Brilliant (1/1)
I actually wrote this one a long time ago, right after "H.O.U.S.E. Rules" aired. Henry and Nathan's conversation was brilliantly inspiring.
Title: Brilliant
Fandom: Eureka
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not mine, etc.
Spoilers: H.O.U.S.E. Rules
Summary: Aerospace Engineering 401. Nathan Stark doesn't like his grade.
He’d heard that college students were impossible. That they were stubborn and self-righteous, and condescending to boot, depending on their major and their ego. Thankfully, the students in Aerospace Engineering 401 were earnest, hardworking, and respectful. Usually.
The thesis paper hit his desk with a slap, and he looked calmly up at the young man who stood white-faced, shaking with suppressed rage. He’d been expecting him to drop by.
“A fifty?” he said in enraged disbelief, alternating his glare between his professor and the red number scrawled across the title page. “How could you possibly give me a fifty?”
Henry smiled pleasantly as he marked his page and set aside the book he had been reading. “Hello, Mr. Stark. No, I don’t mind you coming to yell at me during my lunch break.”
Nathan Stark was his best and most brilliant student. A college freshman in a class composed of seniors, he knew that he was a genius and had a tendency to let other people know, too--not by blatant proclamation, but through an air of slight superiority, and a tendency to always be right. Henry rather liked Nathan, even if he didn’t like his attitude.
Nathan gritted his teeth together in frustration. “Hello, Doctor Deacon,” he ground out. “Sorry to disturb you, sir. I wanted to ask you about the grade on my paper.”
Henry glanced at it. “Seems perfectly straightforward.”
“It’s a fifty and it shouldn’t be.” Nathan placed his hands on each side of the desk and leaned down, striking an intimidating pose. “Twenty pages, and you give me a fifty?”
“Nathan, it’s not the length that’s the problem. It’s the material presented.”
This was a slap in the face. Nathan stared at him, blinking. When he spoke, his voice was stunned, as if he couldn’t believe that anyone could think he was wrong. “They’re…revolutionary ideas…never before postulated…”
“But they’re hypotheses, Nathan,” Henry told him with as gentle a tone as he could. “Your premise is sound, but your proof…is spurious, at best. I’m sorry.”
Nathan shook his head slightly, dumbfounded, seemingly trying to clear away a fog. “There’s plenty of proof…it’s all there, it makes sense--!”
“To you, maybe,” Henry said, handing the paper back to him in a gesture of finality. “The rest of us might need some more explaining.”
Nathan stared down at the paper with the alien numbers on it, like he couldn’t quite believe it had his name on it. He opened his mouth, then closed it, and after taking a deep breath squared his shoulders and looked up at Henry. “All right. Thanks, Doctor Deacon.” His voice sounded oddly defeated and he looked slightly nauseated as he looked down at the essay in his hands.
Henry’s eyes narrowed, and what the English Lit professor would call ‘a flash of insight’ suddenly struck him. “This is the first failing grade you’ve ever gotten, isn’t it?”
The muscles in Nathan’s jaw clenched slightly, and his face was wooden as he nodded. His eyes, downcast again, seemed to shine slightly, overbright.
Henry felt a tug on his conscience. “Everybody fails at least once, Nathan.”
“Not me,” he said in an almost inaudible voice. “Never me.”
Henry gazed at his best student, the one who seemed most capable of doing great things, and sighed. “Ten pages.”
Nathan’s head came up sharply, and he blinked away the incipient tears Henry was sure were as alien as a fifty percent. “What?”
“Ten pages explaining how your theories compare to current technology. And since I shouldn’t be capitulating like this, I want it yesterday.”
Nathan’s smile was brilliant. “Thank you--so much, Doctor Deacon.” He turned and slid into the nearest desk, whipping out a legal pad and a pen, and hurriedly began to scribble his thin, cramped handwriting across the top sheet. Almost as an afterthought, he picked up the graded paper, glanced at it, and with a look of mild disgust crumpled it up and dropped it into the wastepaper basket beside Henry’s desk.
Henry couldn’t help but grin at his earnestness, his enthusiasm. He really was brilliant. He sat watching him write intently for a moment, and then, making sure Nathan wasn’t looking, he reached into the basket and pulled out the paper, smoothing it out.
