It’s easier for Scott to digest and break down the world through the concept of numbers. He can logically map out the answers to difficult circumstances and equations with hardly any problem. He can pattern-match to his heart’s content just to know what was statistically more likely to happen. When the math is done correctly, it never lies. It’s not something that can be easily subject to uncertain variables like feelings or opinions. In fact, sometimes one must change their perspective to be able to fully materialize the road of work needed to be completed just to get to the end.

He lives by rules. He thinks in proofs. He dreams of theories. Despite the complex and working parts of the equation that make up his very function, there had always been one key component for him — Jean.

His other half. His twin flame. His soulmate.

She’s someone who completes him. With her, he’s the man that he must be, fulfilling a role that only he could have the responsibility to be bestowed with. Much like how an integral pieces together infinitesimals to make something whole again, all-encompassing, and a universal truth. But there’s that funny yet annoying fact of the rule when putting things back together. Somehow, you end up with an extra piece, unsure of how it fits in the first place. It’s called a constant, and it’s not something that can just be ignored.

Madelyne was a constant, no matter how short-lived. He had loved her, truly. Despite the grief and unfairness of it all, life with her was a representation of the man he wants to be. Normal. In the end, she had unwillingly become the reason behind his self-sacrifice and denial. She deserved far better than what he had ever given her. He’s learned to live with regret since then.

By definition, Emma was considered to be a constant too. There was mutual respect. A collaborative partnership between them. She loved him as the man he could be. There was no cosmic fate to fulfill when it came to her. It was just Scott, carving out his life with his own hands. Their fallout had been a result of the choices he had made, and made alone. With her, there was always an uncomfortable honesty present. Consequences will always hurt more, especially when they stem from his own actions.

But despite everything — every rate and every measurement — some things appear to never change. At least, outwardly, on the surface — the realization that Scott had fallen in love again came in a quiet moment, like it always does. Coffee in the war room, just them together tandemly working in complete silence.

Another derivative in his life this time, and that terrifies him. An unaccounted difference that he knew would end in another controlled spiral of self-destructive martyrdom.

“Third cup?” he asks. “I’m not keeping score. Just…noticed.”

Their eyes meet. He gets a nod in return. His stomach’s sinking with the sudden and familiar feeling of pure dread all over again.

“Excessive caffeine intake will ruin your sleep schedule,” Scott adds, promptly turning his gaze back to the field report in hand, the paper crinkling ever-so-slightly at the edges.

“…Not like I’m one to talk though.”

With them, he had the permission to just exist without becoming. And wasn't that just wrong?