cautiously back to Tammy's side of the suite - came over and tugged on her skirt, apparently mistaking her for me. She absent-mindedly reached down and picked the little critter up, idly scratching her cap.

I shrugged, unsure of where to go from here. She still squirmed a little at the various noises I made - as the shutters of my irises adjusted, the actuators in my limbs extended and retracted, the different parts of my brain surged or slowed with my thoughts and feelings - and I thought, for the first time, about how alien this must seem from her perspective. Did she truly recognize me as her son? I knew my face was roughly familiar, but against the strangeness of the rest? Could she even see a thing like this as a person...?

"I'm...a clockwork automaton," I said. Maybe I could ease that feeling by explaining? Putting a name to it, making it concrete...? "Not a conventional robot. They did some scans and...I'm all spring-powered machinery inside. They're still trying to work out how that equates to still being me - how I think and feel and remember - but...apparently, it does."

She frowned. "What happens when...when the spring runs down?"

"I, um...I stop," I said, feeling awkward about it. I could see her turn a little pale. "It's, uh, not harmful," I said hastily. "I come back out of it in the exact same state once I'm, er...wound. For me, it's like no time has passed at all."

"Isn't that...distressing?" she asked.

"...Not really," I said. Okay, the incident at the lake was pretty stressful, but it had more to do with that little ghoul than the experience of running down. "I, um, don't get so stressed out like this, anyway. It's hard for feelings to really take hold of me like they could as a human."

She got a funny look on her face, but didn't say anything. "And can you...wind...yourself?" she asked instead. It was clear from her tone that she knew it was a silly question, but was looking for reassurance.

I sighed and shook my head. "Um, no. I can't really reach, and...even if I could, I can't conjure energy from nothing."

She frowned, caught herself, and tried to force a more neutral expression. It didn't work. "Then...you have to have someone to...to wind you?"

"Well, yeah," I said, surprised at how hung up she was over this. It was still kind of weird on an interpersonal level, but by this point I'd gotten so used to the fact of it that it almost seemed odd to think that it wouldn't be the case. "It's...it's okay," I said, trying to reassure her. "It feels...nice. Sort of like a hug, or having your hair brushed."

She didn't look reassured. "When you...stop...do you, what, collapse? What if you get hurt?"

"...No," I said, after a moment's hesitation. I had tipped over at the lake, but only because I was in an unbalanced position, with no energy left to right myself. "No, I just...freeze in place. And, um...I'm pretty sturdy, really." I tapped my chest; she was a little weirded out at the hollow thump it made. "My body's metal under the 'skin.' I actually weigh more now than I did before."

"But you could get...damaged...? Broken...?" I could see her suppress a shudder. "What would happen to you then? You couldn't very well go to a doctor..."

I shifted uneasily in my seat, thinking back to dreams of animated figurines breaking apart, my nervousness around the water, and the question of how I could possibly self-repair. Just how mortal was I...?

"Well, uh, no," I said. "But...like I said, they've taken scans of how I'm put together, and they're working on modelling how my systems work. So it should be possible to repair me, if I do get injured."

I wished that was as reassuring for me as I meant it to be for her. If you replaced everything in a machine part-for-part, was it still the same machine? The question seemed terribly relevant to me, now. She must've sensed my discomfort, because she changed the subject. "And...you're, ah...well, a girl..."

Something inside me felt a little funny at the way this wasn't phrased like a question. The rest of me felt funny at her bringing up the exact most awkward part of this whole thing, the part that'd caused me the most confusion, interpersonal weirdness, and emotional turmoil... "I, um...yeah, I guess," I said hesitantly, my tempo creeping back upwards. "...Sort of. It's, well..." I sighed heavily. "It's...strictly cosmetic. I'm a...a machine...in the shape of one, that's all."

Oddly, she didn't seem as viscerally uncomfortable as I expected; certainly not like I felt trying to find a delicate way to explain to my mother that I was a damn doll under these clothes. Instead, she spent a long moment silently studying my face, watching my visible discomfort from behind the glare of her spectacles. What did she think of...this? Was a thing like myself a grotesquerie? An imitation? Or merely an object...?

Finally, she put a hand to her forehead and heaved a sigh. "...I see," she said. "This is...it's a lot to take in, honey. I...I do want you to know that you can talk with me about these things, but...do you mind if we pick this back up in the morning? It's...a lot to take in."

Now I felt guilty again; was I pushing beyond her comfort zone? But she was the one who'd asked... And I definitely wasn't eager to delve further into the question of what I was; but it'd taken such a load off my mind finally opening up to her about the rest... What was there left to say, though? I'd given the apology I owed her, and I'd said what I could never find the courage to before, hadn't I? Where did you go from there?

I sighed. "Y-yeah. That's, um...that's fine. Tomorrow's fine." She gave me a curious look for a moment, but I nodded in affirmation. Honestly, I could stand to call it a night myself...and if there was anything more to discuss, maybe I'd remember it in the morning.

I rose from the couch, and she followed suit, gently setting Lucky aside. She pulled out her watch, popped it open, and frowned; it'd stopped, but I must've drowned it out and she hadn't noticed. She snapped it shut and held it out in one hand. After sizing it up for a moment, she struck it sharply with the first couple fingers of the other, and it began ticking away once more.

I had to suppress an involuntary flinch. The first time I saw her do that, as a kid, I'd assumed that she must not think much of it, and wondered why she didn't just get a new one. It wasn't until some years later that I thought to ask her, and she explained that it was a precious memento, and she hadn't replaced it because she couldn't bear to part with it. Sometimes, she'd told me, things just need a good sharp whack to get them moving again...

Tammy wheeled over to me as we broke from our seemingly-endless discussion. "You okay there...?" she asked. "I, uh, really wasn't sure if I should get involved or not."

I thought for a moment, and heaved a sigh. "I...think so, yeah. And, um, thanks. I think it was for the best that you didn't, but...thanks for being willing."

She gave me a reassuring smile. "Any time. And...hang in there. You'll figure it out - I know it." She came around back and took hold of my key to wind me. I didn't really need it, if we were about to call it a night, but the sensation was soothing, and I could really use that right now. I shut my eyes and sighed gently, split between strokes; when she finished, I opened them to see my mother standing there, watching us.

I could tell from her expression that she was uncomfortable, a little agitated; and I recognized that nervous, fidgety, oh-here-let-me energy very well. I waited for her to say something, but she took a moment and got ahold of herself instead. "Honey, can...can I use your laptop...?" she asked. "I wanted to look a few things up, but it seems like the weather's killed my reception."

"Uh, sure," I said, with a shrug; there wasn't anything on there that I was afraid of her finding, not anymore... "It's the building, too. They built to keep radiation out, back then. Even on clear days you have to stand near the window."

She smiled slightly and nodded, and I punched in my password for her. Tammy was already getting ready for bed, and I ought to as well; I was freshly wound, but mentally exhausted, and I desperately needed to sleep and let my brain sort things out. I didn't even know what to expect tomorrow...

I started to undress, hesitated, and glanced over my shoulder; she was watching me curiously. I thought about asking her to look away, but...there was nothing more to hide, was there? I shucked off my top, stepped out of my skirt, and stood there in my boxers and camisole, feeling strangely less exposed than I expected. "You can, uh, take Emma's bed," I said, motioning to the other side of the room. "Um....good night."

"...Good night, honey," she said quietly, doing her best to give me a gentle smile. I climbed into bed and pulled up the covers; beside me, she turned to the computer and began tapping away. For a long moment, I watched her out of the corner of my eye; then I dropped into a sleep filled with strange dreams that I could never remember afterward.