<span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">Although Mikkel had since pegged Quinn as an intelligent and inquisitive man, it surprised him nonetheless to hear him mention that at one time, he had considered medicine as a career path. A great many did, though few pursued it in the end, and even fewer saw the studies through to completion. The field of medicine was a field requiring a great deal of investment, and even then would eventually prove mentally and physically taxing. Long study hours in school, even longer hours during hands-on studies. For men like Mikkel, however, the daily challenges had always proven more than worth the effort.<br/>
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"You aren't wrong," he noted, spearing food onto his fork despite his actual point of focus lingering on the man across from him, watching the steady rise and fall of his throat as he finished off the glass. "The human body is a fascinating machine, but prone to flaws. Hardly meant to last."<br/>
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Quinn rose shortly thereafter, taking initiative to fill his glass and move around the table to do the same for his host, who as yet did not raise his eyes any higher than the hand tilting the wine bottle. Its twin coursed over his shoulders, emboldened, and Mikkel didn't bother to hide the satisfied smile that followed, for if he had had any doubt of Quinn's intentions before, it had certainly faded by now.<br/>
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Contemplating the younger man's query, it took all of a moment for Mikkel to offer his answer. "I have always found a certain measure of fulfillment in fixing broken things," he offered. "Growing up, I formed a close connection with my father's brother, and over the summers, he taught me mechanical and engineering work. Mostly repairing and building engines. If you haven't already noticed, I'm a very meticulous man. Similarly, I was a meticulous child. I found a great deal of focus in learning how the tiniest pieces worked together, not unlike clockwork, to form the functional whole. And each engine was different. So it is with human bodies."<br/>
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With a quiet chuckle, he plucked his glass from the table, giving it a lazy swirl before raising it for a quick sip. "I believe I was thirteen when my mother had her first heart attack. Quite an impressive one, in hindsight. If you'd believe it, some heart attacks disguise themselves as chest colds. It wasn't until the next morning, when the chest congestion stopped her breathing, that we knew it was something else." No doubt a grim story for dinnertime, but something told him Quinn hardly minded. If he had, he wouldn't have asked for elaboration on his career choice in the first place.<br/>
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"She lived," Mikkel told him, "in case you were wondering. My father was a surgeon as well, brought her to the best healthcare providers in Denmark. You can imagine, of course, how confused a teenager would be when what was a cold one day turns into a massive heart attack the next. One thinks of a heart attack, one thinks of chest pain and numbness in the arm. Once she had started recovering, I asked my father to explain it to me, which was when I began making the connection between the machines I had tinkered with in the garage and the human heart. Perhaps it sounds crude, comparing car parts to life-giving organs, but on the most basic level, there's little difference. The human body is a machine, the heart is a crucial component. And as I mentioned, I have always had something of a knack for fixing broken things."<br/>
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Perhaps Mikkel's reasoning sounded a touch more shallow, in a way, than other practitioners. When asked, the vast majority of doctors would profess a burning desire to do good. To save the single father of two, to pluck the well-loved high school biology teacher from death's doorstep that she might live to teach another class, and so on. But Mikkel? His ego didn't thrive on the number of lives he saved. He simply wanted a challenge. </span>