A bit late today.

---

Dr. Montpelier closed the folder with a sudden snap that set his his tousled hair astir for a moment. Then he set it down gently on top of an artificial wood desk, with a motion timed perfectly to the raise of his bushy black caterpillar of an eyebrow. The eye beneath it, and its partner situated across his broad nose, stood locked away behind a pair of horn rimmed windows yet carried the same biting knowledge of chill that a glance at a wintertime vista might. Yet even the coldest of mornings did not gaze back - did not stare you down. The eyes did. Both leered down at twelve year old Leopold Xavier Wells in a way that made him feel very, very unwelcome in this place and time. But Leopold was a strong lad with an innocent face; he kept his gaze steady and his demeanor composed while he waited for the silence to fall away and for his rival's heart to warm.

And a rival he was. The boy had never met the Doctor, nor did he know what he was a Doctor of. But he did know that Doctor meant Smart with an equally-capitalized-S, and even if it was more than a few steps below General or God it was placed many, many more above boy. And he also knew by way of his keen ears and the office's thin walls that this was the man holding his future - metaphorically, now, but in a very literal sense right until the moment he'd set the folder down.

But down it was, and down went Leopold's eyes after a few moments as his mind wandered along that track of distracting thought. Dr. Montpelier shifted at the change and he cleared his throat; perhaps he'd not yet had his soul touched by this youth, but it seemed to Leopold when his eyes jumped back up at the sound that the Doctor had a touch of remorse in his expression.

"As I stated, Leopold."

Leopold, this time. Not Mr. Wells; maybe this man really had softened at his realization of - well, it would be incorrect to term it cruelty in intent, but it could hardly be interpreted as anything else to let that kind of frustration spill over to the way in which you regard a child. And for all of his other traits, Leopold was a child, and a very anxious one on this important day.

"This really is a clerical error. I want you to understand that. The only reason you were even accepted in the first place was a mistake in the computer programs. You wouldn't have qualified otherwise. I want you to understand that, for as bright as you are, you won't be able to pass this curriculum. It's simply not designed for one of us. We're not inferior, Leopold, we just can't learn in the same way - you understand that, yes?"

"I want to try."

"I understand that, Leopold. But I'm not sure that you understand the implications of what you're saying."

"I don't care. I want to try."

Dr. Montpelier's expression soured. His sole response was to lean back in his chair; Leopold's eyes dropped back down to stare at the desk as his head bowed a little. His hands gripped the armrests tightly, tighter still when the Doctor spoke again after a few moments.

"Leopold. I don't know how much I feel happy to tell you this, but I know that you'll be happy to hear it. For now, anyways. You've been accepted at the Searle Institute for the Socialization of Artificial Intelligence. Your forms are all in the folder. Have your mother help you fill them out."

Leopold looked up. The Doctor looked him in the eyes - and as a great smile broke out across the child's face, what had been two orbs of contained snowstorm seemed the shade of a cool summer breeze.