It's Valentine's day, and this is a love story.
So, I wanted to write a story for Valentine's day, but I couldn't think of anything. This sort of wrote itself, though.
mga1999 looked it over for me and told me it was fit to post here for all of you, and I trust her, so here you have it.
Title: Truth, Beauty
Rating: G
Word Count: 492
Montgomery Scott has never been in love, and he is fine with that.
People are capricious and unpredictable. You can’t graph them, or chart them, or figure them out. This makes him nervous, and apt to fill awkward silences with inane ramblings. He’s uncomfortable with people, they never do what he expects.
A perfectly balanced equation is a beautiful. Parabolas are beautiful. Numbers can be trusted, patterns are steady.
Hearts can break or change without warning. Emotions are volatile and cannot be quantified. Lovers can lie.
He knows others see him as an unbalanced equation, but it isn’t so. He is content in his singularity. The feel of his beloved engines humming beneath him, responding to his commands just as predicted fills him with a joy so fierce and hot that he can’t imagine anything more fulfilling.
They make fun of him for that, always. They say he talks about the Enterprise like she’s the woman he loves, but he doesn’t see why that’s a bad thing. Every day they risk their lives, flying at warp speed through rocks and fire and lightening and nothingness, trusting themselves to the power of human calculation and that is beautiful.
When he was in school, he was often forced to read poetry, and from this he has learned that he sees the world differently from other people. He knows that when someone says something like, “stars are beautiful,” they aren’t referring to massive balls of plasma held together by gravity, which shine due to thermonuclear fusion releasing energy into space. But to him, stars are beautiful. Because you can measure their movements, their luminosity, their place on the spectrum, and from that knowledge learn their age, their mass, everything down to their chemical composition. There’s no magic to them, and that’s a good thing, because magic is a word for things that can’t be understood. Stars can be quantified. Beauty is truth.
He’s the chief engineer of the USS-Enterprise. Over 800 souls put their lives in his hands, trusting themselves to his measurements and calculations, relying on him to keep them safe using only the strength of her walls and his will.
And he does - he always will, because even though Montgomery Scott has never been in love, he loves. He loves everyone on board, because they trust him, and because they represent his greatest love - human ingenuity. Because the fact that they’re out there at all is a testament and a tribute to the human spirit, to the giants who came before him and looked out at a world they could never fully understand, determined to bend it to logic and law.
He is humbled to stand on their shoulders. He holds all the lives in his hands with the utmost care.
So it doesn’t bother him when other people imply that he is incomplete. He knows the opposite is true - they’ve made themselves a half of something, and he remains wholly himself.
mga1999 looked it over for me and told me it was fit to post here for all of you, and I trust her, so here you have it.
Title: Truth, Beauty
Rating: G
Word Count: 492
Montgomery Scott has never been in love, and he is fine with that.
People are capricious and unpredictable. You can’t graph them, or chart them, or figure them out. This makes him nervous, and apt to fill awkward silences with inane ramblings. He’s uncomfortable with people, they never do what he expects.
A perfectly balanced equation is a beautiful. Parabolas are beautiful. Numbers can be trusted, patterns are steady.
Hearts can break or change without warning. Emotions are volatile and cannot be quantified. Lovers can lie.
He knows others see him as an unbalanced equation, but it isn’t so. He is content in his singularity. The feel of his beloved engines humming beneath him, responding to his commands just as predicted fills him with a joy so fierce and hot that he can’t imagine anything more fulfilling.
They make fun of him for that, always. They say he talks about the Enterprise like she’s the woman he loves, but he doesn’t see why that’s a bad thing. Every day they risk their lives, flying at warp speed through rocks and fire and lightening and nothingness, trusting themselves to the power of human calculation and that is beautiful.
When he was in school, he was often forced to read poetry, and from this he has learned that he sees the world differently from other people. He knows that when someone says something like, “stars are beautiful,” they aren’t referring to massive balls of plasma held together by gravity, which shine due to thermonuclear fusion releasing energy into space. But to him, stars are beautiful. Because you can measure their movements, their luminosity, their place on the spectrum, and from that knowledge learn their age, their mass, everything down to their chemical composition. There’s no magic to them, and that’s a good thing, because magic is a word for things that can’t be understood. Stars can be quantified. Beauty is truth.
He’s the chief engineer of the USS-Enterprise. Over 800 souls put their lives in his hands, trusting themselves to his measurements and calculations, relying on him to keep them safe using only the strength of her walls and his will.
And he does - he always will, because even though Montgomery Scott has never been in love, he loves. He loves everyone on board, because they trust him, and because they represent his greatest love - human ingenuity. Because the fact that they’re out there at all is a testament and a tribute to the human spirit, to the giants who came before him and looked out at a world they could never fully understand, determined to bend it to logic and law.
He is humbled to stand on their shoulders. He holds all the lives in his hands with the utmost care.
So it doesn’t bother him when other people imply that he is incomplete. He knows the opposite is true - they’ve made themselves a half of something, and he remains wholly himself.