Leonard's House
Adam wrapped up his explanation, determined to avoid another Peggy-induced choke-out of the whole paper night. So, he took the reins, steering things toward the real reason he'd come tonight.
He roped in top-tier neurologist Beverly and biology whiz Rachel, getting their expert takes on his paper—feedback, tweaks, the works.
Once Rachel got over her math-accuracy paranoia, she showed her chops.
She dished out some killer ideas for optimizing the virus—fresh angles Adam hadn't even considered.
Beverly was on fire too, blending cutting-edge neuro-theory with Adam's work, dropping insights that made his brain buzz.
Inspired, Adam bounced some new ideas off Peggy right then and there, checking the math's feasibility.
And just like that—Leonard's place turned into a happy chaos zone.
The house's two powerhouse women, plus Peggy, huddled around Adam, debating up a storm.
Meanwhile, the three Hofstadter guys sat off to the side, clutching their papers, staring at each other like lost puppies.
Half an hour dragged by, and the awkward stalemate held strong.
Finally, family patriarch Alfred glanced at his sons and threw out a lifeline. "It's paper night, folks. Let's not just sit here—how about we swap and check each other's work?"
"Sweet!"
Leonard snapped to it first, grinning as he handed his undergrad thesis to his dad.
He was the family's chameleon—adaptable as heck—and with Adam as his best bud, seeing the house's alpha ladies ignore everyone else to geek out with his pal?
Totally normal. He was used to it.
"Hmm, nice job."
Alfred took it, gave it a quick once-over, tossed out a half-hearted "good effort," then pivoted. "Let's see Michael's paper."
"Oh."
Even chill Leonard couldn't hide his letdown.
Not the star tonight—shocker.
Even in this little trio of Hofstadter men, the spotlight hog was, of course, his genius kid brother Michael.
Alfred caught Leonard's vibe and felt a twinge of guilt.
But guilt's one thing—comforting him? Nah.
What was he supposed to say?
"Sorry, kid, this anthropologist dad of yours can't make heads or tails of your physics paper"?
That'd just prove Beverly's jab: anthropology, sociology—all that humanities stuff—ain't real science.
Why else could they decode his anthropology paper, but he couldn't crack their physics, neuroscience, or biology ones?
No way. He wasn't just defending himself—he was fighting for anthropology's honor!
With that mental pep talk, Alfred felt better, brushing off Leonard's sad-puppy eyes.
Emmm…
This was the same "great dad" who'd swipe his kid's handmade treasures back in the day. He'd long mastered the art of instant self-justification.
Take the Hug Machine fiasco:
1. He was just "borrowing" it.
2. It wasn't even for him—it was for the family, to spare Leonard and the gang the pain of a broken home.
Alfred gave himself a mental high-five, snagging Michael's paper from his youngest.
Now this was a paper.
Sure, it was jargon-heavy, but for a cultured anthropologist like him? No sweat to follow.
And so, the Hofstadter Christmas-slash-paper night split into three vibes:
- Adam, Peggy, Beverly, and Rachel—debate central, full-on fire.
- Alfred and Michael, post-Beverly-yelling, whispering sweet nothings about their papers, all cozy father-son vibes.
- And then… Leonard. Solo. Clutching his thesis, darting teary glances between his mom-and-sister crew and his dad-and-bro duo.
Good thing he'd trained for this.
He swallowed the heartache, no tears allowed.
After a bit, Leonard cracked a shaky grin.
Compared to the usual roast-fests of years past, tonight's quiet (ignored) harmony (invisibility) wasn't that bad, right?
So, he shuffled over to Adam's group, hovering close enough to feel involved without bugging anyone—faking it 'til he made it.
Then he slid over to his dad and brother, hyping up their papers like a champ.
Alfred nearly caved, tempted to scoop up his pitiful middle kid in a bear hug.
But anthropology's dignity held him back—he played blind.
Michael, less subtle, didn't overthink it. A law student, he had zero clue about Princeton physics papers.
Didn't need to. He just poked holes from the sidelines—like how Princeton's physics department's stuck at #7 while Caltech's eternally #1. "How'd this hold up there, huh?"
Instant confidence-killer for his shaky older bro.
But tonight's beatdowns had left Michael too drained to dunk on his "dumb" sibling.
"This therapy's legit valuable," Rachel piped up over there. "But every case is different—tumor invasion levels, patient vitals, immune responses, virus reactions, mutation patterns.
If each one needs a custom math model this complex, it's gonna be tough to scale, right? Not every neurosurgeon's a calculator wizard!"
"Easy fix," Adam grinned. "Once we've got enough cases, we dump the math into a computer. It'll crunch the numbers, and with enough data, it'll cover most scenarios—good to go.
Peggy's precision just maxes out success rates and minimizes side effects per patient.
Over time, the need for that kind of fine-tuning drops. The computer's database of past cases could eventually handle all the math.
Maybe one day we'll nail a perfect virus serum—zero impact on healthy tissue, no immune freakouts or mutations.
Then anyone could do the surgery."
"So it all boils down to us biologists cooking up that perfect serum!" Rachel laughed.
"If you can pull it off," Peggy said coolly. "If that happens, we wouldn't be wasting time here—we'd be cracking the universe's real mysteries.
One word from us mathematicians, and boom, the cosmos might just reboot itself."
Rachel: "…"
"Tonight's been a blast…"
Adam jumped in to smooth things over, tossing out some polite wrap-up vibes before grabbing Peggy to bounce.
Teen geniuses, big egos, same gender—too much time together, and sparks fly the wrong way.
Leonard walked them out.
(Chapter End)