A Strange Thing Called Love
Summary - Many have desires for the miniscule of things. By any conceivable measure, human history was at its prime in the mid 1900s; the end of world wars, fashion, wealth, politics, goods, and music. However, for one man, science is the most favored one of it all. Beyond the edge and brim of numbers and equations, he finds no other interest. Strong feelings are nothing but a blur to him; an unfathomable nonsense he does not understand nor care to explore.
His mind is the most important thing to him–if not only to mankind as well. His heart, he concludes, is just an empty life cup– viable for blood, breathing and moving. Nothing more. Nothing less. A cup with nothing to fill in and he is content with it. Because after all, all he wanted was to keep that space inside for his pursuit in his intellect.~
It was the early spring of the '50s, when Dr. Cooper – whose world revolves around logic and reason – is destined for a world-riveting change that he won't be able to calculate. The world's esteemed genius, who thought to be content with his balanced life, meets an unexpected catalyst that will bring an unimaginable problem to the surface. A problem that he deems himself incapable of to understand nor solve. Yet, little did he know that this cause will unravel an explosive effect within him... a variable that will question the bane of his existence. And only then he is forced to confront his heavy past, new unsought desires, and perhaps.. even himself.
With a spontaneous occurrence that the greatest of minds himself can't comprehend, what will be the consequence of an unstoppable force meeting this immovable object?
Author's Note - To friends and worldwide Shamy enthusiasts, here it is: my utmost first story. It was only recently when I found a desire to write a multi chapter fic about Sheldon & Amy. So it may be a long ride; enjoy, or bear with me (haha). I hope you like it! But first, there's a few things I'd like to note:
This is a bit AU, so it may be a slight different Sheldon Cooper and Amy Farrah Fowler than we know of. However, I strive to make it as canon as possible with few exceptions that would be needed to suit the storyline. I'll include song and poetry verses in some chapters which will have meaning/connection, so keep an eye on them!
[A bit of addition: I have written original short stories in the past, but I have never made a fanfiction before. So this will be my first :) Hopefully I have intrigued you, and I'd be more than pleased to read your reviews.]
/ Disclaimer: I own nothing of The Big Bang Theory. This is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended. /
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~Chapter 1~
"Never give all the heart, for love
Will hardly seem worth thinking of."
— W.B Yeats
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(Slow Burn)
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A hot, bitter, dark roasted coffee was the sort he appealed to.
Not too sweet. Not too sugary. Not too honeyed.
Just the way he liked it.
Despite it being a Sunday, a bland day on his table, assiduously working away the hours, was the kind of holiday he took tranquility in.
The incandescent light bulb in his office was dimmed in just the right color. Not too bright and not exactly too dark either. It was situated beside his elbow, at the right degree of angle. Although the tiny man-made sources of light were invented long back, he did admire candles and oil lamps a considerable amount; it gave him a comfortable and sound feeling.
His Montblanc fountain pen was elegantly poised, scribbling away on the fiber of a paper.
Most of the papers on his mahogany table were of the most expensive and promising materials. The latest 50's papers sold were of the extremely high quality papers made using best quality fiber and made in largeish volumes, on a commercial scale. Most of the fibers in the old papers were linen or cotton rag.
Unlike his co-workers, he was deemed to have all his knowledge written on the finest and long-lasting bedrock, refusing anything less for his work. Although his brilliant, eidetic memory could keep every single letter or number in the files of his mind, what good would the blank substances be if they were used for less significant purposes? Or created to be beacons for things of useless worth? Such as philosophy and paintings. Fairy tales, art and poetry.
Those types of appellations and terms were the kind he never ceased to cluck his tongue and shake his head at. It wasn't that he very much so disliked them, but because he always knew they were not worth the greater extent of appreciation compared to the wisdom of science and concrete data. They didn't share the same importance and weight of his affinity and respect. With the thought of it, he'd give his usual condemnatory scoff. A passion for flimsy illustrations over true analytical knowledge? How derogatory! What is the world coming to?
Despite the laborious hours, there was a calming manner in the way he moved his hand on the blank sheet of straw surface, swiftly operating his motions like an inbetween grace of a dancer and of a clinical surgeon– keen and sharp. In control of his movements. After all, he perfected this skill after years of practising.
On the top of his head, established a fixed, proper hair cut. His dark, black hair was oil slicked and the front was combed back from the forehead to the rear of his head. The sides were exactly an inch bit shorter. For the low-fuss gentlemen, the classic side hairstyle was the perfect style trend, however, he preferred the deep side parts to be made in more precise cuts, favoring the shorter and cleaner look. As well as from the back of his head, his nape was just as well trimmed.
