Chapter 13: Summer Glau's Arrival - Part 2
POV: Stuart
Three days after my coffee date with Summer Glau, I made what would later be recognized as a tactical error of catastrophic proportions: I casually mentioned our dinner plans to my friends.
"So I won't be able to make game night this week," I said, restocking the latest shipment of graphic novels while Leonard, Sheldon, and Howard browsed nearby. "I've got dinner plans."
"With whom?" Sheldon asked, not looking up from his examination of my organizational system.
"Summer Glau."
The silence that followed was so complete I could hear the fluorescent lights humming overhead. Leonard slowly turned to face me, his expression cycling through disbelief, confusion, and what looked suspiciously like betrayal. Howard's jaw had dropped to a degree that probably violated several laws of anatomy.
"Summer Glau," Leonard repeated slowly, like he was testing whether the words made sense when spoken aloud.
"The actress," Howard added unnecessarily.
"Yes, the actress," I confirmed, trying to sound casual despite the growing awareness that I'd just lobbed a social grenade into the middle of my friend group.
"How?" Howard's voice had climbed to a register that dogs probably found uncomfortable. "How did you... when did you... what is happening with your life?"
"She came by the shop for research," I explained. "We got to talking, grabbed coffee, hit it off. She asked if I wanted to have dinner, I said yes."
Sheldon had pulled out his phone and was typing with the frenzied intensity of someone updating a crucial algorithm. "Fascinating. The Stuart Attractiveness Paradox requires immediate theoretical revision. I must recalculate the variables accounting for celebrity-level romantic success."
"The Stuart Attractiveness Paradox?" I asked, not entirely sure I wanted to know.
"My ongoing analysis of your statistically impossible social transformation," Sheldon replied matter-of-factly. "The data suggests you've somehow optimized human attraction protocols beyond normal parameters."
Leonard was studying me with the expression of a scientist whose experimental results had just violated fundamental laws of physics. "Stuart, can I ask you something? And I want you to be completely honest."
"Sure."
"Six months ago, you could barely make eye contact with our waitress at the Cheesecake Factory. Today, you're dating Summer Glau. What changed?"
"I died in a car accident, spent an indeterminate amount of time in cosmic void, and returned with supernatural powers that let me exploit future knowledge for personal gain. Also, I'm not actually Stuart Bloom."
"I guess I finally learned to be comfortable in my own skin," I said instead. "Confidence builds on itself, you know? Success in business led to success in social situations, which led to more confidence, which led to more success."
Howard was pacing between the comic racks like a caged animal. "But Summer Glau! How do you just... how does someone like Stuart Bloom end up dating someone like Summer Glau?"
"What do you mean, 'someone like Stuart Bloom'?" I asked, genuinely curious about his perspective.
"I mean..." Howard gestured vaguely at my general existence. "You're a comic book store owner from Pasadena. She's a famous actress who's been in major Hollywood productions. The social stratification alone should make this impossible."
"Maybe," I suggested, "the stratification is less important than genuine connection."
"Genuine connection," Leonard repeated, his tone suggesting he was testing a hypothesis that might explain everything. "You really think that's all it takes?"
Before I could answer, the shop bell chimed and Penny walked in, clearly expecting to find us deep in our usual gaming preparation. Instead, she found four guys standing around looking like they'd just witnessed a minor miracle.
"Hey, everybody," she said, her usual bright energy faltering slightly as she picked up on the strange atmosphere. "What's going on? You all look like someone just told you Santa's real."
"Stuart's dating Summer Glau," Howard announced with the shell-shocked tone of someone reporting breaking news.
Penny's smile froze on her face for just a moment—a microsecond of something I couldn't quite identify before she recovered her composure. "Summer Glau? The actress from that space show?"
"Firefly," Sheldon supplied helpfully. "Also The Sarah Connor Chronicles, though her role as Cameron explores fascinating themes regarding artificial consciousness development that—"
"That's... great," Penny said, cutting off Sheldon's analysis. "Really great. Stuart, that's wonderful."
But something in her voice didn't quite match her words, and I noticed Leonard noticing the discrepancy too. His expression shifted from personal confusion to analytical observation, like he'd just detected another variable in an increasingly complex equation.