Revolutionary, he thought, and slipped it into his desk drawer.
Title: Brilliant
Fandom: Eureka
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not mine, etc.
Spoilers: H.O.U.S.E. Rules
Summary: Aerospace Engineering 401. Nathan Stark doesn't like his grade.
He’d heard that college students were impossible. That they were stubborn and self-righteous, and condescending to boot, depending on their major and their ego. Thankfully, the students in Aerospace Engineering 401 were earnest, hardworking, and respectful. Usually.
The thesis paper hit his desk with a slap, and he looked calmly up at the young man who stood white-faced, shaking with suppressed rage. He’d been expecting him to drop by.
“A fifty?” he said in enraged disbelief, alternating his glare between his professor and the red number scrawled across the title page. “How could you possibly give me a fifty?”
Henry smiled pleasantly as he marked his page and set aside the book he had been reading. “Hello, Mr. Stark. No, I don’t mind you coming to yell at me during my lunch break.”
Nathan Stark was his best and most brilliant student. A college freshman in a class composed of seniors, he knew that he was a genius and had a tendency to let other people know, too--not by blatant proclamation, but through an air of slight superiority, and a tendency to always be right. Henry rather liked Nathan, even if he didn’t like his attitude.
Nathan gritted his teeth together in frustration. “Hello, Doctor Deacon,” he ground out. “Sorry to disturb you, sir. I wanted to ask you about the grade on my paper.”
Henry glanced at it. “Seems perfectly straightforward.”
“It’s a fifty and it shouldn’t be.” Nathan placed his hands on each side of the desk and leaned down, striking an intimidating pose. “Twenty pages, and you give me a fifty?”
“Nathan, it’s not the length that’s the problem. It’s the material presented.”
This was a slap in the face. Nathan stared at him, blinking. When he spoke, his voice was stunned, as if he couldn’t believe that anyone could think he was wrong. “They’re…revolutionary ideas…never before postulated…”
“But they’re hypotheses, Nathan,” Henry told him with as gentle a tone as he could. “Your premise is sound, but your proof…is spurious, at best. I’m sorry.”
Nathan shook his head slightly, dumbfounded, seemingly trying to clear away a fog. “There’s plenty of proof…it’s all there, it makes sense--!”
“To you, maybe,” Henry said, handing the paper back to him in a gesture of finality. “The rest of us might need some more explaining.”
Nathan stared down at the paper with the alien numbers on it, like he couldn’t quite believe it had his name on it. He opened his mouth, then closed it, and after taking a deep breath squared his shoulders and looked up at Henry. “All right. Thanks, Doctor Deacon.” His voice sounded oddly defeated and he looked slightly nauseated as he looked down at the essay in his hands.
Henry’s eyes narrowed, and what the English Lit professor would call ‘a flash of insight’ suddenly struck him. “This is the first failing grade you’ve ever gotten, isn’t it?”
The muscles in Nathan’s jaw clenched slightly, and his face was wooden as he nodded. His eyes, downcast again, seemed to shine slightly, overbright.
Henry felt a tug on his conscience. “Everybody fails at least once, Nathan.”
“Not me,” he said in an almost inaudible voice. “Never me.”
Henry gazed at his best student, the one who seemed most capable of doing great things, and sighed. “Ten pages.”
Nathan’s head came up sharply, and he blinked away the incipient tears Henry was sure were as alien as a fifty percent. “What?”
“Ten pages explaining how your theories compare to current technology. And since I shouldn’t be capitulating like this, I want it yesterday.”
Nathan’s smile was brilliant. “Thank you--so much, Doctor Deacon.” He turned and slid into the nearest desk, whipping out a legal pad and a pen, and hurriedly began to scribble his thin, cramped handwriting across the top sheet. Almost as an afterthought, he picked up the graded paper, glanced at it, and with a look of mild disgust crumpled it up and dropped it into the wastepaper basket beside Henry’s desk.
Henry couldn’t help but grin at his earnestness, his enthusiasm. He really was brilliant. He sat watching him write intently for a moment, and then, making sure Nathan wasn’t looking, he reached into the basket and pulled out the paper, smoothing it out.
Revolutionary, he thought, and slipped it into his desk drawer.