His jet-black hair was naturally reflective due to gloss, and manifested a similar hue to burnt coals and ashes. The darkest shade would have a warm neutral tone under a more dim light, but now a soft lustre color and a blue-like iridescence of a raven's wing was mirrored on his appearance.
Next, his thick yet groomed eyebrows were settled on top of his intense midnight blue eyes, furrowed as his focus was heavily concentrated on one page after another. His slender fingers on his right hand lingered on holding a page before flipping through the giant textbook sitting on his side.
His chin was clean shaven as his opinions of unnecessary style and distaste in tedious daily grooming was apparent.
Then, produced with care, his attire embraced a tidy and neat appearance– a freshly burlywood ironed suit with narrow lapels, tailored waist, an undershirt with a breast pocket, and a uniform color of a grey tie on his front. His choice of formal clothing earnestly complimented his impressive lanky stature and formidable height, which reached nearly over six feet. It casually as well as effectively presented his great physique from head to toe. He had earlier taken off his long Edwardian coat as he entered the office's vestibule, allowing his clothing to loosely rest on the chair behind him.
From there, on that chair below his table, were his long, pleated khaki trousers designed with a linen from ankle to knee.
Lower down to the foot of his formal pants and onto the floor were his shiny, polished Dongola Oxford shoes. The laces were tied in front by a sporty ribbon and the stubby heel of the shoe gave a fancy appearance to it. Few weeks ago, he purchased the item for 1.55 dollars with a good deal as the product had a patent leather, giving a 'dressier' effect rather than a matte leather for a sportier look.
As a doctor and for his formidable well-known degree in theoretical physics, some would say the gentleman was a bit good-looking and handsome.
Some would argue he was a tad old-fashioned. However it was no mystery that he was a fine, dashing young man in his prime.
Yet, those individuals would only be the newcomers in town or people who may have not known the esteemed man. Many in his town knew what sort of person he was. Behind that charming and striking face was a solemn person who did not tolerate others whom he'd believe don't deserve his nobility or consideration. A fellow who did not desire to connect emotionally with anyone new; he never failed to show his strong aversion to physical touch and expressions of empathy.
Despite his easy-going features, he always appeared inaccessible, and unsmiling during supposed situations. Moments that demanded such actions in the name of social convention. Yet, to him, the expression was reserved for different things. And so the smiles and laughs at reasons he don't follow or agree puzzled him.
Especially love. Falling in love? Being in love? Purely a load of phooey. He despised the overpowerment the term can have on humans.
Intense feelings were simply a reign of tyranny that resulted in an adverse effect on simpletons. If they were to give in under the spell of anger, sadness, love, and happiness, it will only be a matter of time before the world spirals out of order and collapses into a pit, bringing destruction upon themselves. He believed that such ludicrous things will only hinder the true state of betterment to mankind: Technology and advancement in human intelligence.
Only numbers, arithmetics, calibration, and ciphering made sense to him. Routine is what made sense to him. Law and order is his take on rhyme and reason; everyday, every morning, and every night, his life was set in perfect order. Nothing he did was out of timing– not too late nor too early. He'd refuse anything to be out of line, and the boat he sails must always go his way through the tides.
He'd wake up early everyday at the exact same time at 6 a.m. on the dot. Subsequently, he'd get up, head to the bathroom to brush his teeth, shave, and wash his face. Then, at 7:15 a.m. he'd be dressed and would be sitting on the table, having his customary whole wheat bagel and his tea that retains a teaspoon of cinnamon. Without milk. Hot. Just the way it's supposed to be.
Lastly, in perfect timing of quarter past 7, he'd see himself out the door with his coat on and his beige pinch front fedora hat. Holding his dark suitcase, he'd walk up the busy streets of Pasadena CA. His chin would always linger up high enough to voice superiority and his eyes half hidden by his top hat, obscuring the intimidating sparkle of confidence others fear.
With a bounce in his step, he'd head to his office at one of the most prestigious and reputable institutes in the state, California Institute of Technology.
Alias Caltech. The university was established in 1891. A prominent year in which all tremendous assets and achievements had ensued. The whole building was magnificent from its entablature, and it's height of four storeys high. A structure comprised of true sublime; from the outdated beige-painted walls, to the simple carvings on the moulded architrave, and to the distinct black ridge vents. Its French bay windows was submerged by the growing purple clematis and yellow corydalis. And bright green trees stood on the sides of the path, leading the way towards its great, opened entrance.
It was the place on earth where he profound pride in. Likewise, the institute returned the shared honour.