"You know what," Penny said, glancing at her watch with studied casualness, "I just remembered I've got that early shift tomorrow. Rain check on game night?"
She left before anyone could respond, and her departure created another moment of awkward silence.
"Was it just me," Leonard said carefully, "or did Penny seem... off about this news?"
"She seemed fine," I said quickly, though I'd noticed the same thing. The Memory power stirred uncomfortably, showing me flashes of Penny's complex romantic timeline with Leonard, the years of on-again-off-again dynamics that would eventually lead to marriage. But this was 2007, early in their relationship history, and I couldn't quite place why news of my dating life would affect her.
"Regardless," Sheldon announced, "this development requires comprehensive analysis. Stuart, I'll need detailed data about your interaction protocols with Ms. Glau. For scientific purposes."
"I'm not giving you a play-by-play of my dating life, Sheldon."
"This isn't prurient curiosity," Sheldon protested. "This is legitimate research into human social optimization. Your romantic success rate has exceeded normal parameters to a degree that suggests—"
"Suggests he figured out how to talk to women like they're people," Howard interrupted bitterly. "Revolutionary concept."
POV Shift: Howard
Two nights later, Howard found himself sitting across from Raj at a trendy restaurant in downtown Pasadena, pretending to study the menu while actually conducting surveillance on Stuart's date at a table twenty feet away.
"This is ridiculous," Raj whispered, hiding behind his oversized menu. "We're spying on our friend's dinner date like stalkers."
"We're conducting observational research," Howard corrected, adjusting his position to get a better view of Stuart's table. "I need to understand what I'm missing. What does Stuart have that I don't have?"
"Ethics?"
"I'm being serious here. Look at them."
Howard forced himself to really observe the interaction unfolding across the restaurant. Stuart and Summer were deep in conversation, their body language open and relaxed. Summer was leaning forward, clearly engaged, laughing at something Stuart had said. When she reached across the table to touch his arm while making a point, the gesture looked completely natural.
"He's not even trying that hard," Howard thought, watching Stuart's relaxed posture and genuine smile. "No pickup lines, no demonstration of higher value, no peacocking. He's just... talking to her."
"How is this working?" Howard muttered.
"Maybe because he's not trying to make it work," Raj observed quietly. "He's just being himself."
Howard studied the scene more carefully, trying to identify the specific techniques Stuart was employing. But that was the problem—there were no techniques. Stuart was listening when Summer spoke, responding to what she actually said rather than waiting for his turn to talk. When he told stories, they seemed genuinely intended to entertain her rather than impress her. When she mentioned her work, he asked follow-up questions that suggested real interest in her answers.
"It's like watching someone speak a language I don't understand," Howard realized. "Except the language is just... normal human interaction."
"Look at her face," Raj whispered. "She's actually having fun."
Summer was laughing at another story, her expression completely unguarded. When Stuart gestured enthusiastically while describing something, she mimicked the gesture playfully, then laughed at her own silliness. The chemistry between them was visible even from Howard's distant vantage point—not forced or performed, but natural and easy.
"He's not demonstrating his intellect," Howard observed, taking mental notes. "He's not trying to establish dominance or create artificial scarcity. He's not even talking about his recent business success."
"So what is he doing?"
Howard watched for another ten minutes, trying to crack the code of Stuart's apparent romantic magic. Finally, he had to admit defeat.
"He's treating her like a friend he enjoys spending time with," Howard said, the revelation hitting him like a physical blow. "That's it. That's the secret technique I've been missing. He actually likes her."
"As opposed to...?"
"As opposed to trying to get her to like me," Howard finished quietly.
The realization was both simple and devastating. For years, Howard had approached dating like a negotiation or a sales presentation—trying to convince women that he was worth their attention by demonstrating his value through intelligence, humor, or status symbols. But Stuart wasn't trying to convince Summer of anything. He was just enjoying her company and letting her enjoy his.
"No wonder my approaches never work," Howard thought, watching Stuart and Summer share dessert with the comfortable intimacy of people who genuinely cared about each other. "I've been treating women like obstacles to overcome instead of people to connect with."
"We should go," Raj said softly. "This feels wrong."
Howard nodded, but couldn't resist one final observation. As they prepared to leave, Stuart said something that made Summer laugh so hard she nearly choked on her wine. The sound of her laughter was completely uninhibited, the kind of genuine amusement that couldn't be faked or performed.
"When's the last time I made someone laugh like that?" Howard wondered. "Not laugh at a clever line or a carefully crafted joke, but laugh because they're genuinely happy to be spending time with me?"
As they walked out of the restaurant, Howard felt something shift in his understanding of social dynamics. Stuart's success wasn't based on techniques or strategies—it was based on authentic connection. And authentic connection, Howard was beginning to realize, required actually caring about the other person's experience.
"Maybe," Howard said to Raj as they headed home, "I've been approaching this entire thing backwards."
POV Return: Stuart
Later that evening, as I walked Summer back to her car, she asked the question I'd been simultaneously hoping for and dreading.
"Can I ask you something?" she said, stopping beside her vehicle and turning to face me directly.
"Of course."
"What makes you different?"
The question hung in the air between us, weighted with more significance than its simple words should have carried. Summer was studying my face with those perceptive eyes, and I could see her trying to understand something that she couldn't quite articulate.
"She's noticed the void-touched quality," I realized. "The weight of impossible knowledge, the sense that I've experienced more than my apparent age should allow. She's asking about the exact thing I can never fully explain."
"Different how?" I asked, buying time while my mind raced through possible responses.
"Different from other guys I meet. Different from the person you seem like you should be, based on surface details. There's something in your eyes, something that makes me think you've been through experiences that changed you in ways you don't talk about."
"She's giving me an opening. A chance to share as much truth as I can safely reveal."
"I had a life-changing experience a while back," I said carefully. "Something that shifted my entire perspective on what matters and how to relate to people. I can't really discuss the details—it's personal and complicated—but I came out of it seeing the world differently."
Summer nodded slowly, like this explanation fit with something she'd already intuited. "We all have private transformations. Experiences that reshape us in ways that are hard to explain to people who weren't there."
"Exactly."
She was standing close enough that I could smell her perfume, see the flecks of gold in her dark eyes. The streetlight above us created a circle of warm illumination that made everything beyond its reach seem distant and unimportant.
"The thing is," she said quietly, "most people try to hide their transformations, or they turn them into stories they tell at parties. But you wear yours differently. Like you're comfortable with mystery."
"If you only knew how much mystery I'm carrying."
"Maybe," I said, "some experiences are too big to fit into ordinary conversation. Maybe the best you can do is let them change you and hope other people can see the change without needing to understand the cause."
Summer smiled—not the professional expression from photo shoots, but something warmer and more personal. "I like that answer."
She stepped closer, and suddenly we were kissing. Not the careful, tentative contact of a first date, but the kind of kiss that suggested genuine attraction and the promise of deeper connection. Her hand came up to rest against my chest, and I could feel my heart hammering beneath her palm.
When we broke apart, Summer's eyes were bright with something I couldn't quite identify. "I've been thinking about you since our coffee date," she admitted.
"Good thoughts, I hope."
"Complicated thoughts," she said with a laugh. "But yes, definitely good."
"This is what authentic attraction feels like," I realized as she got into her car and drove away with a promise to call soon. "Not manipulation or performance, but genuine connection between people who see something worthwhile in each other."
Walking back to my apartment, I felt something I hadn't experienced since awakening in Stuart's life—the possibility of being truly known by another person, even if I couldn't share every secret. Summer had noticed the "old eyes," the weight of transformative experience, and instead of being frightened by the mystery, she seemed intrigued by it.
"Maybe," I thought as I climbed the stairs to my apartment, "the isolation that comes with cosmic secrets doesn't have to be complete. Maybe finding someone who notices the mystery and chooses to care about the person carrying it is enough."
The void had given me incredible powers, but Summer Glau had given me something equally valuable—hope that I could build genuine intimacy despite the impossible truths I had to carry. And that hope, fragile as it was, felt like the beginning of something I'd never dared to imagine possible.
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