With his earned two PhDs, he was ranked as one of the most important people in the world of science. A celebrity amongst the greatest minds, if you will. With his remarkable reputation, Dr. Cooper was the city's esteemed theoretical physicist, and a master of the universe.
In a heartbeat, to his greatest interest, he could indubitably use that knowledge to turn the other genius in the room to a flabbergasted mumbling mess. The faces of confusion and scratching heads gave him an unspeakable mass of pleasure one can't comprehend. In finding errors in their hypotheses, he'd correct them and prove them wrong. So he did. And he would do it again. Oh, he would.
After he'd tend to the other million sets of duties– peeking through his mailbox to sort his daily mail, and then dropping by Johnsons to pick up his dry cleaning at half past 7– he would arrive at work at 8 a.m sharp. Strict accommodation to his timings. Perfect.
Every time he walked into the office or the lab, the air would feel overtaken by his presence. His colleagues always avoided him; no one could tolerate the high and mighty disdain, rambunctious temper, haughty derision, and turbulent nature of Dr. Cooper.
In addition to his sole likings in pure science, they were what made perfect sense to him. Above them all, however, was his true equal: physics. Oh, what a long way he and this old friend came. He certainly was not like any other youthful fellows around his age.
Ever since he was a youngster, he didn't join the other children climbing trees nor playing cricket at school. His little mind had always been filled with uncommon things for a nine-year-old; his once small head was always set and buried in a book in his little hands.
Instead of soccer, action figures, and even childhood comrades, his absolute focus and attention was completely ensnared by the enticement of the real world. The concrete mechanisms of it, not the abstract and hopeful daydreams of an artist and a dreamer.
His mannerisms also stood apart from the others; the way he spoke had always held such eloquence, the way he did not understand simple things—like the meaning behind the snide replies of an irritated teacher, the anger in his father's voice when his parents fought, the way the other little girls would giggle at his quirks or even when they split his ears from screaming the all too well known term, "cooties" (how mind-boggling it was to little Cooper that they couldn't pronounce the vowels they'd be taught with at school, yet this was an easy roll off the tongue)
...and lastly, the way he had viewed the world.
Thus, because of his other-worldly differences and strange eccentricities, all the other children didn't want to play with him. Being stranded in the playgrounds, he'd think to himself the reason why no one would interact with him was because he was in a higher streak amongst his peers. Although, as the years went on, he was somehow content.
Despite his dysfunctional social life, past unstable living conditions, and shaky family relationships, he surpassed boundaries and only climbed higher and higher. Success after success, he attracted the world's attention. It wasn't long till he gained the approbation of prominent scientists.
At a young age, he received his first PhD in physics. Leaping three years forward, he earned his second. He didn't stop there though. On the road of wonderment and questions unanswered, he continued on full straight ahead. Then by the end of his early twenties, he was already a handful of two doctorates, one master's degree and more.
Now in his thirties, he was at his prime. Like the season of jubilant spring and the buzzing of bees... men would be on their knees to receive the hand of a lady. Suitors would trip over themselves, lining up for the most beautiful and refined women. The males would flaunt their unimpressive offers they'd lay on the table to win over hearts, likewise the femme fatales would proudly parade their alluring charm. It almost seemed like a mating ritual among the destitutes of animals every year.
They have an old saying, "Desire in men is hunger, and in women only an appetite," however, it was different for Dr. Cooper. These tell tale desires were confusing to him.
He had never gave a thought of his own marriage and having a family with someone. And dating? He could peg a thousand reasons for why it was one of humankind's biggest mistakes; so much unnecessary effort and time wasted. If they all had written agreements, courting would be so much smoother. Of course, he agreed to the notion of eloping with a female only for reproduction in the name of the human race, except he truly wasn't. Perhaps others.. but he'd never be involved in this part of the life cycle.
It is an innate feature of human nature and may be related to the fiery drive of coitus. The human mating or copulation encompasses the "social" processes whereby one person may meet another's need to assess suitability, the courtship process and the agonizing formation of an interpersonal relationship. It was a wonderment how everything in that single sentence manifested his utter and sheer impartiality.
All his thirty years of life, he did not ever have a care to glance at a woman in his direction. Never dared to bring himself down for one, and never showed the slightest interest. Nothing will convince him to exchange his reputation for a hormonal feeling. Love. What an absurdity. A chemical imbalance? A preposterous nonsense.
He is above such lowly, inferior twaddles. Well, to say the least, no one would be able to reach the place of the profound physicist's heart. Besides, who would fall for the neurotic, stubborn, and socially inept doctor? When he spared no flare of egotism and is certain that he has no need for physical intimacy? Such thing won't happen.
After all, science was his one true love...
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And it proudly remains to be.
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